 Going Coastal The journey from 100 Mile House to Vancouver is perhaps one of the most enjoyable medium length road trips in Canada. Over the course of about 250 miles you see a wide variety of landforms, climates, plant life, and wildlife. My most recent trip occurred near the end of February and as most residents of the Cariboo know, the end of February means snow. The trip begins atop a snow covered 1000 meter high plateau then steadily drops through often snow-free arid regions. You continue along the steep gorges of the Fraser River and finally spill into a vast triangle of fertile green land which is the Fraser Valley. As on previous trips I kept a log of various birds spotted along the way. The first bird I spotted was an immature Bald Eagle. It perched on a tree and watched over a pasture in which newborn calves lay beside their mothers. In this same area I also noted the devastating pine beetle attack on the Ponderosa pines. Very few mature trees were left alive. Oddly, the Ponderosa pines around Lytton were left almost unscathed. This made me wonder how the pine beetles managed to travel to the interior of the province if they bypassed Lytton. I also noted a Starling, and then it was down the big hill to the arid region. At the Loon Lake turn off I always keep an eye out for Magpies but on this particular morning there were none. Finally, just before Cache Creek one of the big black and white birds flapped across the road. In Cache Creek, Rock pigeons appeared flying over town in a tight flock. I call them Rock Pigeons rather than Rock Doves because recently I’ve heard them called by the new name although I am not aware of any official name change. This was just the beginning of what was to be many Rock Pigeon sightings. Another immature Bald Eagle sat on a dead tree south of Cache Creek, once again watching over a herd of calving cattle. On the Thompson River just outside of Spences Bridge, I spied 2 dozen male Common Mergansers floating in the cold waters. Why such a spectacular bird gets stuck with the dull name of ‘common’ is a mystery to me. Across the Thompson, above a passing train I caught sight of more Rock Pigeons hurtling along the rock face. I noted an Oriole nest on the left side of the road at a spot called Shaw Springs. This sighting caused me to consult my bird book and duly note that Orioles are found all the way to the coast. Oddly, I thought they were only birds of the dry interior part of the province. Another Magpie appeared south of Big Horn, and more Rock Pigeons flew along the tracks. Unlike the Cache Creek pigeons, these were probably wild stock. Minor road repairs just north of Lytton allowed me to walk briefly under the sun and there, high over the tops of the grey mountains I saw an Eagle soaring. It was so far away that I could not identify it but given its penchant for the high country I assumed it was a Golden Eagle. Before reaching Lytton I saw a herd of Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep on a flat, grassy bench land across the Thompson River, their startlingly white bums were visible even though they were almost a mile away. After this I made few notations until reaching the Upper Fraser Valley. Within sight of Mt. Cheam I wrote “three gulls.” A Gull is noteworthy after putting in a long winter in the interior of the province. I also noted the Hazelnut trees were in full bloom, their long yellow tresses, and male cones, hung in profusion revealing their whereabouts despite heavy, yet-to-leaf undergrowth. Now it was onto a flurry of writing as Red-tailed Hawks were positioned on trees, light standards, and signs every mile along the freeway. Flocks of Ducks in numbers so large they were uncountable sat in flooded fields. I guessed that about 1000 Swans stood in fields near the Cultus Lake turnoff. And of course there were more Rock Pigeons. Toward the end of the journey I just wrote Red-tailed Hawk over and over. As we neared our final destination House Finches were in full song, as they are in my yard back home. But adding to their songs were the dry, spitting calls of Bushtits making their way through the trees. The call of the Bushtit reveals, even to the blindfolded, our arrival in the heart of the Lower Mainland. We had traded snow covered yards for green lawns, and Brown Creepers for Bushtits on a road that was, to miners of old, the conduit to riches. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
