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March 9, 2006  Winging Tome It's boasting time and I intend to do it with unreserved enthusiasm. About three years ago the writer Harold Rhenisch asked me to illustrate a front cover, and a dozen other bird pictures for his 19th book which is entitled 'Winging Home … A Palette of Birds." Harold's book has now been published by "Brindle & Glass," and is winging its way into the hearts of many Rhenisch fans. This Sunday I finally had a chance to sit down with the actual book in my hands and read. Previously, my only exposure to the stories in the book was reading the .pdf file while it was on a computer monitor; hardly a cozy situation, in that it is difficult to curl up by the fireplace with a computer monitor on your lap. Harold was not interested in typical scientific bird drawings; he wanted a brand of birds he'd seen me create while I was drifting in and out of a nether region somewhere between plastic decoy ducks and anthropomorphic taxidermy. I called my bird renderings "extrusions," because although they were not 'lets use the calipers' accurate, they were firmly grounded in real bird details. Two years after completing the drawings I am still pleased with what I have wrought because obsession, that great art maker, played a role. Obsession with subject matter has given us some great art. This is not to say that these drawings are in the category of great art, it's just that they are more original and novel than scientifically accurate birds. Harold's writing is a blast. Each bird is captured in all its glory, warts and all. They brawl and bellow. They stumble and swagger, and challenge the laws of natural selection through their actions. They are colourful and bold as any human character that ever strode into the Cariboo landscape. I first described Harold's manuscript as 'well observed.' Now, however, I've changed my two-word review. Observation is just the beginning. To put the "life" in wildlife, one has to do more than stare and make notes; one has to get inside their feathery coats, snap at the air with their stout bills, and charge into their daily life as if their focus was your own. Harold has done this admirably and I am proud to be associated with his book. The John Henry Act Such great plans I had! After last year's rather dismal performance of ten Swallow boxes on the island in the east corner of 100 Mile Marsh I hoped this year to make changes. Moving the boxes might present a challenge given the small window of opportunity between the ice being safe enough to walk on, and the metal posts holding the bird boxes being loose enough to pull out. But I still planned. Today, while a strong south wind whipped dry snow and 18 curious Canada Geese watched, I marched out to the island on a preliminary scouting expedition. Last week when venturing onto the marsh, I ended up putting my foot through the thin ice in the reed beds. Today though, all seemed firm. Last week, when I got the foot-wetting, I tugged and pushed on the metal poles but they were firmly set in the frozen mud. This week I knew that special weapons and tactics were necessary to move the immovable boxes. During this morning's visit to the island, however, my only interest was in whether the ice was solid enough to hold me when, and if, I returned in the afternoon. It was thick enough. I retreated shoreward; my second sortie was a success! I returned to 100 Mile marsh around 3 PM with a plan, and a heavy sledgehammer. I would pound the metal poles deeper into the mud. This process would loosen the rebar mounts enough so that I could pull them straight out of the ground. I made it to the island without incident. As I approached the first box something became clear. Before I could pound the metal stakes I would first have to remove any bird boxes that sat higher than the top of the posts. I had no square-headed screwdrivers in the car so I couldn't undo the bird box screws, but I thought there must be something resembling a chisel back at the van that would allow me to cut the strapping holding the bird boxes to the stake. I walked across the busy highway to the mall where my van was parked, got out several implements of destruction, then marched back out to the island. The first bird box came off the post without much difficulty and I was now ready for phase two of my plan - pounding the post into the frozen mud. I raised the heavy hammer over my head in my best imitation of John Henry and brought it down with a smack. The metal post, hit slightly on an angle vibrated so hard that it became blurred. I stilled its vibrating and smacked it again. It went nowhere. Repeatedly I struck the metal stake. At one point I thought I detected a slight downward motion but it didn't look promising. A few more whacks followed. The post was as solidly stuck in the mud and ice as ever. I made a few more futile taps at the base of the post before giving up. Obviously, before the metal posts can be persuaded to move, some major thawing is going to have to take place. Unfortunately any thawing will also melt the ice that gives me access to the island. Herein lays my conundrum. I picked the bird box from the ice and returned to my van. The island now is less one bird box and I am fresh out of ideas. I'm imagining a canoe foray might be necessary to move the boxes. Wouldn't that look great - me out in the middle of 100 Mile House Marsh surrounded by scolding Blackbirds and Geese, insisting that I'm only there to help nature. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
