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June 15, 2006  As The Group Churns This year, as in years past, our loosely associated local bird group came to a consensus on a date for our overnight trip to the junction of Churn Creek and the Fraser River - we chose June 3rd and 4th. I was house sitting at the time, so my bird trip would begin out Buffalo Creek way. It is a familiar acreage with a wide variety of birds and I would enjoy a good start to my list. Yes, the first day was all about counting as many bird species as possible. Oddly, I felt somewhat apologetic about focusing on the first-day numbers. In past years I never did a serious first day count, I just kept the two day tally. Another new aspect of this year's trip - for the first time in 13 years I would be driving. Not because I won the lottery and suddenly acquired a sturdy new vehicle, but because I was generously offered the use of a van in which I've been a passenger on so many past Churn Creek trips. Now it was my chance to chauffeur Bob from Hawkins Lake. For the last two years he's done the driving in his rapidly aging truck. We planned that Bob would drop his truck off in the yard and we would then rendezvous with the rest of the group in 100 Mile House. Unfortunately, some of the regulars had to cancel at the last minute so the group would be smaller than usual. Saturday I was up at dawn with a coffee in hand already starting my count. The dogs cast suspicious sideways glances at me - they've seen me jotting notes by dawn's early light before, but when they saw me putting my gear in the van, they must have known I was planning a trip on which they were likely not going. Before setting foot off the driveway, my list included Sandhill Cranes calling from the Buffalo Lake area and all 6 species of Swallows, even the Violet-green Swallow, who this year decided that a hole in the front of the shop would make a great nesting spot. I knew that by scouting around the west side of the property I might record denizens of the deep woods and creekside singers, so I recharged my coffee cup and went stalking through the wet grass. Over the rush of the creek I heard the Lincoln's Sparrow, Northern Waterthrush and Yellow Warbler. I'd already heard the hermit Thrush across the pasture and now I heard the Swainson's Thrush singing from north of the big rock. When Bob arrived my list sat at about 50 bird species. Bob isn't one to get excited about list keeping so I kept my tally to myself. We threw his gear on board and began our town-ward journey. Our trip took us right past the new sewer lagoons where I hoped to see the Double-crested Cormorant. It wasn't there today but we counted many other species of waterfowl. A cool morning wind blew and a glorious sun shone. One by one our group gathered by the 100 Mile Marsh. We waited and scoped the marsh for birds. When all the people arrived it was apparent that only 8 of us, in three vehicles would do the 2006 Churn Creek overnighter. Not to be deterred, we made forays to surrounding areas and gathered sightings that might only occur in town. I stomped across the duff-covered playing field area to a spot where a small steam emerged from the woods and I hoped to count a few unique species. I emerged with the Golden-crowned Kinglet and MacGillivray's Warbler then it was off to the park where all of us watched the Dipper feed its young in a nest in the face of the falls. We also heard the Winter Wren sing while walking down the creek path. I had several bird species 'tied up' in the industrial area of town so off we went. The White-crowned Sparrow wasn't where he was supposed to be, thankfully though I had one in reserve further down the road and he sang from the metal debris piles. The Clay-coloured Sparrow, Wilson's Phalarope, and Vesper Sparrow also cooperated. With such a small group it was easy to track all the other vehicles so we decided to meet at the west end of Lac La Hache. I needed a Canvasback to complete my to-be-expected waterfowl list so I stopped at the 104 marsh where Mike had seen one on the way to town. Of the 17 regular duck species only the Northern Pintail was a no-show. At Wright Station Road on Lac La Hache a bold Catbird sang from a chokecherry bush and though we beat the bushes and open spaces, no new birds were added. I speak here from my perspective as I'm sure other people on the trip found much to entertain themselves. Our next big stop for lunch was Mission Road, a few miles before 150 Mile House. It is a rather unimpressive looking spot - a creek flowing through a pasture with a thin border of aspens crowding the bank - but at this point birds which aren't staples in 100 Mile appear. Bullock's Orioles like bottled flames move through the trees and jaunty Goldfinch lilt up from the shrubbery. One might even hear a Lazuli Bunting or spot a Golden Eagle overhead. It's that kind of place. We reached Williams Lake and walked around Scout Island then went in different directions to collect supplies - shopping opportunities would be few and far between once we were on the Dog Creek Road. I was surprised the miles seemed to go by so pleasantly, after all, I was never one to gladly hop behind a steering wheel and drive for hours at a time. Somehow, I hoped we would make it to camp on Churn Creek earlier than in past years. When we pulled into the campsite at 7 PM, it was obvious that record would have to wait for some other year. I sat down and counted my day's take. My list stood at 115 bird species. That was probably the biggest one-day tally I ever recorded anywhere, but as I said, I have never made such a count on the Churn trip before. I thought there was still a chance to add a Nighthawk before the day was over but it never appeared. Early the next morning, I eschewed my usual heart-pounding walk up the steep eroded banks of the Fraser. Instead I accompanied Mike, by vehicle, in the direction of Empire Valley Ranch. I had never taken this leg of the trip before. To reach the ranch one leaves the Churn Creek campsite and heads southeast going steadily upward into the bare hills until the Fraser River is but a wrinkled mocha-coloured flatness, winking sunlight up from a deep trench. Here, where creeks spill down muddy courses on their plunge to the Fraser, oases of poplars with toes in the water harbour tree-loving bird species. A stop at one such ribbon of green netted us a MacGillivray's Warbler, its voice carefully picked from the thousand other bird songs emanating from this lush hiding place. Then we climbed further and reached a corralled area level with the previous day's plateau. It wasn't the ranch, but it was close. The setting was unforgettable. Man-made cattle-tending structures blended with sage and scant Ponderosa pines were all dwarfed by eroded hills. The air was a perfume of arid exotic scents, emerald green willows, sage, dusty grasses, cow dung. The morning air, still as indoors, held it all to the nostrils and then for distraction sent the ventriloquial cry of a Say's Phoebe to the ears. It was a rare balm, this morning in so strange a place. We stayed for half an hour then drove onwards stopping at a strange lake named Brown. A person's name I suppose, but it suited the colour of the water just as well. It was a lake seemingly held in abeyance high above the mighty Fraser River. A Lark Sparrow sang from a wooden fence. A few minutes more driving and we reached the ranch, then turned the truck around and headed back. This time we passed all that held us in its thrall with its newness only an hour before. On the way down to the bridge over the Fraser, after driving up to the Gang Ranch, we stopped at a spot I named the grotto. Suzy had signaled for us to pull over. She said that Mike just saw a Rock Wren. I fairly flew up the steep hill through the sage. I reached the spot where Mike stood and he asked if I had run. Of course I had! A Rock Wren would be a lifer. "He flew into those rocks," Mike said, pointing to a mass of stones 100 feet above. I spotted a fairly easy access route so we started up the incline. As we were under the steepest area we could look up and see the head and beak of a bird I had never seen before. The bird sand in triplet phrases, clear and musical. I had seen my first Rock Wren - well, one third of a Rock Wren. "I've got to see the whole bird," I said to Mike. I pushed past him and angled up a dusty trail hardly daring to look behind me to see if I had scared the wren. When I turned around the Rock Wren still sat in the open on his stone stage and began singing. What a melodic musical outpouring from a Wren! I had finally seen my first Rock Wren! I added 9 more bird species on the return trip - this leg took us through Canoe Creek, which I am told, is home to the 16 foot Bull Snake. When I arrived home I tallied my 2-day bird count and reached 128 birds. Getting a lifer on the Churn Creek weekend was certainly an unexpected bonus, an almost unnecessary bonus on a trip that, by itself, is a trip of a life time. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column "CLICK HERE |
