Another Sooke Adventure

These are the good old days. Yesterday Tom W joined the usual suspects -- Mary, Mike, Jan, YT -- for another ramble in the magnificent Sooke Hills. Life tastes better in the Sooke wilderness, bigger and bolder too. Am I just a kneejerk member of the love-the-one-you're-with club? Maybe, but yesterday's circumstances --crisp near-zero temperatures, clear blue skies, no wind -- made the outing seem just a notch better than the other excellent Sooke adventures we've shared with M & M over the years.

Big old cedars, hemlocks and douglas-firs dominate the valley bottoms but we don't have to climb very high before these give way to open slopes of arbutus, manzanita and shore pine affording spectacular views of Juan de Fuca Strait and the Olympic Mountains.

Birding is never over-the-top in the hills but gangs of kinglets let us know that we aren't alone in this world. Yesterday a hairy woodpecker hung around long enough for us to give Tom a short clinic on the fine distinctions between the hairy and his little cousin, the downy. Like people, Corvus corax knows the value of balancing work with a measure of leisure: a murder of ravens played tag and revelled in their favourite aerial games. We checked every eagle cruising overhead in hopes one might turn out to be golden but no, they were all bald.

One denizen of the Sooke hills we always keep an eye out for is the sooty grouse. Yesterday I nearly stepped on one; too bad no one else was nearby to share in the startled excitement. We pause to look at maidenhair ferns or read signs that the first blooming of early saxifrage isn't far off. Mary is a photographer, I take pictures. We all delight simply in being where we are.

Around midday we find a suitable promontory to sit, unpack the lunch and watch the world go by. Mike and I entertain ourselves with sophomoric song and verse while the women try to steer the dialogue to more edifying subjects. If laughter is the spice of life these outings are well-spiced. I am always surprised, though never disappointed, that we typically don't have to share the hills with other humans. Sometimes a few, often none

By day's end the old bones may be a bit weary but we feel exhilarated, convinced that life can't get much better than this.

Martindale Maintains its Magic

Peregrinations needn't always be far-flung to please and inspire. Once upon a time one of my favourite destinations was Martindale Flats, just a 20-minute drive from our James Bay shack. No other place has given me so many memorable birding moments. The Globe and Mail's late, great Peter Whelan once described it, fairly, as the best Christmas bird count zone in all Canada. And for many years I was lucky enough to be in charge of it for the Victoria CBC. I took the job seriously and managed more than once to have my crew find a hundred species in the zone. Eventually I decided someone else should have a turn and I let Martindale go. Scafe Hill became my new CBC hangout and it has provided its own pleasures for the past fifteen years, with far less pressure.

Yesterday Jan and I returned to Martindale to do a gumboot walkabout just like the ones I used to take all the time. Who knows how long it had been. Ten years? Twelve? I have no idea. I had low expectations when we arrived; it didn't take long for the valley to exceed them. Bird numbers were low: with Victoria enjoying sub-zero temperatures these past few days, there was little open water and the hordes of ducks and geese normally present were missing. But rewards awaited. A flurry of song sparrows foraged in tall grass. Water pipits seldom cross our paths nowadays but Martindale is to pipits' liking; we soon came upon a group of forty.

The Saanich Peninsula is the only place in the New World to see sky larks and their numbers are in decline. Martindale has been a stronghold; we were happy to see it is still. A group of three dozen flushed at our approach; they chirruped a warning to one another and one even offered a snippet of its glorious song. A merlin, our second-smallest falcon, bulleted past us, then his bruiser cousin, a peregrine. A couple of marsh wrens strutted their stuff; a gang of 52 white-fronted geese were a highlight too.

We paused to offer new year's greetings to the current porcine quartet always available for a visit along the Galloping Goose Trail. We watched the latest generation of lambs demanding lunch from their mamas. Wandering back to the car we met stalwart birder pal Mike McGrenere, on his bicycle of course.

Martindale is altered from fifteen years ago. Ownership of some parcels has changed hands and some of the new proprietors are less welcoming of harmless birders than their predecessors. Some sections previously favoured by short-eared owls have been given over to a tree nursery so short-ears will not appear there again. Happily, however, I was pleased to discover that Martindale still has much of its old magic. I won't allow another decade to pass before we go there again.