pond life - Wilma Robinson

W. F. Robinson - July 16 1975

During one of those excessively hot days last week, I decided to forego my usual trip - to the Polder Marsh and spend a few hours watching the - smaller, but no less interesting - life to be found in and around - the small pond we are lucky enough to have on our property.

A typical lowland pond, it teems with creatures of all shapes and sizes. The most - obvious one are the dragonflies - - blue ones, gold ones, and - occasionally red ones, all - constantly rushing to and fro - along the edges of the pond. A - large golden female was busy - depositing her eggs here and - there on the pond's surface, - pausing only long enough to - greet the male who hovered above, belligerently pursuing any passing rivals. The smaller damselflies were more methodical about their egg-laying. Resting on floating leaves or grasses, they curved their long slender bodies into an * arc and carefully deposited their eggs on the masses of algae just below the surface of the water. -

The sunlight, cutting through the murky waters of the pond, showed up the resting forms of bullfrog tadpoles, perched on the submerged algae like sunbathers on a beach. Water-striders skimmed jerkily over the top of the pond, their feet pressing dimples into the surface tension as they pursued they tiny leaf-hoppers struggling to escape from the same invisible force. Grasping the small insect in both “hands" they proceed to eat it, turning it like a cob of corn. Beneath them, in the water, lurked several backswimmers, also waiting for the unlucky Leaf-hoppers. One of them, having secured his prize, darted to the safety of an underwater branch where he devoured his prey in comparative peace. A sudden splashing interrupted my underwater study, and I looked up to see a large muskrat leave his den across the pond and swim in a very purposeful way up the left arm of the slough. A few minutes later he returned, dragging a long skein of grass behind him. Without a glance in my direction, he disappeared, with another loud splash, into his burrow. I gathered he was carrying home food to his small family within. A rush of wings startled me, and I turned to see a great blue heron land awkwardly beside the pond to my right. A small bush partly concealed me, and I waited motionless to see if he would move in my direction. I could see him eyeing me with nervous apprehension and after five or six excruciatingly long minutes, he decided I was not part of the scenery and flew off, scolding me with loud indignant "gronks". Following his noisy departure, silence again returned to the pond. Comparative silence, that is, because small bands of bushtits were busily searching

through the willows for insects, and their constant bell-like twittering provided a soft background music. This peaceful interlude was suddenly shattered by the booming “jug-a-rum" of a nearby bullfrog. Floating with only his head out of water, he lazily strummed a few notes, like a bass fiddler tuning up for the evening symphony. A small powder-blue butterfly fluttered down to land softly on my finger. Her coliled tongue stretched out and lightly explored the surface of my hand. Possibly looking for salt, she continued to lick her way across the back of my hand and up my arm to my shoulder. I shook her off then, and she fluttered back to my hand. I maneouvered her onto the tip of my finger and carefully picked up my camera with the other hand. Holding the butterfly at arm's length, and focusing with one hand, I managed to snap a picture. She was still reluctant to abandon her “salt lick” and left the field. it took quite a while to convince her to leave. -

As I picked up my equipment and prepared to depart, there was a rustling in the tree beside me and a mother wood duck appeared in the entrance hole of one of our nesting boxes. She surveyed the area for a few minutes before scrambling through the hole and flying quietly away to the river.

I climbed the hill above the pond, and looking back, I could see the dragonflies still pursuing their prey back and forth over the shallow water, while the females dabbed the surface of the pond with eggs. The muskrat was returning to his burrow with another load of grass and, on the far side, a large carp stirred the muddy bottom of the pond in his search for food. -

A world within a world, hatching and dying, eating and being eaten, the pond was their universe, and for a time I had been the proverbial “watcher at the pond".

Gun dogs September 17, 1975

By W. ROBINSON

Imagine yourself with your ankles bound and your arms in a strait-jacket, having some huge creature toss you bodily out into a river or brushy field for some equally huge creature to find and carry in his mouth back to creature number one. All of this accompanied by shrill blasts of a whistle, firing of guns and loud angry shouts when creature number two seemed to be in danger of not locating you quickly enough.

When he does manage to find you, he picks you up in his teeth and carries you back to his master who promptly tosses you back out again for another try. Eventually your exhausted body, if there is any life left in it, is stuffed back into the sack in which you arrived and another victim is dragged out to take your place. Does it all sound “far out"? Well, it's not if you happen to be a duck, or a pigeon or even a Pheasant who has been unlucky enough to have been raised or purchased by certain trainers of gun dogs.

These sportsmen (?) apparently see nothing cruel or inhuman about their practise of using live birds in this way. One even suggested that the ducks “look forward to it”. “Gun dogs”, they say, “have gentle mouths, the birds aren't hurt". Some of the dogs I have watched being trained in this way obviously had not yet reached that stage in their schooling, since the birds, when they were finished with them, were bloodied and bruised, if not dead. We have seen the bodies of beautiful pheasants left lying in the ditch when the trainers had left the field.

While it may be true that not all of the birds are damaged in this way, it is certainly true that some are but aside from the physical abuse they may suffer, there must be considerable mental anguish involved from the birds point of view. Is that not worthy of human consideration? Don't ducks, pigeons or pheasants feel fear or panic as their legs are strapped tightly together with rubber thongs and their wings are either stripped of their flight feathers or bound with adhesive tape? They are then stuffed into a sack, along with several other unfortunate cellmates, and trundled off to some strange river bank where their owner partakes of his God-given rights to abuse his fellow creatures. Don't expect help from the S.P.C.A., either. They came up with a great cop-out. “These birds have been raised by the gun dog people.” they say, “They are not wild animals. There is nothing we can do.” Are not cattle, sheep, horses, dogs and cats also raised by their owners? Since when has the S.P.C.A. hesitated to step in when cruelty and abuse has been heaped upon one of these? It seems like strange reasoning.

While it may be true that not all of the birds are damaged in this way, it is certainly true that some are But aside from the physical abuse they may suffer, there must be considerable mental anguish involved from the birds point of view. Is that not worthy of human consideration? Don't ducks, pigeons or pheasants feel fear or panic as their legs are strapped tightly together with rubber thongs and their wings are either stripped of their flight feathers or bound with adhesive tape? They are then stuffed into a sack, along with several other unfortunate cellmates, and trundled off to some strange river bank where their owner partakes of his God-given rights to abuse his fellow creatures. Don't expect help from the S.P.C.A., either. They came up with a great cop-out. “These birds have been raised by the gun dog people.” they say, “They are not wild animals. There is nothing we can do.” Are not cattle, sheep, horses, dogs and cats also raised by their owners? Since when has the S.P.C.A. hesitated to step in when cruelty and abuse has been heaped upon one of these? It seems like strange reasoning.

The R.C.M.P. and the Conservation Officer have expressed their abhorrence of this method of dog-training but they, too, say there is no law against it, so, figuratively speaking, their hands are tied, too. We are told one must be able to prove that this practise is causing pain to the birds and that if a bird is badly injured, all a trainer has to do is wring it's neck and proceed with the training using the dead bird. Since the bird is now dead, it would be feeling no pain. End of case. I suppose now, we will be accused of being “bleeding hearts”. But when man’s heart ceases to bleed for the suffering of his fellow-creatures, then we will all have reason to fear him. A man without compassion is a man to avoid. Especially if you happen to be a duck or a pigeon or a pheasant or even a gundog.

- The Alouette Field Naturalist Notes W. Robinson winter coming

.- The Alouette Field Naturalist Notes

W. Robinson

Now that the rains have come again and with them, the onset of cooler and damper weather, we can look forward to a change in our birding activities. The bulk of the warbler migration will soon be over, the Osprey has gone, and so, too, has the Nighthawk. Robins, Meadowlarks, Starlings and Jays, we will have with us all winter, but the Barn Swallows are gathering in the hundreds on all the power lines and they, too, soon will be leaving on their long journey south.

But the skies are not deserted with their leaving. |- Soon the Short-eared Owls will take over the meadows, and Red-tailed Hawks and Bald Eagles will share the bare branched trees of the Valley. The bleak gray days of winter may not inspire the poets, but they are the best days for viewing most of our raptors. True, the Marsh Hawks and Red-tails are with us all summer, but the Rough legged Hawks and the rarer Golden Eagles are not usually seen until the winter months.

Sparrow Hawks soon will reappear on the pole wires, watching the fields for signs of mice. Perhaps this winter will see the return of the Snowy Owls, although after last winter's large migration, it is not likely that they will appear in quite such large numbers.

The Barn Owls are active around our place on these moonlit nights. A few squeaks will bring them, on their big soft wings, to within inches of one's head. After a few passes, though, they realize it's not a mouse they hear and flutter off to sit on the trees nearby to watch and wait for their real quarry. - Screech Owls, too, can be attracted in this same way. They get very upset hearing their calls repeated in their own territory and will sit a few feet away from the source of the calls, trying to out-shout the sound of their own voice. Their small body will shake with emotion as they lean forward and give the intruder everything they've got. When the annoying calls are stopped, the little Owl, satisfied that he has routed the enemy, flutters away in search of more important things, like his nightly quota of mice. The recent showers coming as they did, after a long period of unusually dry weather, will be welcomed, also, by the mushroom seekers. By now, the woods and fields should be offering their varied specimens.

Just how many "mushroom freaks” there are was made evident by the large attendance at the recent Mushroom Fair at the Centennial Museum. An estimated 2,000 enthusiasts gathered to exchange information and marvel at the beauty of the great variety of mushrooms and fungi on display. It was surprising how many they managed to find in spite of the dry weather.

Our next Naturalist meeting will be held on Thursday, the 10th of October. A slide show featuring the flora and fauna of Cod Island and Whonnock Lake will be our programme for the evening. The show is part of the result of an O.F.Y. Project undertaken by four of our more active young members and will be an interesting and informative presentation.

Pitt Polder morning in 1974

Naturalists Notes

By W.F. ROBINSON

The sun was already up and the ground fog was lifting as I headed out towards the Pitt Polder green belt on a clear and beautiful morning last week. Birds were singing everywhere and the walk took twice as long as usual while I stopped here and there to watch what each one was doing. The black-headed grosbeaks sang the loudest and longest, trying to attract their less vociferous females. Yellow warblers trilled from the dead branches of willows fallen along the edge of the slough. Below them the busy form of a beaver pushed through the dark water, occasionally ducking under and using his tail to strike the water with a thundering clap and a mighty splash, letting everyone know who owned the pond. The sun had not reached the sphagnum bog as yet, and I was surprised to see the whole expanse covered in a soft white bloom, as though the Labrador Tea had blossomed early. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be curtains of cobwebs enclosing the tip of each branch on every bush in the bog. The dew-covered webs glowed in the morning light and created the illusion of masses of white flowers. Further along the trail a huge cock pheasant preened in a patch of sunlight. Two heavy Canada geese in their bizarre yellow collars plodded along the muddied shore of the slough. Too tame to fly at my approach, they bellowed and honked before sliding into the water. Beyond the slough, the mountainside pulsed with the booming calls of the blue grouse, and a heron rose from somewhere in the marsh and flew with labored strokes to some new fishing area nearer  the mountain.

The trail rose now, up a rocky incline. A mourning dove whirred from her nest on the branch of a sprawling pine tree. Warbling vireos and olive-sided flycatchers called from the trees above the trail, while out on the marsh the yellow throats repeatedly warned everyone “the witch is here! The witch is here!” (At least that’s what it sounded like to me). Another call came from the top of a fir, “Richard, Richard! Sweeties Come Here!': Investigation proved it to be a solitary vireo. About 200 feet above the meadow, I reached my vantage point. A western tanager, brilliantly yellow and red, called from the pine above my head. His loud robin-like call sounds like it is being cranked out by an organ-grinder. A tiny rufous hummingbird investigated the scarlet flowers on the tips of the pine branches, her whirring wings loosening a cloud of pollen from the male bloom nearby.

I turned my scope on the marsh below, where we have had a sandhill crane's nest under surveillance for almost a month. The young are due to hatch any day now. As I adjusted the focus, I was startled to see a crane just landing at the nest. I had not even seen him arrive. He walked to the nest,threw back his head and shattered the morning air with his loud and vibrant bugling. His mate joined in from her position on the nest, both calls blending as one. After this noisy and obviously sincere greeting, they quickly changed places on the nest, the female leaving almost immediately for the feeding grounds. Further out on the marsh, two cranes flew to the edge of a green grass-slough where they too, called loudly before settling down to the business of searching for breakfast.

Over on the old dyke-line, in the top of a wind-worn poplar a Red-tailed hawk fed her young from the edge of a bulky nest. Three wobbly heads could be seen eagerly stretching for their share of food.

Towards the noon hour things settle down and resume their normal pace, but the mornings on the Polder are lively and rewarding to those who can take the time to see and appreciate nature unlimited.

Weaver Lake trip W F Robinson

W. Robinson

_

Anyone who hasn't taken advantage of our beautiful Indian Summer and chucked the housework or the gardening for a day in the great outdoors has just no sense of values. Never one to let drudgery stand in my way, I gathered up a couple of kindred spirits on a cloudless day last week and we Set Off for Weaver Lake. We stopped for a while at the spawning channels on the Creek to admire the scarlet Sockeye intent on procreating the species, but Our goal was further up the mountain road. When I say “road”, I use the word rather lightly. It's more like a washed-out creek bed— full of rocks and huge potholes. Only a four-wheel drive or a Volkswagen would be brave enough to tackle it. We didn't have a four-wheel drive but we had the next best thing, and after a few bone-rattling miles we reached the lake. The only sign of life was a canoe up at the far end of the lake with a pair of fishermen patiently waiting for a nibble. The quiet was so intense that when one of the men coughed, it sounded like a gun-shot. The water level of the lake had receded recently, probably when the submerged pipeline was opened to allow water to be drawn off to serve the spawning  channels downstream.

Bird life at the lake was meagre, some flocks of pine siskin and black-capped chickadees, a yellow-bellied sapsucker (red-breasted) and at the lake-edge, a dipper. The latter seemed almost oblivious to our presence and bobbed in and out of the shallow water almost at our feet. Only the click of the camera shutter made him pause and consider us as possible danger. The hills to the North of the lake, denuded by logging, were ablaze with Autumn colours.

The main intent of our trip was to investigate the woods surrounding the lake to see what mushrooms we could find. The forest floor was wall-to-wall moss—brilliant greens and softer than any carpet underfoot. Mushrooms were not exactly plentiful but we did find several which were new to us. One was a cluster of beautiful lilac-coloured mushrooms, identified as Cortinarius traganus. Another was a Strange Boletus with a huge swollen base. The others. equally interesting, we have not as yet identified. Dozens of tiny delicate mushrooms dotted the moss carpet in some of the moister places. These ranged from brilliant orange to pale colourless greys.

The vine maples, birch and willows are slowly healing the scars on the mountainside. We left the quiet little lake while the sun was still on it. and braved the rocky road down to civilization again. Cars were still funneling into the Weaver Creek Spawning Channels as we passed, and crowds of people lined the banks to watch the spawning sockeye.

I hope they never fix the road to the lake. The thought of that many people heading on to crowd its silent shores is appalling. “Progress” could only bring harm to such a place as Weaver Lake.

W F Robinson Gazette august 21, 1974

-Alouette field Naturalist Notes

April is the month of the Swallow's return. Although some, like the Tree Swallow and the Violet-green, may arrive in the middle of March, large concentrations of them are not usually found until April is well on its way.

Most of us welcome their return, not only because they represent the coming of spring and we missed their cheerful twittering during the long winter months, but their presence around our yards means we have our own mosquito control ready to go into action. One swallow can consume over 2,000 mosquitoes a day. Since swallows, unlike most birds, have no crop in which to store large quantities of food for later digestion, they must feed continuously in order to survive. For this reason, they are Specially equipped with long triangular wings for swift, maneuverable flight. Like other birds which must catch insects on the wing, they have particularly long bristles around their bills. These bristles have Sensory nerve cells at their base and act as organs of touch. Their eyes, also are specially adapted, by being capable of instantaneous shifts of focus from far to near. This is vital in all birds which must pursue their prey at great speeds. Since all their feeding is done in the air, swallows have no need for strong legs and feet so, as a result, their feet are small and weak and their legs are scarcely noticeable as they perch on the telephone wires. In our area we have five different species of swallows. The Tree swallow and the Violet-green have already been mentioned, and these are the only ones which will nest in nesting boxes. The Barn Swallow and the Cliff Swallow readily nest under the eaves of barns or other buildings, using small balls of mud to build their nests. The Rough winged Swallow nests in burrows in narks of sand or clay, usually in the vicinity of water. Plans for nesting boxes for Tree Swallows may be obtained through the Alouette Field Naturalists, who put up some 70 boxes last year.

There seems to be no real preference about which direction the box should face as we have had them facing in every direction with equal success. Height also can be variable, with some of our boxes at eye level and others 20 feet up in the tree. The boxes can be made so that they may be cleaned out each year but this is not essential. No roost is necessary below the entrance hole, as swallows land right on the edge of the hole itself. Sometimes the birds spend weeks quarreling over nesting boxes before they actually begin to build in them. When they show an interest in nest-building, one can scatter a few feathers around the yard, this stimulates their nesting activities and it can be quite amusing to watch them vieing over the falling feathers. They appear to  prefer fairly stiff feathers about 3 or 4 inches long, as opposed to down, although they will accept down if there is nothing else. Barn Swallows and Cliff Swallows can be encouraged to build on the sides of outbuildings if some sort of ledge is placed up near the eaves. If the weather is dry, they have a hard time finding mud for nests, a puddle of water left lying of clay soil can be a source of material for them.

It is fascinating to watch the Cliff Swallows as they build their gourd-shaped nests with hundreds of clay pellets. Not until they are completely satisfied with the architecture of their clay home will they begin to feather the inside. If you erected swallow boxes last year and had no luck in attracting a family of swallows, don't despair – it may take them a while to get used to the idea of nesting in that particular area. Once they have raised a family in one of your boxes, you should have no trouble the next year in acquiring tenants for as many boxes as you may care to provide.

Pitt Polder Marsh plants

–Wednesday, Aug. 21, 1974 -

W. Robinson

When we think of nature walks to observe Wild flowers, we usually think in terms of alpine meadows, cool woodland glades, or even just gravelly roadsides (which sometimes offer a surprising variety of blooms). But maybe we should consider the plants which can be found growing in the ponds, sloughs and ditches of areas such as the Pitt Polder Green Belt.

Here, in the warm blackish waters we can find several unusual and highly specialized plants. One of these is the Common Bladder wort. Because it seldom sends up its bright yellow flowers above the dark surface of the slough, many people fail to associate the single flower stalk with the masses of foliage beneath the water and therefore believe it to be rare.

Bladderworst are freefloating plants and, as the name implies, are supported in the water by a series of small black “bladders” which are situated along the stems of their finely-forked leaves.

The bladders serve another purpose, they are ingenious hollow structures with a small valve that is normally held open. when the minute crustaceans or other small organisms that inhabit warm waters swim into the bladders they trip the tiny guard hairs and the valve Closes behind them. The plant then secretes its digestive juices the nitrogenous compounds get absorbed into the plant.

The Round-leaved Sundew  works in much the same way, only above the water. Growing in wet boggy ground, the Sun Dew Suffers from a deficiency of nitrogen and phosphorous and must make up this deficiency with a supplement of insect fare. The leaves of this plant are edged with a ring of hairs, each hair tipped with a dew-drop of ruby red viscid fluid. The insects, attracted by the colour, are trapped by the sticky liquid. The leaf edges curl inward, the digestive juices begin their work, and the plant is fed.. Another common, but not so spectacular plant is the Water Shield. The floating leaves of this plant are oval and are sometimes mistaken for small lily-pads. What makes it unusual is that the stems and leaves are coated with a clear slippery jelly. Only the parts above water (the purplish flower and the flower stem) are free of this film. Water Shield can be found in many of the sloughs of the Green Belt. Buckbean is another plant of the boggy ponds. Massed in the shallow waters of the pond's edge, this hardy plant displays large fleshy leaves, each a group of three leaflets. Above the leaves, on a sturdy 6 to 12 inch stem, is a short raceme holding numerous fringed white flowers which are sometimes flushed with a delicate pink. It is a strange and beautiful flower to come across amongst the sphagnum || moss and cotton grass which usually surround the ponds of the bog. There are many other interesting plants to be found in the waters of the Pitt Polder. including the common yellow Water Lily, the purple flowers of Marsh Cinquefoil, white clouds of Bedstraw, and the pale blue of Forget-me-nots. Many of these can be seen by walking the dykes but for others it may be necessary to go into the marsh, itself.

Whichever way you go about it, you can spend many absorbing hours photographing or just examining and enjoying the wild plants of the Polder.

Try it sometime – you'll like it! -

January 24, 1976,, Maple Ridge Gazette Nature notes

By W. F. ROBINSON

Our first canoe trip of the '76 season couldn't have had better weather if we had personally ordered it from Norm Grohman. Not a cloud in the sky and very little wind made ideal water conditions for paddling about in the Pitt marsh. We had a pretty good turnout, with 16 people in six canoes. It’s a bit difficult to see or hear very much with that many people all together, so we separated into two groups. That way, the wildlife disturbed by the first group had time to resettle before the next group arrived.

On our way into the marsh, we had a rather unnerving experience. Noticing little flourescent tags tied to the brush every few feet along the side of the small waterway leading to the main slough, we stopped to investigate. They were marking the location of strategically placed steel traps set at the entrance of every little muskrat burrow along the shore. We were told, a few weeks ago, that the muskrat population was too high in the Green Belt, so it would seem they are being killed simply as a “population control measure" by the Fish and Wildlife Branch. Some of the traps were the Conibear type which kills instantly, but the others were the old leg-hold style which must be set in the water or on a float so that the animal drowns in an attempt to escape. Many of these traps were out of the water, the water levels obviously having dropped since the traps were set out, which leads one to wonder how long they had been left unattended. Several of the Conibear traps contained dead muskrats, some of them looking as though they had been there for some time. Further along, as we dragged our canoes over the small beaver dam, we saw two large beaver traps set into the sides of the lodge. Apparently they are practising population control on the beaver, too.

Still further out, in the main marsh, we saw that the large muskrat mounds had traps set at every entrance. None of these traps were set off, which seems to indicate that the muskrat family which built and inhabited these mounds has probably been wiped out. Or “removed”, as the F&W phrase it. - Looking over the open spaces of the main marsh, we counted 17 bald eagles, mostly immatures. Some were sitting on the muskrat mounds, some flying low over the marsh and others sitting in the bare poplar trees along the old ditchlines. At this time of the year, one of the main food sources for the eagles would be the muskrats. A raptor count the day before had listed 31 bald eagles for the Pitt Meadows area. The same count revealed 33 red-tailed hawks. Since both these raptors feed upon muskrats and since, as the F&W themselves stated, the mink were also preying upon them, the installation of the trapline would seem to be an unnecessary additional “control”. - At this point, I would like to inform the public at large that, as members of the Advisory Committee for the management of the Pitt Polder Green Belt(or the Pitt Management Area), the Alouette Field Naturalists were told nothing about the “control” of muskrats or beaver in the Pitt marsh. Had we been consulted, we would not have given our approval for either move. Whether it would have made any difference or not, is debatable, but it would have been on record. I think we, the Public, must decide whether we are going to allow wildlife in the Green Belt to fluctuate normally from year to year, or whether we are going to enforce man's own ideas of “proper population levels” by shooting,trapping, poisoning whatever. Naturalists, I am sure, abhor the idea of this type of interference, but there are others who condone it and prefer the ordered regulation of current management practises. A sort of wildlife “farm” where “crops" are raised and “harvested” and the “noxious weeds” removed in favour of “productive plants”. To use this area for “nature education” of school children, under these circumstances, would be meaningless. What they would be learning would be wildlife management, instead. There is a difference. Apart from our disturbing discovery of the traplines, we had a very enjoyable field trip with everyone turning up, eventually, at the landing. Some sunburned faces and a few aching muscles are mute testimonials to a day well-spent.  

Maple Ridge gazette january 28 197-

By W. ROBINSON

A few days of mild temperatures can often lead to thoughts of spring even though the calendar tells us it's still only January. Out on the Polder last week the warming sun, following a few days of copious rainfall, had melted the snow and raised the temperature of the damp soil beneath just enough for it to give off the unmistakeable odor of spring. I think the birds were the first to notice it and they responded in the age-old way by “lightly turning to thoughts of love". The Song Sparrow, instead of cheeping sharply in his nondescript winter voice, threw back his head and broke out into the Sweet and melodious notes of his spring song. The chickadees, too, were taken in by the weather and changed from their “chick-a-dee-dee" twittering to their long drawn out two-note call which sounds as though it comes from some other bird, something like the notes of the white-throated Sparrow.

A pair of herons were so moved by the feeling of returning spring that they began their courtship dance in the middle of the road. They faced one another on the pavement, raised their heavy blue wings, like a woman picking up her long skirts, held them up daintily (if such ungainly creatures could possibly be dainty) and, with their long bills pointing skyward, they slowly pirouetted around each other, oblivious to the oncoming traffic.

Unwilling to interrupt the dance, I slowed my car to a stop, cursing myself for leaving my camera behind. Finally, one of the birds came out of its trance and realizing my presence, suddenly became once more the awkward and unco-ordinated bird we know so well and with a very heron-like squawk it lurched into flight and the spell was broken. Both birds flapped noisily over the dyke to the river bank where they presumably continued their promenade in peace.

Over the heavy sedge meadows, flattened by the weight of the forgotten snows, a pair of marsh hawks chased each other in a series of graceful dips, pausing now and then, at the top of the rise, to turn a complete somersault, dropping down, then rising again to continue the flight. Usually the male performs this nuptial flight alone while the female watches from the ground, but occasionally they both take part.

Even a pair of ravens was stricken and sat on the branch of a poplar tree murmering low, Sweet raven talk while one of them softly rubbed the  top of its mate's head with its large heavy bill. The caressed bird slowly lowered its head until it almost touched its feet. We raised a crow once that responded with  similar head-rubbing by closing its eyes in ecstasy and almost  going into a trance. Such is the power of a warm weather in January. Should we tell them February usually brings winter  back with a vengance or should we, too, ignore the calendar  and, like the birds, relax enjoy it?

january 4, 1978 , Wilma Robinson maple ridge gazette, christmas bird count

By W. ROBINSON    January 4, 1978

We had a beautiful day for our Christmas Bird Count last week – clear and cold most of the day, although some areas had brief morning fog to dampen spirits for a while. The still, cold conditions kept a number of the smaller birds from venturing forth to be counted, at least in my own count area. The result was that, while the species numbers were the same as last year – 100 different bird species – the numbers of individuals decreased from almost 47,000 to about 16,000.

Although not all the counts are in yet, there are several new species added to our Christmas list. One of these was the recording of two Anna's hummingbirds, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Gillette of Pitt Meadows who have been hosts to a pair of these birds for the last two years. If we had known the Gillettes last year, we could have had the hummers recorded in our 1976 count. The birds couldn't have picked a better yard to winter in. Mr. Gillette has fixed up a box under his porch roof, puta light bulb in it to keep the feeder from freezing and the birds come there to dine in style. When it's not freezing, they can drink at another feeder further out under the wide eaves. This is the first pair of Anna's hummingbirds, to my knowledge, recorded wintering in Pitt Meadows.

Another rarity on this year's count was a white-winged crossbill, sighted by Mr. JackWilliams in the S.W. Coquitlam count area. Our owls were down this year, with only the great horned and the short-eared owls making an appearance. The pygmy, barn, screech and saw-whet owls kept themselves hidden that day. Even the pileated woodpecker which visits our backyard all winter, failed to turn up for the count. However, we did get tree sparrows, a Swainson's hawk, some gray-crowned rosy finches (beside the post office in Haney), mountain chickadees, a spotted sandpiper (rare here in winter) and one Virginia rail, also rare here in winter. 40 red-tailed hawks (60 last year), 44 marsh hawks, 25 rough-legged hawks, 1 peregrine falcon, 2 kestrels, 1 golden eagle and 4 bald eagles made up the raptor population. The Canada goose sightings were up from 470 last year to 1,168 this year. I imagine there would have been a few more geese if it had not been for a couple of hunters who let loose a volley of shots under cover of a large fog bank on the Pitt River and sent a flock of more than 100 frightened Canada,s fleeing down river away from the guns. Several lone shots minutes later seemed to indicate that they were finishing off the wounded ones. When the fog lifted and the hunters became aware of us watching, they quickly started their motor and went off down river. The season for Canada geese will not open until next year. Not all hunters are Sportsmen. Apart from that one instance, we had a very enjoyable day and we would like to thank all those who took part in the count. When all the records have been compiled, we will try  a copy of the count results to each participant.

* * 事 مھا۔

Maple Ridge Gazette article circa 1974

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Alouette Field Naturalists Notes

W. Robinson

The Katzies who occupied the lower Pitt valley before the coming of the white man, had, as one of their Guardian Spirits, the sandhill crane. According to their legends, Khaals, a being of marvelous powers, came upon two Katzie sisters as they were digging Indian potatoes in the marsh. When he was told that they were doing this because it was all they had to eat, he said, "Very well. You shall fly and you shall become sandhill cranes. Henceforth you shall roam over the meadows as you do now.” And he raised his hands and transformed them into cranes. So the cranes laugh and dance after they root up the ground just as the two sisters laughed and danced when they dug up their potatoes. So said Diamond Jenness in his book, The Faith  of a Coast Salish Indian.

The fact I mention this to point out that the Sandhill Crane has been part of the Pitt  meadows area for a great many years and is not, as some people believe, a recent arrival since the building of the dykes. It would be a shame if, in our zeal to "manage” the marshes we inadvertently upset some vital balance and lose our old friends, the Sandhills.

In order to learn more about our local cranes, particularly those inhabiting the Pitt Polder, we have, this year undertaken a pretty thorough study of the birds. This  involved almost daily visits to their various feeding areas and nesting sites beginning the First of April (when they arrived) and it will continue until they leave in October. We have learned quite a bit about their behaviour patterns and have come to know at least three pairs intimately. That is, we worry about them when one is missing or when there is a storm on the meadows, or if the planes are flying low again over their nesting area. Now, six weeks after incubation has been completed, we have seen and heard five young cranes. These five belong to three pairs of cranes. Two pairs successfully hatched 2 young each and the other young has been seen only with one of its parents, which could mean that the other adult is somewhere in marsh with the other chick. Young Sandhills must be kept separated for the first few weeks as they tend to fight and often will kill each other in some sort of sibling rivalry. So the male adult takes one young and the other stays with the female. When the female wants to brood them, they call off the feud and snuggle under her warm feathers together. Apparently this works quite well, at least with the one pair we are able to watch regularly, because the two young are still thriving and are now, at six weeks old, about two and a half feet high and a warm reddish brown. Altogether, on the Polder, there are six nesting pairs of cranes and at least two (possibly four) bachelor cranes not yet breeding. Three pairs, as I said, are raising five young. One pair lost its brood,probably because of the cold rainy weather during incubation. The other two pairs nested in inaccessible areas and we will be unable to ascertain the results of their labours until they re-appear in the feeding areas later in the summer. The single cranes move about from one feeding area to another, whereas the cranes with young stay in a feeding area not far from where they nested.

We are preparing a detailed report on our findings for this year and will be sending copies to the Fish and Wildlife Branch and the Provincial Museaum in Victoria. If the information gained will help protect the cranes and their habitat, it will certainly be worth every rain-soaked minute spent on the survey.

gazette article

Sept 25th 1974, W. Robinson

Last week we tried something new in the way of field trips. It was suggested by - one of our young members that we hold a “100 Species Day".

The idea was to form several which were allowed to go anywhere in the Lower Mainland on that specific day from 8:00 in the morning until – 3:30 in the afternoon. Each individual species of bird would be recorded during that time period and the group - which came closest to recording 100 species would be declared the winner. Sort of a preview of the Christmas count. - Our team decided to run out to Iona Island to record the shorebirds. Since at 8 o'clock in the morning, the fog was quite heavy, and we found it hard to locate the birds, we thought we would use the first hour as travelling time and

when the fog lifted we would be at our destination. Sure enough, the fog was much lighter when we reached Iona Island, and we recorded quite a few shorebirds and various waterfowl on the settling ponds. Nothing unusual though, so – on to Reifel Refuge.

At the sanctuary we picked up a few more species of ducks, but no European Wigeon as we had hoped. The Snow Geese were in the area of the feeding ponds but no large flocks were seen out on the foreshore. No Peregrine Falcons, either, only Red-tailed Hawks and the occasional Rough-legged Hawk.

Undaunted, we decided to dash off to Point Roberts and perhaps get some Jaegers or something equally exciting out on the water. Well, we didn't See any Jaegers, but we did get Marbled Murrelets. different Scoters Common Loon.

We did our viewing from Lighthouse Park, just across the border. It's an open park an the water's edge, no trees and very windswept. But the buildings are rather unique and they have a wonderful three-tiered observation tower. I'd like to visit it again when I have more time—as it was, our time limit was up and we had to hurry home to hand in our list of species. We were quite proud of our 61 different species until we discovered that the team which Maple Ridge and Pitt Polder had outdone us by 5 more species. Which only goes to show that the best place to find birds is in your own back yard.

By W. Robinson *

On the morning of August 21, five Sandhill Cranes circled over our house. Flying in wide circles, they soared higher and higher until they were at a height of approximately 800 feet. Then they straightened out into a line, headed Southwest and slowly disappeared from view. That was our last sighting, for this year, of the Sandhill Cranes in the Pitt Polder.

But on Sunday September 15, a group of us visited the Reynolds farm in Ladner - where we had been told a flock  of cranes had stopped over on their way South. This farm has been a resting and feeding spot for migrating cranes for untold years, and we had long suspected that our Polder cranes could be part of the visiting flocks. - Mr. Reynolds told us when we arrived, that the birds had landed several weeks before, approximately the time our cranes disappeared. We were invited to walk out to the area. behind a large cornfield, where the flock was feeding on the stubble of a field of barley. As we approached, a pair of C accompanied by one young, flew off to our right. These were resident cranes who had nested every year in the bog behind the fields. Then, as the barley field came into sight, we had our first view of the flock of Sandhills. Frightened by our approach, the cranes rose into the air, flew about 500 feet, and settled down in an adjoining field about 250 yards away from us. With 'scopes and binoculars we counted 20 cranes, including 3 young birds.

Our study of the Polder cranes showed 14 adults and 3 positive (6 possible) young cranes. Assuming that there could be cranes nesting across the Pitt at Addington Point or the Widgeon Creek flats, the size of the Ladner flock seemed to indicate that it was most likely the flock from the Pitt a 1"ea. The small number of young cranes was disappointing, but we were told later that 24 cranes were counted the day before, with 8 young included. As we watched 3 cranes broke away from the flock flew off towards the river. Apparently this happens off and on during the day, with the wandering cranes rejoining the flock later. So the numbers could fluctuate from one hour to the next, but the count of 24 cranes was the highest taken. We felt certain that at least the bulk of the flock came from the Polder, and we spent the next half hour happily snapping pictures of the preening birds. Our thanks to Mr. Reynolds for allowing us one of the most satisfying bird-watching trips of the summer. May there be many more like that!

gazette article

By W. ROBINSON    May 23, 1972

Spring seems a strange time for a conservation-minded organization like Ducks Unlimited to bring its big drag lines into the Pitt Wildlife Management Area (Pitt Polder Green belt). -

Surely it would have been better for the wildlife, particularly nesting waterfowl, had the work been carried out during the fall and winter. This last winter would have been ideal – what with the warm dry weather we had.

But I understand the diggers were busy on Douglas Island, presumably preparing another duck-producing area.

     LEFT ALONE

     We have been assured by the Fish and Wildlife that the crucial new dyke which will traverse one of the nesting areas of the sandhill cranes, will not be worked on during their nesting season. However, the whole marsh area under development is only a matter of some 2,000 acres and, enclosed as it is by the mountains, any activity of those large machines will not exactly go un-noticed by the cranes. - We understand also, that the fish and wildlife people intend to use an airboat as transportation for the workers. And we all know what an unearthly racket they make! We have heard that U.S. residents use them on the marshes in Idaho, but hose marshes are vast open areas. Here, the sound will be caught by the mountains and thrown back and forth across the marsh. The helicopters are bad enough but they don't hold a candle to an airboat!

WATCH WIRES

      In a matter of a week or so the cranes should be returning. This year they will find Hydro wires strung across their nesting grounds. They'll see the draglines at work in their marsh — men and machines, where up to now there has been isolation. Their small sphagnum bog at Green Hill has been drained to accommodate trails for a pheasant-shooting farm. Pasture clearing operations are encroaching on yet another nesting area just south of the

How much more pressure can these birds take before they abandon this, the last foothold in their ancient nesting grounds of the Pitt Valley? Are we to lose, as a resident, this magnificent bird,

relic of prehistoric times and closest living relative of the whooping crane?

Ducks and geese can be raised in barnyards and most of the pheasants shot these days are raised the same way. But sandhill cranes need the isolation of wild marshes in order to breed and raise at least one of their two annual offspring. It is really too much to ask that they and their marsh be left alone?

We have been assured by the fish and wildlife that the project will improve the feeding opportunities of the cranes. I have no doubt that it will, but at the expense of the conditions necessary for nesting – namely, isolation and large expanses of brush and sphagnum. The most damaging change will be the loss of isolation.

Why encourage these hordes of people into the area by providing accommodations for more and more types of recreation? Horseback riding, boy Scout camping, bicycle riding, falconry, dog trails, bird-watching, hiking, biological studies, canoeing, nature interpretation centers, viewing ponds with pinioned birds, oh yes, and hunting(how could I forget!) are some of the suggested recreations under consideration by the fish and wildlife. I’m rather surprised that they haven't mentioned reopening the ‘drag-strip', after all, it attracted a lot of people after midnight.

The Pitt Marsh cannot be all things to all people without losing its self in the bargain.

Our field trip this weekend will be on Saturday when we will visit the UBC Research Forest hoping to see some blue birds on migration. We meet at the gates at 9 a.m., bring your lunch but not your dogs. They are not allowed in the forest because of the deer. ---