We are definitely not in the Pacific Northwest any more. Our location these past three days is more like Wyoming, or perhaps even some portions of the Great Basin, only without the islands in the sky rising up from the high desert floor. There is sage, prickly pear cactus, primrose, and milkvetch scattered among the short grass growing here on the low rolling hills. Last night [May 21st] a lone coyote started to howl, triggering a domino effect that ended with what must have been 15-20 others joining in, along with a few Canadian geese from the lake.
We’ve had a bit of rain, but now it feels more like interior western rain, as opposed to the steady north-western rain we’ve experienced over the past year, and which followed us on this trip all the way to the Rockies. Saturday night was the only heavy rain, and though it sounded the same against the walls of our tent, the air remained warmer and drier and the storm passed quickly by recent standards.
The birds seem nosier and more abundant here, though given the environment this is certainly an illusion. The wide open spaces uninterrupted by trees allows sounds to travel further, and what birds are present tend to concentrate in greater numbers in what shrubs and trees there are available. However, the lack of forest cover also makes bird watching easier than it was in the thick forests of British Columbia.
Among the several species we’ve seen, the largest by far were two American white pelicans. In flight against the short grass and sage that define the undeveloped portions of the park, they appear as though from another planet. Even the Canada geese seem relatively small next to the pelicans, especially when seen soaring overhead.
We are located in the campground located furthest from the entrance to the park, in a spot reserved for tent campers. Since there are well over 200 campsites designated for RVs and trailers, and only about 30 in our location 2km up the road from everyone else, tent campers are clearly considered a rare breed. In spite of the fact it is Canada’s first long weekend of the summer season, for quite a while after our arrival it appeared we would have the entire tent area to ourselves. Ultimately someone did take one other site for the weekend, with a third occupied briefly for about a day.
In spite of the fact we are largely alone, we have definitely noticed our provincial park experiences have a far different feel to them. There is an air of regimentation about them that is definitely lacking when camping in undeveloped natural areas. We’ve come to expect parks to represent an attempt to conserve nature, but when there’s a golf course, general store, laundromat, and showers just down the road, and only one unadvertised nature trail, it’s difficult to see them that way, the crow building its nest right next to our picnic table and coyotes howling at night not withstanding. Zeus and I are breaking the rules every time we venture off into the hills blazing our own trail or following the multiple paths cut through the grass by deer, and the only communication we’ve had with the local conservation officer regarded the need to keep Zeus on a leash even if there wasn’t anyone around. Looking like he was fresh out of high school, the conservation officer apparently had nothing better to do until holiday weekend activities really began to heat up then come by and check on us every couple of hours or so, begging the question what exactly he’s been hired to conserve.
Part of it is no doubt the relative size of most of these provincial parks. Limited to a few thousand hectares at most, they are too small to adequately serve as nature preserves and when situated on a lake, as in this case, are fated to become a playground rather than a sanctuary. While we delight in being the only ones out on the dirt road that traverses the final 2 or 3 kilometres of this park looking at the birds and flowers that make up the local environment, it is difficult to not also bemoan the fact that of the hundreds of people currently camping here we are the only ones doing any looking. Such seeming disregard reflects a larger attitude toward nature that humanity is apart from nature, not a part of it.
When the job of a young conservation officer is to make sure dogs are leashed, alcohol isn’t being consumed, and quiet time begins promptly at 10:00 PM, conservation is nothing more than glorified policing. I am reminded of a quote by Aldo Leopold from his 1948 classic A Sand County Almanac: “In 1909, when I first saw the West, there were grizzlies in every major mountain mass, but you could travel for months without meeting a conservation officer. Today there is some kind of conservation officer ‘behind every bush,’ yet as wildlife bureaus grow, our most magnificent mammal retreats steadily toward the Canadian border.” Until next time.
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