Category: Crows, wildlife and stuff

Scary Creatures

ooer…

One of the joys of a career in geology is the opportunity it affords humble earth scientists to get closer to nature, David Attenborough style. Sometimes a bit too close. Here are a few stories on the nastier strains of wildlife that I’ve encountered myself, or stories that friends have told me. I’ve covered some already –tortoises, ostriches, polar bears etc.– so they won’t be rehashed here.

This list is NOT a top ten and it’s not arranged by level of threat or ability to cause painful death or injury. It’s simply a list of stuff that occurred to me after my mother-in-law (thanks Maureen) planted the idea for the post. If you have your own story, let me know via the comments.

Hairy Insect Things With Lots of Legs

Best avoided.

In the field, anything with lots of hair, a bulbous pink abdomen and more than 4 legs should be studiously avoided, which is why I’d never vote for Boris Johnson.

If you ask me, the single worst insect nightmare is the camel spider, not actually a spider and not really a scorpion either. I touched on them in an earlier blog post. Giant sandy coloured fuckers with huge jaws, they lurk all over Africa and the Middle East, lying in wait to scare the shit out of arachnophobic people like me.

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Kevin And The Ostrich Of Death.

Full credit to Kevin Broomberg for writing this down, sending it to me, giving me permission to publish it, and putting up with my simplistic edits.

When I grow up I want to be an ostrich.

Here in the urbancrows e-rookery we get a lot of comments about the blog. Granted most are spam bots, or messages from lonely ladies in Russia offering me pictures of themselves au naturale if I just click on a link (which is very nice of them), but every now and then something I write attracts real comments from what I believe are real people. Strangely, I got the most comments after I published the “Field Dump” story, which either 1) tells us something about the human obsession with the act of coiling a rope, or 2) highlights a worryingly low level of maturity in geologists’ humour. Or perhaps both.

To date, I hadn’t received a comment that was compelling enough to make me want to publish it as a full post. They’re mostly short anecdotes, or nice feedback that might add texture to a story, but they lack sufficient detail to make the cut.

That changed the other day thanks to my new mate Kevin Broomberg in South Africa. Kevin’s note pushed all the right buttons for me. He spun me a tale about what happened to him and a few colleagues when they met a rather ornery 8ft tall death chicken. The ripping yarn included dangerous wildlife with nasty big claws, misplaced avian sexual desire, and a remote field camp -how could I not publish it? The only thing missing was zombies (which I wasn’t able to write in to the tale, try as I might.)

Full Patch Death Chickens looking for trouble.

So, with his permission, a few of his photos and a bit of editing, here’s his true story about a randy ostrich that made life very difficult for Kevin and his crew. Full credit to Kevin for this piece. I’ve done some editing but it’s 99% his work. Sadly, he tells me all the photos he had of this poultry incident (sorry) were fried in a shipping container which baked in the sun for 4 weeks during a move from Dar es Salaam to Johannesburg so we’re having to make do with whatever pictures we could find.

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Polar Bears Are Nasty Buggers

Credit where credit is due. A huge thank you upfront to my friend and colleague Dave for a) suggesting this great story, which he first told me years back, and b) writing it all down coherently and engagingly so that I -with the minimum of work- could turn it into a blog post. Despite my natural tendency to add in some humour, this is a true story, even the swearing. At the time it was terrifying and gave him nightmares for years after. He tells me that this post is in lieu of therapy, which really means he’s too cheap to pay the hourly therapist rate but will never admit it. PS. Did I mention the swearing? Yes, there are bad words below.

We’re Lucky.

Field geologists – lucky souls hand chosen to do God’s work- contend with a lot of wildlife. We hike, bang rocks, hike some more, eat lunch, watch cute critters: all very National Geographic. But the reality is somewhat more sinister. There’s payback for being so perfect. God put bloody great targets on us; huge red letters etched into our skin that spell “Eat Me” to anything that flies, slithers or walks.

A group of geologists & their camp manager.

Most of the wildlife we come across may be small, but it’s blessed with an unnatural hunger for blood. Midges, blackflies, mosquitoes and horse flies are just a few of the myriad blood-crazed flying bastards that can and will torment you -stinging or ripping off chunks of flesh until foaming insanity takes hold. You don’t see them coming but you’ll hear them, whining away like a mini Luftwaffe, hunting that small piece of skin; the one that’ll swell up into a red, volcano-sized pustule, oozing fire and pain. Nothing protects you. You can shower in DEET, wear a stupid net over your head -geologists’ lingerie- and envelop yourself in burning gasoline but it won’t help.

A geo wearing lingerie.

Working in the Middle East, I got off lightly. Sure, there were bugs, but all the large animals that could do any serious harm were shot for fun or eaten years back. We did come across snakes, scary tortoises, nasty looking spiders and the odd tick that latched onto the dark, dangly places only medical specialists have any interest in. But honestly, the biggest threat came from the enormous Kangal dogs bred to protect sheep from wolves, which -luckily- were usually in the company of a nice, sensible shepherd.

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A Crow Update

There’s Been A Death In The Family

The name of this blog is Urban Crows; a name I picked for its obvious links to earth science. Ha ha.

Three years ago, as a distraction from work, I started blogging purely for my own enjoyment. Could I write? Did I have the discipline to write regularly? Could I write anything remotely engaging that anyone would read other than my mum?

I had the naive goal of churning out lots of fascinating essays about the crows that visit my urban back yard, pushing back the frontiers of corvid behavioural science along the way. What a compelling subject, thought I.

One of my urban crows. I call it Blackie

But despite my best efforts to keep the blog a geology-free zone, it was hijacked, tied up and unceremoniously thrown head first back into the familiar world of mining and exploration by a couple of pieces on the industry. Much to my amazement, the mining stuff gained me a lot of subscribers, so the crows were quickly banished back to the roost. Know your audience is a key rule; go where the readers are. So be it. From then on I wrote about mining and geology with the odd piece on my musical diversions.

Crow Poo

Having said that, it’s well past time for a crow update. Things have moved on. Crows have come and gone -although they’re all black, the same size and sound the same so I can’t really be sure that this statement holds water- but more recently a slow moving tragedy has played itself out on my garage roof.

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Hadrian’s Wall

A Walk Along The Edge Of The Roman Empire

Two thousand years before Donald Trump’s underfunded (and, as yet, fruitless) efforts at walling in the US, the Romans were busy building walls on the outlying borders of their vast empire. In Scotland, they built the Antonine wall in AD142. It was a 63km long earth bank cutting east to west across the country at its narrowest point. And in today’s modern Germany, you can still see remnants of the Limes Germanicus, a partly-fortified frontier that used a combination of natural obstacles and wooden palisade to guard the northern border of the Empire from the dastardly unconquered Germanic tribes.

But Hadrian’s wall in northern England is probably the best known. It stretches for over 70 miles across hill and valley from the east coast of England, at Wallsend in the outskirts of modern day Newcastle, to Bowness on Solway on the west coast. Bowness is an isolated but attractive little village that’s periodically cut off from the rest of the country by high tides on the Solway Firth.

Hadrian’s Wall as it is today, Upper Denton nr. Carlisle.
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Crows Are Smart.

Crows are smart. How smart? Pretty bloody clever if you ask me. Their ingenuity never fails to impress.

Crows on my fridge.

Last weekend I hosted a boozy dads’ weekend at our cabin up near Pemberton. I don’t mean a weekend for alcoholic dads. I mean it was a boozy weekend for dads, and we played lots of cribbage, charred meat on a BBQ, and talked rubbish into the night.

Just down the lake from our place is the local Mr Fixit, Mark. He lives there all year round, and looks after three cabins for their owners; gardening, fixing stuff that falls down or drops off, and generally taking good care of his little piece of lake side.

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I Signed A Tortoise.

Actually I autographed more than one.

See, if you thrash around in the bush in the warmer parts of Turkey and Iran for long enough, you’ll eventually find wild tortoises. Shy creatures, they mind their own business -as you’d expect- crawling languidly around, looking like rocks with legs, although rocks move a bit faster going downhill. They can’t exactly run away quickly, so once you spot one, you’ll definitely catch it. I found them all the time, particularly in Iran.

They don’t much like people, but their only active defence mechanism, other than retreating in to their shell and making some unbelievably non-terrifying hissing sounds, is to wee all over anything that tries to pick them up. Which for a while was me, until I learned my lesson.

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Stupid Baby Crows

I called my blog UrbanCrows.com because I naively planned to write lots of fascinating, insightful pieces about Vancouver’s urban wildlife. The new David Attenborough, that’s me, I thought. But the regular readers out there – all 6 of you including me, my mum, the dog, and occasionally my wife- will have noticed that I’ve drifted off topic and have written lots of biographical stories from my exploration days. All good and well, saves me from doing it when I retire I guess, but it’s high time for a trip back to the original theme of the blog; a quick return to Vancouver’s crows and their remarkable urban lives.

That’s the last time I read your blog.
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Nobody Eats Crows

Not even the Chinese. Now, hold on.. before you get all upset with me for stereotyping, I got that comment from my personal banker at CIBC who’s Chinese-Canadian. In fact, what she said was:

“We (the Chinese) eat nearly anything that moves, but not crows. I wonder why that is? Maybe because they’re black or maybe they’re unlucky.”

Which got me thinking. Does anyone eat crows?

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Mushrooms

Have you noticed, there’s been something happening because of the amazing autumn weather recently? Sunny, but misty in the morning, so it’s been quite damp early in the day. If you’ve taken a walk in Pacific Spirit Park or any of the local forests, you’ve probably noticed the incredible explosion of mushrooms everywhere. They’re on fallen logs, tree stumps, absolutely everywhere. Even the dog turds along the paths have sprouted white hairy beards.

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