Fly Like a Bird

I was in north Pickering the other day and I saw something I’ve never seen before: a Canada Goose nesting in a tree.

The nest was about fifteen feet off the ground in the crotch of an oak, just a stone’s throw from the Pickering-Uxbridge Town Line, and the female was settled in nicely in the nest while the male was dive-bombing any and all vehicles driving by.

It was quite the sight and the nesting pair was the talk of the township, with the over-under on how long the male could go on like this before he ended up a splat on some truck’s windshield set at a week.

I got so excited after seeing them I was all set to email Margaret Carney, who writes a nature column for Oshawa This Week, to tell her of my scoop. And then I googled ‘Canada Goose nesting in tree’ and discovered that while it may be uncommon, it’s hardly rare (a coyote/wolf territory adaption, perhaps?), and there are several YouTube videos available for viewing.

Sorry Margaret. I guess I got ahead of myself.

But it was still very cool and it served as a reminder on how awesome close encounters between birds and mankind can be.

I’ve written in this space before about my relationship with Canada Geese – it was a 99 per cent true Pizza Dude Tale (The Goose, 02/01/13) – but those experiences have paled in comparison to some of my other encounters with avian life.

There was the time last year on another lonely side road in north Pickering when we crested a hill and caught up to a trio of airborne Wild Turkeys. We matched speed exactly and for three or four seconds the turkeys were in our windshield, mere inches from my face, before they veered off into the forest.

I’ve also had some particularly memorable moments with Snowy Owls – the arctic bird that ventures south only when the lemming population up north crashes – thanks to my reporting career. The first time was in Kenora, when I got a call from a resident who had found an injured Snowy and was nursing it back to health in his home.

Having an owl with a four-and-a-half wingspan and talons the size of daggers swoop over your head in the confined space of an attic is something I won’t soon forget.

My last meeting with a white owl was even more unforgettable. Graphic, too, so the squeamish may want to look away.

This encounter was in Pickering – a very rare sight this far south – and it was the result of a call from the maintenance guy for a strip plaza at Liverpool Road and Highway 2. “There’s an injured owl on the roof here,” he said. “I think his wing is broken. Do you wanna come take a picture?”

Sure. Why not. Perqs of the job, no?

So we climbed onto the roof – and sure enough, there’s a Snowy with a crooked wing and blood all over his feathers. So I started walking towards him, snapping shots as I went. When I got within fifteen feet or so he decided that was close enough and abruptly flew away. That’s when I discovered the blood – and the crooked wing – wasn’t his. It used to belong to a seagull, which lay headless and very much dead on the roof’s graveled surface.

I know, right? Gross. But still very awesome.

I also remember the first time I saw a Bald Eagle, on my first full day living in Kenora. I had to pull over so I could take in her majestic beauty.

The meetings that are etched in my mind are not just with big birds capable of clawing my eyes out, either. Small is remarkable, too.

The Chickadee is a species that holds a special place in my heart. If you’ve been to Lynde Shores Conservation Area in Whitby, you’ll know the feeling when the little birds fly down to feed out of your hand.

Just magical.

I can sit a listen to a Cardinal call for his mate all morning, or watch a flock of Juncos – slate-coloured sparrows that only come south in the winter – mill about beneath a feeder ‘till the cow(birds) come home.

The call of a Common Loon, the steely gaze of a Great Blue Heron, the buzzzz of a Ruby-throated Hummingbird in flight, the splash of a Belted Kingfisher at the end of a power dive, the sight of a Red-breasted Nuthatch climbing down a tree trunk or a Brown Creeper climbing up, the sheer beauty of a Scarlett Tanager.

All these moments give me pause and serve to remind me of my place in the world. They help keep me grounded, while allowing me to dream that I can one day fly high like a bird up in the sky.

Metaphorically speaking, anyway.