Wild Things

In January 1990 I left frigid Toronto for a three month journey backpacking through southern Thailand and the Malaysian peninsula. I spent the majority of my time island hopping and looking for the perfect beach, or wandering city avenues searching for the perfect street food. Of course I found both, many times over. It was an adventure, it was the best fun. The most vivid memory I have of that trip is not of island bliss or marvellous meals, but my last few days in the country, which I spent in Khao Yai National Park, 120 kilometres and a world away from crazy, chaotic Bangkok.

Any of you who travelled in Asia in those days may remember that airlines had a rule that if you didn’t make your presence known, and weren’t physically in the city of your departure 72 hours before your flight, you were probably going to get bumped off of the passenger list. So, I tore myself away from the beach and made my way to Bangkok to declare myself present and fit to travel. I still had three days till my flight left, and time for one more adventure . I looked at my map and saw a patch of green, within easy reach. I made my way to a village on the outskirts of Khao Yai park where I met the man who would be my guide. He invited me to stay at his family home, a simple wooden house on stilts over a wetland. That evening, after sharing a home cooked meal, he took me up the side of a mountain in his jeep, and we walked to the opening of a roomy cave on the rock face. Peeking inside, the smell of guano was staggering. The sun was setting and there was the rustling of thousands of bats waking up and getting ready for their evening forage. We both stood back, and flattened ourselves to the side of the cave entrance, and for the next 20 minutes we watched and heard and felt countless bats rush by us and down into the fertile valley as the sun set in the hills. I found this experience incredibly beautiful, I was immersed in the natural world, watching these tiny but magnificent animals just live their lives, completely untouched by human activity. This valley and cave were not easy to get to, and were not in the park itself. I like to think that it all remains just as I saw it, innocent of the grasping, greedy, destructive hands of humans.

The next day we picked up a few more travellers and went into the park. It was amazing. We saw wild elephants. Which was beautiful. But my time in the bat cave is what really moved me.

These brief encounters with the animal kingdom in their natural habitat may not sound that impressive, but for me, at the time they were life changing, unforgettable.

I was a reluctant city girl then, and craved immersion in with the natural world.

I have now been living surrounded by the beauty of Vancouver Island for thirty years. During that time I have lived and worked in some fairly remote locations, where we share the land and water with the other species that make their home here. I have had the privilege of kayaking along side humpbacks, grey whales, dolphins, and orcas. Bears, otters, eagles, cougars and herons are our neighbours, and for the most part, we all coexist peacefully.

However, another unforgettable close encounter happened, not here, but in Mexico.

In 2006 my friend Cheryl and I took a three month road trip down the west coast to the tip of the Baja, and back, in her 22 foot camper, the lovely Lucy. The geography of the Baja has a subtle beauty, rough edges, dramatic views followed by miles of flat, seemingly lifeless landscape. The skies can be overwhelming, if you ever need to be put in your place in the universe, lie on your back at night in the desert, look up. This is it. You will feel small, insignificant, and full of awe and joy.

The predominate colours during day light are the the many shades of sand and earth, and the bright blue of the sea and sky. So, when the occasional collection of green palm trees and pink bougainvillea, tightly gathered around a source of fresh water appears, we go there.

San Ignacio is a small town near the Vizcano Biosphere Reserve on the Pacific side of BCS. There are date palms and a spring fed pond where we parked Lucy in the welcome shade for a few nights. Around 50k away is the Laguna San Ignacio, a protected area where gray whales have been breeding and calving for…I don’t think any humans really know how long. A few small conscientious tour companies are allowed to operate here.

There were around ten people on our open skiff, including our guides. We slowly puttered into the middle of the sultry bay and killed the engines. It didn’t take long before the mother whales and their babes approached us. Even though we were told what to expect, it was almost unbelievable. Why were these animals, who had no reason to trust, or even consider us, why did they come? Show us their babies? Look us in the eye? Some people kissed them, with apparent consent. I was more than happy to just touch the beautiful barnacle covered hide of a mama. There were tears. Really, one of the best days of my life.

I will always love and be fascinated with birds. Every chance I get I stop, look, listen. Sadly, my dreams tend more towards falling than flying. But I did have one crazy flying dream, I guess that is enough. I regard them with respect, and a little envy. Wetlands are not super conducive to humans, but birds love them. In the tropics, it is the mangroves and estuaries where they live. And whenever I get a chance, I go there. I won’t bore you with the names of all my favourite birds. There are a lot. But obviously, hanging out with flamingoes is fun.

It is hard these days, all the bad news. Sometimes I feel hopeless. And so sad. And then, in the morning I hear the loons on the lake. I look out my bedroom window and see a tangle of cedar branches, maybe a squirrel, the raven family bickering, as usual. The tree outside my kitchen window is in flower and hundreds of bees are drinking it up. When the flowers turn to seed, there will be hundreds of birds. The wheels turn, migrations happen, what has been will always be.