A Natural History of Sphenisciformes, Spheniscidae in the Northern Hemisphere

As my daughter is currently incommunicado in Antarctica, my mind is sensitive to southern polar notes that cross my path. Penguins (Sphenisciformes, Spheniscidae) in particular have exercised my imagination while thinking about her present location. As I am located at latitude 61 N occurrences of penguin are unusual. Therefore I decided to pull together a brief, and perhaps somewhat eclectic, natural history of the penguin in the far northern hemisphere.

In my reference to the magnum opus of Yukon ornithology, Birds of the Yukon Territory (2003, ed. Sinclair, Nixon, Eckert and Hughes) there are no specific references to penguins. The closest alphabetic relative, Sphyrapicus ruber, is noted. However, the prostrate form (having died after hitting a residential window in Judas Creek) illustrated bears little resemblance to the penguin. Perhaps Linnaeus pursued fowl in a non-alphabetic form. Regardless I decided to pursue my own research in the vicinity to confirm the absence of penguins. Photo 1 in my backyard indicates the complete non-presence of penguins. However research on the web and through this year's Christmas cards proved more fruitful.

Niles Olav (Photo 2), knighted by the King of Norway in 2008, has worked his way up through the ranks of the King's Guard of the Royal Norwegian Army, through a combination of diligence and several acts of reincarnation, since his recruitment as a lance corporal in 1972. So while rare in northern climes, penguins exhibit the kind of gritty determination to make something of themselves that characterizes most successful northerners.

Scotland, newly independent from England and fearful of a possible American military invasion, has followed the Iranian lead in the pursuit of a nuclear deterrent. Unlike the Iranians however, the Scots have successfully developed a "Tactical Nuclear Penguin" and are currently in the process of setting up this weapon system. Available for purchase on the web, the Tactical Nuclear Penguin leds the world in beery alcohol content. (Photo 3) The full details are available in an absurd video at http://www.brewdog.com/news.php?id=88

Finally, my niece Alexa in London, England provides incontrovertible proof that penguins have been introduced to the North Pole (Photo 4) Associated with this dramatic relocation experiment are some startling technological advances. Should the Scots get a hold of this information, even the Norwegian army will quake at the sight of Gaelic Atomic Penguins.

Being Seafood

Wandering through rural Manitoba offers some great surprises. Today my Dad and I visited Bruce the Mosasaur in the Canadian Fossil Discovery Centre in Morden. Morden was, some 80 million years ago, in the centre of the Western Interior Seaway, a large shallow sea dividing North America. Unique to the region was a later land uplift that brought the deeply buried remains of the sea bottom to the surface. While fossils were occassionaly found earlier, real interest started only in the early 1970s when workers in open pit Bentonite mines found large sea creatures. Among them was Bruce, a fierce - carnivorous predators are always fierce - sea snake - especially if they're a snake - 13 metres long. As Kevin, the museum administrator, explained, "he could swallow a cow whole if he came by today!" And inspite of Bruce's festive hat we found this statement completely believeable.

Not only did we have our Christmas picture taken with Bruce, but we also toured the fossil storage and display preparation areas. The pleasures of a smaller museum include the chance to meet the people, Anita-Maria, palentoleogist and Linda the display technician, who make these places work and to get a close-up look at the fascinating collection of fossils they have in the lab.

Visit the Canadian Fossil Discovery Centre at http://www.discoverfossils.com/aboutus.html

Mining Gold without getting your dress dirty

The Yukon Hospital Foundation runs an annual fund raiser to purchase new equipment. Last year they raised about a million dollars for a CT Scanner, this year they want a digital x-ray machine, especially helpful in emailing x-rays for consultation with specialists outside. The primary event is the auctioning of "special" Christmas Trees. Different businesses, government departments and community groups extravagently decorate a tree and assemble a set of associated presents.

The trees come in two classes. There are about a dozen trees prepared with a value of between $400 to $1200. These are set up in a downtown public space and for a week people write increasing bids to take them home. A couple of years ago we purchased the Energy, Mines and Resources tree. It was beautifully decorated with stained glass ornaments made and donated by one of the staff and included a cord of firewood, 50 pounds of Yukon grown potatoes, and 20 pounds of Yukon elk
meat.

A second group of trees is also prepared. These, more expensive items, are auctioned at the Hospital's Grand Ball in early December. It is fun. It was one of two formal dress events in the Yukon calendar. Each table gets glow wands to wave around to action their bids. Bidding is generally limited to the lawyers, the doctors and the business tycoons. The Canadian Tire tree this year included a mountain of small appliances, power tools and gadgets that would choke a half-ton truck on a sunny day. Two couples at our table started bidding against each other but quickly itemized which things they were after and ganged up on somebody across the room. Fortunately, the somebody had a bigger wallet so we didn't have to witness the squabble over the espresso machine. The women doctors were just beat out for the five day fly-in fishing trip, but the sponsor, a local construction company, offered to buy two of the trips and so double the bid money going to the Foundation. It appears the bite of the recession in the Yukon has been little more than a gentle nibbling on the earlobe. All together the trees raised over $150,000 for the x-ray machine.

There was also a raffle. Joy bought three tickets. While we missed the spa retreat and the grand prize of a free pass on Air North, Joy did come away with an ounce of raw gold. When she went to pick up her prize she received a plastic film canister with about two dozen good-sized nuggets from a placer mine south of Dawson. Probably the easiest way to mine gold around here. The litle beauties have been sent off to the jeweller to be made into a Christmas ornament.

Fall River Camping - Crisp Day

The great thing about fall camping is the late sunrise. Sleeping in during a Yukon summer is impossible, but by mid-October it is easy to stay snuggled down in your sleeping bag, at least until your wife pokes you and tells you to start a fire in the stove.

After a hot breakfast and many cups of coffee we readied the boat for a trip further down river. The Yukon River valley opens up as it approaches Lake Laberge and we stop at a large sandbar to stretch our legs, examine the ice on puddles and watch Trumpeter swans flying in elongated Vs overhead. The crisp air and the freshness of being on the water in below freezing temperatures is exhilarating. By afternoon we're sleepy and take a snooze on the sunny side of the river.

Fall River Camping - Set up

We set up camp on Egg Island only a short run through the sleet down the Yukon River. The river level drops through the fall so we have to land on the opposite side of the island from our favorite camp site. Everything is unloaded and while Erin and Marina set up the tarp and move the gear, Andrew and I boat to the mainland where we cut firewood. On our return we set up the wall tent (a little patience, a lot of trial and error but eventually it stands on its own), saw and split our wood and set a campfire. By now it's time to run back upriver to pick up Joy after work.


The snow has stopped. Jumbalia is steaming on the camp stove and we are sitting around the fire enjoying a glass of wine and some storytelling. For dessert Marina makes soft and delicious chocolate brownies in the campfire with her Dutch oven. After dinner the tent stove is lit and we sit about the campfire. The sky has cleared so it colder, but the stars are brilliant. By the time we head for bed the tent is cozy and warm.

Fall River Camping - It snows

Our daughter's visit home from New Zealand was an excuse to go camping, actually Erin said we had to do it. And it had to be river camping. Mid-October is a grey and cool time and Erin compounded the challenges by convincing her mother to come along. This significantly raised the bar on the comfort levels required for a successful trip.

We planned out meals and gathered together our gear, the biggest difference from our usual kit was the wall tent and wood stove. The wall tent is bright and spacious, 4 metres long, 3 metres wide with a 2 metre peak. However it requires eight 5 metre poles to set it up. I spent an afternoon in the woods behind the house picking out suitably straight jackpines, dead ones are much lighter and stronger than green ones but rare in our forest. We added two big tarps, miles of rope, you can never have too much rope on an outdoor trip, and the camp kitchen - stove, pots and pans, salted nuts, chocolate and a crossword puzzle book.

We had planned an early morning start but we needed a few more things from town. As I started home the snow began. Almost immediately the roads were glazed with ice and cars skidded wildly. Once home we loaded the boat and wondered if we could make it to the boat launch, 5 kilometres away. There was some discussion about why I hadn't yet put the snow tires on the truck.

The road was giddy and the windshield plastered with slush. Slow speed and empty highway, we made it to the river and launched the boat. With great relief I locked up the truck and we pushed off. Once underway I relaxed, we were so much safer on the river and it was way more fun.

Coffee on the Dashboard

We live in an odd world. The other day as we drove into town, I pondered the reality of my sitting in a warm vehicle traveling at a marvelously high speed - which allows me to live some 15 kilometres out of town in the bush and still commute to an urban workplace. This thinking arose from my ability to sit in a comfortable seat, read my international newspaper and balance a china cup of gourmet coffee from another continent on the dashboard of the car. How is it that our culture can lay down thousands of tons of crushed rock and oil impregnated asphalt in the midst of the Yukon forest so that I can do this? Is this the most important thing we could do with all these resources - a smooth ride so my coffee don't spill? The belief in constant accelerating economic growth may feel comfortable in the moment, but taking a step sideways makes the whole thing look pretty crazy. I stand ready to give up the smooth ride, the comfy seat in a car and the work. I still need coffee and news.

Walking to Beringia

Just north of Dawson it is possible to walk back in time. Last weekend a three hour walk up Grizzly Creek in Tombstone Park took us back some 500 million years, back before we were born, back before the Klondike gold rush, back before the arrival of Cartier, back before the fall of the Roman Empire, back before fire cooked meat, back before dinosaurs, back to a tropical lake bottom. And through the eyes of Charlie Roots, a Yukon geologist, we watched this lake bottom fold and lift into mountains, we saw mammoths and caribou clamber the hills and witnessed sheets of ice, heavy enough to sink continents, come and go,scraping a half dozen kilometres or more of lake sediment away to the south and finally we shivered as the glaciers of the last ice age, reaching north into Beringia, stalled at this point as a five thousand year drought barred further advance. And gradually the ice withdrew, willows arrived, later dwarf birch and spruce followed, First Nation hunters appeared to hunt the caribou and pale-skinned newcomers came to find gold, drink beer and go camping in a territorial park.

While the awesome span of geological time dwarfs the span of our visit, it is a warm and congenial group strung out along the trail to the long ago. On the way I chat with Nicole Bauberger, artist laurete of the Ogilvie Mountains, about the selection of reality that transforms experience into art. With old friends I trade stories of our childrens' adventures as they venture into the wide world. Time may intellectually outspan Earth's modest geography, but it bears no comparison to the distance from loved ones that only the heart understands. At stops beside the creek and at rocky eruptions beside the trail, Charlie unfolds the story told by the stones.

We arrive at a flat just before the last steep pitch and stop for lunch. A young woman has no lunch and Camembert cheese with jalapeno jelly on wheat thins, an apple, chocolate and nuts rise from the packs and pockets of those around her. We see a rain shower across the valley, drifting slowly towards us like a giant jellyfish in the ancient lake here hundreds of millions ago and six kilometres over our heads. We pack up, some return to the cars far below, the rest of us continue to the top, leaving behind the modern spruce and arriving in the old Beringian landscape of dwarf golden willows and stunted crimson birch. At the top we are rewarded by a magnificent valley view closed off beyond by Monolith and Tombstone mountains.