Monday 28 November 2011

Reflections from shore

BY DUSTIN GILL


The highway hugs rolling hills as it winds its way to Mossbank. Glass ponds mirror the morning sun while bales of hay freckle the landscape. Shades of autumn are everywhere as we travel this road that will eventually lead to Old Wives Lake and its feathered company. Mossbank is virtually a stone’s throw away from Old Wives Lake, which has been a designated Federal Migratory Bird Sanctuary since 1925.


The lake is a pivotal resting, feeding and breeding ground for an abundant species of birds, from the endangered piping plover to the numerous snow geese, a hunter’s favorite. Old Wives Lake has a history that dates back to legends of Cree and Blackfoot indians. Its ecological and cultural importance has long been a source of pride for this self-described bird-loving community. However, as a town that has long defined itself through its appreciation and stewardship of the bird sanctuary, while at the same time relying heavily on bird hunting to spur its economy, there seems to be a tension between the conservatory efforts and economic interests of this humble prairie town.



Donald Smith lives on the corner of Main St. and 3rd Ave. On a map, this location rests like a bullseye in the center of town, which is fitting, as Smith is central to bird watching in Mossbank. Standing on the corner of this intersection I can see the edge of town down every street I look. Saying that Smith is a central figure to the bird watching community might be an understatement, as, in a town known for its love of birds, Smith claims to be the entire bird watching community. Of course, we have all been bird watchers at one point or another in our lives, stopping to glimpse a woodpecker or bluejay when we are lucky enough to get the chance. But for Smith, a love for birds has been a life-long passion. I am meeting Smith at his house because from here we will depart to the bird sanctuary. Before we leave, however, Smith takes the opportunity to show me around his property.

                                             

In Smith’s backyard there stands what appears to be a fragile bomb shelter, the front door of which is adorned with an authentic Area 51 warning sign that reads “USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED.” The sign stands in contrast to his gentle demeanor and the pink potted flower that sits beside it. “This was a gift from some Americans,” he says of the sign as we enter the tin structure. Inside, I am surrounded by large rounds of live ammunition hanging from antlers and lying in boxes about the small room. The large skull of a bison greets you at eye level as you enter; there is everything from road flares to grenades to mortars to be found here. Yet, as I glance over to the far corner of the room, I see Smith’s wood-working station and the several half-complete bird sculptures around it and I am once again reminded of his gentle nature. The bird carvings are immaculate and I can now see why he is renowned for these lifelike representations.             



As we drive toward Old Wives Lake the paved road turns to gravel and the gravel road turns to sand. Later, Smith will ask me, “And where does sand come from?”



“Water!” he declares enthusiastically, sparing no time for me to answer. Smith seems to find great enjoyment in describing the history of the landscape. He stops his car next to a small flowing stream. The land we stand on was once the bottom of an ancient river, hence the sand that encompasses the landscape. “This was once a great prehistoric lake” Smith explains. The geographical history plays an important role for the bird sanctuary, as shore birds, like the piping plover, require sand and pebble shores for nesting.

 

As Smith and I look out over Old Wives Lake, he hands me a pair of binoculars and instantly I feel up-close and personal with hundreds of snow geese. He tells me he doesn't hunt anymore but that he used to all the time. When I ask him why he stopped, he says, “Well, you really don't need anything to live off anymore, and you used to. I just like seeing’em fly around.” Smith knows of a group of hunters coming down later in the week. As we speak, there is a group of four Americans drinking in the bar on Main St. who will be here hunting birds for the entire month.

        

The truth is that bird hunting is a much larger pastime here than bird watching. Even though the town of Mossbank has tried to develop some degree of tourism around the bird sanctuary, building park benches, gazebos and a walking path with information podiums, Smith feels the amount of tourism it draws is small. He says not many from town are very likely to use the path or picnic areas, and that they’re too far off the main highway for people to just stop in.



Cherilyn Jolly-Nagel was economic development officer when the work began around the sanctuary. Jolly-Nagel says that in a way the development was to “honour” or “showcase” the sanctuary.

           

“I know it appears to most people to be controversial to have a hunting industry along with a bird watching industry. I personally never saw it that way,” she says. Jolly-Nagel claims that hunters have just as much an appreciation for the birds as the watchers, and that both are concerned with conservation. She extols the multiple ways in which hunting helps the local economy, from the rooms that hunters will rent for long periods of time, to the hunting licenses and ammo they buy, to the business that they provide the restaurants. In this little town with a struggling economy, every little bit is more than welcome. And though it’s hunting that draws many outsiders to the community, as long as Donald Smith is around, bird watching isn't for the birds.




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