Battling the Yukon Mighty Mites

Okay... so a lot of people I know would generally classify me as a bit of enviro. I'm hardly the equivalent of nature's bible thumper, but I do tend to be fairly proactive on the green front. Unfortunately, this past few weeks has caused me to realize what a fair-weather tree-hugger I truly am. This revelation came about from my battle with the dirty sparrows nesting under the eaves of my house in Haines Junction, Yukon.

The house is pretty good, particularly as field research accommodation goes. The views are spectacular, with a busy beaver pond in our front yard and an amazing vista of the St. Elias mountains beyond. Our big patio offers endless sunshine and the winds of the Dezadeash ward off mosquitoes, making our patio a comfortable place to sit, drink and generally enjoy the long summer evenings.

The only problem, though, has been the proliferation of cliff swallows that have built nests all around the house. While this can provide some pretty cool, up-close bird-watching, the associated mess is not cool at all. Bird crap on its own would be tolerable though. Rather, the dirty little bastard birds are infested with mites. As the season goes along, the mites inevitably find their way in the house.

This year, the invasion began by the computer area. I would be sitting, trying to work, and I'd get a tickley sensation all over. In time, the mites got so bad that they were making their home in the computer itself. You'd turn it on, the computer would warm up, and suddenly, little mites would start to crawl out of the keyboard. Not cool. I took action just before our last trip, spraying the inside with pesticides. It seemed to do the trick, as when we returned from our nine day hike, they were dead. Unfortunately, our bedrooms now had their own infestations. You could see them crawling, like little dirt specks, slowly moving across the white walls. Blech.

The next day, we vacuumed everything, washed everything, smashed down the bird nests (don't worry... the birds flew the coop while we were away!), and sprayed our rooms down with pesticide. Now don't give me all this shit about poisoning myself with pesticides. Screw that! I just needed to stop these dirty little creatures from crawling on me while I slept. And I think we managed.

So far, it seems the problem has been solved and it feels good. The only minor annoyance now is my conscience. Trust me, I'm not overly worried about mite welfare. But my conservationist nature was challenged slightly when I was told by my friend who works for NatureServe Yukon (they are the ones who say if an animal or plant is endangered or at risk) that our mite infestation is only the second recorded report of sparrow mites in the Yukon. While this is likely simply a reflection of nobody tolerating living under a bunch of shitting sparrows for as long as we have, this also means that they could be a locally rare species. Hmmm, certainly something to think about. Oh well, I guess they are even rarer now.

Goodbye Mexico, Hello Thesis

Almost a week has passed since I left Mexico, and I'm still suffering a bit from post-travel blahs. My last few days in La Paz were exceptional so it is no surprise that slipping back in to the normal routine has left me feeling a little dull. It seems almost unbelievable that a single weekend can suffice to make life-long friends, but I have no doubt that this has been the case. In a strange turn of events, I met up with a few La Paz locals who were able to send me off in great Mexican style. Better yet, they were able to send me off in great queer fashion to boot!

The fact that I met these folks at all is odd enough. Only by chance did I end traveling by bus to Puerto San Carlos, a day behind the rest of my coworkers. And only by chance was I seated by Oscar, especially considering that much of the other seats on the bus were empty. Hell, its odd enough that the word "gay" came out in our conversation at all. Its hardly something you just throw out there to some stranger you met on a bus in Mexico. Clearly, for once in my whole life, my so-called gaydar must have worked. So three hours of chatting later, we were pretty much good friends. A weekend later, I had met a good chunk of queer La Paz.

Now that I'm back in Vancouver, I certainly realize that this is what I fell in love with most in La Paz. I met so many amazing people who were quick to show me "their" La Paz. From fire dancing on the beach to roof-top barbeques, I felt I was welcomed every where I went. This amazes me considering the ridiculous company I must have been. It can't be that interesting hanging out with a gringo who can barely string together a few words in Spanish, let alone hold a conversation. Yet, this didn't seem to matter. And those that did speak some English, well, we are probably going to be friends for quite some time.

Anyways, this blog has somehow morphed into an ode to all my Mexican friends, the people who made me fall in love with the Baja. If they only knew how boring I usually am, things might have worked out differently. But they must have seen me in good light, or at least, slightly buzzed up on cervezas.

Finally, a Day Off

I know, I know. I sound so hard-done by when I am complaining about not having enough time off while sitting in the sunshine of the Baja. But after a hectic week prepping and meeting and editing and revising, I really needed a day to put the computer under the bed and kick back on a beach, guilt-free.

Sunday I broke off the work shackles, hopped on some local transit and headed to Playa Balandra, up the coast from La Paz. This is pretty much the end of the road, as far as this road was concerned. The Playa Balandra was amazing - the quintessential arid beach, with dunes and undercut rock bluffs, and the turquoise water I was expecting based on the postcards. Fortunately, the postcards didn't lie. No bumped up blue-green filters needed on your cameras here.

The one kink to the plans was that I actually didn't intend to go to this beach, but the next one along... Playa Tecolote, the true end of the road. But I got off the bus before I realized I had jumped the gun. No worries, except for the fact I was counting on the few beach restaurants that I knew were at my original destination of Tecolote. Fortunately, I had left on a full stomach (I love you, Huevos Rancheros!) and had a few oranges packed to tie me over.

After messsing around on the beach, swimming in the ocean and bouldering on some cool overhanging bluffs, I decided to track down some food. To my fortune, I met up with a few folk from San Francisco, one who was living and working in La Paz! Basically, I just latched on to them, and was able to resolve the issues as to where I was going to eat and how I was going to get back home. I quickly realized they were a good crew to hook up with... we spent the rest of the day drinking cervezas and eating ceviche (that's raw, lemon-marinated fish/seafood for the uninitiated... very yummy).

The day turned into an odd adventure of beers around La Paz, a transvestite show at the current gay-bar in La Paz and some late night Tacos. One of the tastiest tacos ever, but my perspective might have been a bit skewed.

I think this day off should hold me for about a week. I'm not as young as I used to be. I think it will take me a week to recover.

Work and Play... It's All Gone South

Well, three days in La Paz, Baja California Sur, and things have gone relatively smoothly so far. All my nerves about not having enough language to do my work were not entirely justified. I’ve been lucky as the couple people I have held focus groups with have spoken English pretty well, thus relieving my need for translation. As for my Spanish skills, they are terrible. I seriously need to take a course if I ever hope to do more than order food. But I am pretty good at that.


The true test of my Spanish skills (or lack thereof) has been when hanging out with a gang of locals who my co-worker befriended a week earlier. They are a fun crew of the sort you’d expect to find on the street in Nelson, but with a bit more talent and motivation. Most of them are street performers of mixed variety, doing fire dancing, unicycle riding and juggling. I met them at the skate park, while they were riding. After spending a night partying it up with them, I realized how little I can actually say in Spanish. And it didn’t improve with a few cervasas. Anyways, still I must practice.


I just don’t have much time to spend learning the rules from books. My work has occupied most of my time since arriving, and it will continue to throughout the whole time. In fact, I might not even be able to take off the week we had originally planned due to a scheduling oversight. It looks like I will have to become a weekend warrior, even down here in Mexico. Somewhere in there I have to find time to work on my stuff from home and throw out some job applications. Good times!



At least the town of La Paz is a nice place to do this, if only for the moment. We will be here until Tuesday, at which time we will be heading over to the west coast town of San Carlos. So far, La Paz has been great, although we are centred on the tourist area. There is a big walkway (think Sea Wall in Stanley Park) that is a beautiful place for a sunset stroll, frozen chocolate banana popsicle in hand. That is when the town really comes alive, as people are off work and the day is just too warm.



As you can imagine, things are going well so far. Having the lap top makes life easier. Instead of sitting in crazy internet gaming rooms, I get to sit at the wireless café on the waterfront. Much better!

Hard Work Along the Alsek River

So the summer has passed. Once again, I'm back in Vancouver watching the maples turn yellow and dropping their leaves. Autumn has arrived. Strange, for I've felt like I've been in fall for quite some time. I guess that's part and parcel of working in the Yukon for all of August. Actually, the way things were, my last month in Kluane National Park has felt closer to winter than anything. Long underwear and toque weather most of the time. But I guess that's to be expected when you are floating by icebergs.

I had the great fortune of taking up where I left off last summer, doing research in Kluane National Park. This time around, I was looking at the condition of campsites along one of Canada's most pristine and reputable rivers for whitewater rafting, the Alsek River. My work is intended to help ensure that this place continues to maintain this spectacular wilderness character. Set amidst the most massive mountains and most extensive glacier fields found in Canada, this proved to be the best office one could ask for. More than makes up for the weeks I'll have to spend sifting through the data and writing tedious reports.

Certainly, this trip was a learning experience. First lesson: you can fit a lot of shit into a raft. I have always considered car camping to be the ultimate in travel. But this honestly puts every car trip I have taken to shame. My little Civic hatchback can't hold half the crap that a raft can. With full folding tables, stoves, dutch-ovens, several immense coolers, enormous tarps, a large fire-pan, portable toilet and enough comfy lawn chairs for everyone, I felt like I was camping Liberace-style.

Second lesson: unlike any other mode of non-motorized travel I know... hiking, biking, climbing, kayaking... rafting will make you fat. In fact, I think even I got a little thicker around the middle. This could be attributed to the fact that the majority of the time, the river does all the work for you. Unless you happen to be the one on the oars, you are no more than luggage. Or it could be attributed to the massive amounts of food that we toted along the way. I have never eaten so well in the backcountry in my life. Morrocan Chicken, BBQ Jerk Pork Skewers, Beef and Mushroom Stroganoff. Oh, then followed by Apple Chocolate Phyllo Bake, Blueberry Apple Crisp, Brownies. A bit ridiculous almost. But I'm sure all this food isn't what made me continuously blow the snap on my pants. No, I think the culprit was the contents of our aptly-titled Boxes of Fun. I haven't consumed that much beer since my graduating summer after highschool. We also had plenty of non-beer alternatives: Raspberry Vodka martinis with glacier ice, hot chocolate with cinnamon whiskey, coffee and Amarula, and some nice Glenfiddich scotch. Ya, it was definitely the booze that added the inch to my waist.

Third lesson: Rafting on the Alsek was 90% extreme laziness, 5% hard work and 5% terror. Most of the time, we just spent floating down the river, gawking at all the scenery. I occassionally took a crack at the oars, but even then, the river did most of the work. Crossing Lowell Lake and heading down the sluggish Dezadeash River were probably the most physically challenging, as we had to fight enormous winds that constantly pushed us back up the river. It's very frustrating rowing with all your might for a half hour only to realize that you've only gone a few hundred meters. This made up the 5% of labour.

The terror came from the few small sections of rapids along the river. Run properly, the entire episode couldn't be more anti-climatic. All this build up, and yet its over before you even have a chance to really enjoy it. Kind of like sex the first time. It's only exciting because it was sex. Same thing here. However, after watching the commercial tour-guide in front of us flip his boat into a bottomless hole, I can see the reason behind all of the hype. I doubt the guy who was sucked down the hole and spit out the other side thought it was anti-climatic. He probably wet the inside of his dry suit.

Some may also feel additional "terror" with the knowledge that the area was crawling with bears. Fortunately, I don't find this to be the case. In the few weeks I spent on the river, we spotted over 30 bears, the majority of which were grizzlies. And I couldn't be happier. I truly felt that I was living amongst bears out there, and yet I felt safer than I do walking around Vancouver late at night. Don't get me wrong... I never want to be in the circumstance that finds me face to face with a pissed off momma bear. Yet, the more time you spend around these giants, the more they make sense. In general, if you keep out of their food, keep them out of YOUR food, leave their kids, alone and avoid scaring the shit out of them, everybody can get along just fine. Of course, that's easy for me to say. I haven't had a young male grizzly give my tent a whack in the middle of the night yet. That might change my mind a little. Well, until then, I just get to treasure the moments of watching these big bruisers live their lives.

While the daily lessons may have been simple, the one grand lesson I learned is how bloody lucky I am to have these opportunities. Not only have I been able to see some of our country's most beautiful and wild scenery, but I was also given that feeling of being in touch with the world in a way that I never experience in the city. Knowing the river, knowing the wildlife, knowing the weather. All of these become important in your daily life. Its extended time in places like these that you can come to appreciate what it means to live as part of the world, and our ancient heritage as human beings. So while I may have been missing my summer, enduring the chill of glacial waters and mountain winds, I have returned to Vancouver rejuvinated. Besides, despite those falling leaves marking the beginning of autumn, it seems we're in for an Indian summer. Plenty of days to wear shorts and t-shirts to be had yet!

Cane Toad Coin Purse

I am positive that the satisfaction I have today is likely to be lost upon 99% of the general population (Australians excepted...), yet I am going to share this with you anyways. Yesterday I had the joyous surprise of receiving a cane toad coin purse! Now I am sure most of you are already asking "Who the F&!$ cares?" Well, this is where my years of biology and ecology come shining through, hand-in-hand with my slightly twisted sense of humour. Why should I be happy to get a cane toad purse? Well, aside from the fact that the skin of the cane toad makes incredibly strong, tough and durable leather goods, I also have the personal pleasure of knowing that one of these little shitheads has died in the process. Harsh? Not really. Read on, unless your an Aussie. You all know this tale well...
The cane toad was introduced up in Queensland, Australia to "save" their precious sugar cane crops from destruction by the sugar cane bettle. Turned out the toads didn't fancy eating those beetles, so they just started eating everything else. And, like God suggests in Genesis, it was fruitful and multiplied. To make matters worse, the toads apparently don't taste too good themselves, so you can't even count on the dingos to eat 'em. Could have something to do with those poisonous throat glands. So this ugly little invader has since hopped its way all across Queensland and is working its way into the neighbouring states.

So my introduction to the cane toad was in my first-year ecology course, too many years ago. Our class was shown one of the most entertaining pieces of educational videos I have ever been exposed to, starring none other but the cane toad. In a moment of artistic clarity known to few producers, the movie was titled "Cane Toad" (see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0130529/). The quintessential scene is when a VW van is filmed driving down a country road, swerving left and right, squishing cane toads. Each successful hit was followed by a very gratifying "pop". The film is a great documentary and seems to highlight the quirky people of Australia as much as the evil toad.
And hence my absolute joy to receive the cane toad coin purse! Finally, I have the chance to inflict a small strike against the ecological terror known as cane toad. And so, from here on, I will carry my loonies and toonies with pride inside the hide of a dried toad.

So, first off, Happy Canada Day! A little belated, yes. But better late than never! I decided to join the mega-family for the long weekend and was pleasantly reminded that while my family might be a little rough around the edges, they sure know how to have a good time.


Shuswap Lake was the best place to be over the scorching hot weekend. With temperatures creeping into the late 30 degrees Celsius, almost every minute of the day was spent by the water. With a motorboat and a few jet-skiis at our disposal, we were never short of ways to escape the heat. A short boat ride brought us to Copper Island and some nice cliffs to jump off. Nothing like standing 15 metres above the water being heckled by a bunch of goofs in motorboats, just waiting for someone to do an accidental belly-flop. Oh well, I've never been to big on peer-pressure, so I kept things simple. No backflips for me.

The rest of the time was spent laughing, drinking and getting told off by the rent-a-rangers who patrol the place. Of course, I know I was occassionally a bit loud, but then what can I say? My voice travels. It certainly re-affirms that big, busy campgrounds are not for me. I'm not a party animal, but I do like to be able to drink a beer on the beach and stay up past 11:00.

Finger-waving park operators aside, it was still a great way to celebrate our national birthday! It's not every day that we can drag our family together from all over two provinces.