We cycled into Hazleton in northern British Columbia, glad to be rid of the swarms of blackflies and mosquitoes that had infuriated us along the Stewart-Cassiar Highway. The bugs made hanging out at camp intolerable, so we had put in long days on that stretch, dragging our heavy loads more than 70 kilometers per day for six straight days. The birds enjoyed the bugs however: we found our 100th species on day 14 in Hazelton. We needed a rest day.
We camped out in Hazelton at the home of very kind birders Ray Sturney and Maureen Sargent. I was keen to find a few alpine birds that we hadn’t seen yet, like ptarmigan and grouse. Ray suggested climbing to Nine Mile Mountain, a place rich in avifauna. They drove to the start of the hike while Wendy, Ken and I cycled along a rough track that lead to the mountain. As we rounded a bend in the road we wondered if we had taken a wrong turn – the track turned into a creek (a beaver had dammed the creek, diverting it onto the road). After a more few kilometres we left our bikes and set off on a steep, two-hour hike to the alpine plateau.
When we came out onto the plateau, we were serenaded by Golden-crowned Sparrows singing from spindly evergreens. Horned Larks hopped amongst the boulders and American Pipits flitted over the tundra. A grizzly bear strolling across a nearby hillside startled us. We finally found one of our target birds, a Willow Ptarmigan, not completely changed out of its white winter plumage. The Ptarmigan clucked “go-back, go-back, go-back” then scurried away. “The slog up here was worth it,” said Wendy. She might have reconsidered when her knee started hurting on the long hike down.
Our “rest day” turned out to be anything but.
We camped out in Hazelton at the home of very kind birders Ray Sturney and Maureen Sargent. I was keen to find a few alpine birds that we hadn’t seen yet, like ptarmigan and grouse. Ray suggested climbing to Nine Mile Mountain, a place rich in avifauna. They drove to the start of the hike while Wendy, Ken and I cycled along a rough track that lead to the mountain. As we rounded a bend in the road we wondered if we had taken a wrong turn – the track turned into a creek (a beaver had dammed the creek, diverting it onto the road). After a more few kilometres we left our bikes and set off on a steep, two-hour hike to the alpine plateau.
When we came out onto the plateau, we were serenaded by Golden-crowned Sparrows singing from spindly evergreens. Horned Larks hopped amongst the boulders and American Pipits flitted over the tundra. A grizzly bear strolling across a nearby hillside startled us. We finally found one of our target birds, a Willow Ptarmigan, not completely changed out of its white winter plumage. The Ptarmigan clucked “go-back, go-back, go-back” then scurried away. “The slog up here was worth it,” said Wendy. She might have reconsidered when her knee started hurting on the long hike down.
Our “rest day” turned out to be anything but.
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