Canadian Rocky Mountains

Now that I have caught my breath over babbling on about the possible future of mankind, let me get back to the present—just in time to warn you, Look Out! —because crossing the summit of the Rocky Mountains you need to be alert to Stone Sheep on the highway, at guess where, Stone Mountain.  British Columbia roads signs cautioning about animals on the roadway are not some tourism director’s ploy to build numbers.  Believe them.

I have never crossed the highest point of the Alaska Highway without spotting Stone Sheep.  Further north in the Yukon and Alaska there are a couple of Sheep Mountains where the practiced eye can pick up Dall Sheep grazing — whey up there! Here, if you are not looking for wild animals, you stand a chance of altering your pickup with a new Dodge Ram hood ornament.

The truth is, that took me years to figure out, and that there seems to be something in the chemical makeup of the gravel of the roadbed the sheep need in their diet. Having shared that with you, please do not rush out to organize a sit-in in support of “Save-The-Sheep,” by tearing up the asphalt, effectually taking us back to the Stone Sheep age, as they also, as with all wild animals in the north take advantage of man-made right-of-ways.  This is why bush Alaskans get such a big chuckle over network TV news anchors showing prejudiced negative reasons why the ANWAR should not be opened to exploration drilling. Namely caribou frolicking over lush green, rolling hills, 500 miles to the south of the ground in jeopardy.  Know that caribou avoid the flat plain of the Artic Ocean in the summer on account of swarms of mosquitoes, and almost impassable muskeg. Know that if man is stupid enough to venture into this nightmare, then the caribou would thank us for giving them, as proven by the pipeline, an expressway through.

Northern bush people also know that our neighbors as bear and caribou, wolves and sheep with a trophy hat rack as the Stone Sheep in the video, can get along very well if man and beast respect each other. This does not suggest running up and violating a boundary by touching a bear to prove to a TV comedian “what loveable party animals” they really were.  Or even swimming with stingrays.  Both of these made-for-TV-events had a disastrous effect of humans racking up a scoreboard of, ‘US- 2” vs. “Bears –9,” and “TV personality- 1”vs. “Sting Rays – 7.”

The rules of the north are very simple.

Spotting game, is a game, and just like a computer contest, achieving a high score for the day requires practice.  I mentioned earlier the green busses that take tourists into Denali National Park. The drivers are not cruise line naturalists hired in Loss Vegas. They are Alaskans who need tips to party on the beach in Baja in the winter.  To earn those tips a good driver will get a game spotting contest going, that sort of turns into a serendipitous party. Know that there is a set of hand signals passed between drivers, tipping them off that a caribou, or wolf, or bear, is just around the next corner. Watch for them, and win.  Also, a beginner’s step, anytime a vehicle has stopped in an unusual place, it usually means someone has done the spotting for you.

Of course Class A motorhomers, setting up high enough to see over guardrails, with a big window unobstructed by a Class C overhang, have the advantage over everyone.  Motorhome co-pilots also win by firing up the active search mode, and moving their vision in measured quadrants, left to right, and back again, as fighter pilots are taught. A small set of binoculars helps. Drivers, preoccupied with other items, need to train themselves to respond to trusting that movement registered in their peripheral vision is not a mother with a baby stroller on a sidewalk, or a commuter in a hurry, moving up alongside to flip you off.  Bobby will tell you she got her award winning wolf photograph by knowing that when a timid snowshoe hare breaks cover to hop across a road it three movements, that something spectacular is just behind.