The Disappearing Caribou

From This…………………………………………………………………………………………

                                                                                                                                               To This

Hi Friends,

I read in our local paper, The Evening Telegram, an article by Derek Montague which reports on the decline in numbers of the Red Wine Mountain caribou herd in Labrador.  Over the last twenty five years, the herd has seen a ninety seven percent decline.  In 2013, the Red Wine Mountain herd was estimated at seventy five to one hundred animals. The latest numbers compiled by the provincial government in the fall of 2014  show the herd at the staggeringly low number of approximately twenty animals.  A recovery plan has been in place since 2002 under the Endangered Species Act and Wildlife Act, but yet the numbers continue to dwindle.  When asked why, our Environment and Conservation minister, Dan Crummell tells us “We have ecological conditions that impact the population, we have range deterioration, and illegal hunting, but mortality is the biggest issue.  The young are not surviving as well as they should.”  

Now Nalcor, the developer of the Muskrat Falls Hydro Electric mega project, plans to construct part of its transmission line in the Red Wine region.  What restrictions have been put in place to be sure that any activity has minimal impact or disturbance to the remaining herd?  According to Crummell, a few weeks ago, Nalcor was given stricter rules for activity in the area.  These rules include “avoiding and limiting project activities during sensitive times for the animals” and, “activities are  not permitted within important and highly used calving areas.  Work must also cease if a Red Wine Caribou is spotted within four kilometers of the work site until the caribou no longer occupy the area.  They actually have to drop their tools and walk away.”

Will it be enough to turn the near vanquished herd around?  The government has certainly recognized that change needs to be made to their recovery plan, but it may be too little too late.  

In my novel, The Lions Den, due for publication in April, environmentalist Brad Jamieson explains to photojournalist Della Rawlins the difficulties that the George River caribou herd have faced.  The herd, once numbering 384,000 has now been reduced to around 27,000 animals.  He tells the story of how careless conservation efforts resulted in the death of over 10,000 of these animals. 

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 9 of The Lions Den:

Several hours went by from the time Brad had gotten through to his buddy, Ted, and in that time many more caribou had joined the herd, moving northward, and inland from the coastal plain. Della was amazed by the sheer number of animals and the force of the instinct that drove them to travel the long journey to take them into the cover of the forest to wait out the long winter months.  Watching the little calves running to keep up with their elders, she wondered how many of them would survive the ravages of the wolves, the sparser food, and the cold harsh weather.

“How far do they have to travel?”  Della asked Brad, who was mulling over some maps and charts.

“Depends on where they live,”  Brad answered, “This herd will travel over 1,200 miles annually.

Some individual animals have been known to travel as much as 3,700 miles in a single year.

These guys are part of the George River herd which spreads across the northern part of Eastern Canada from Quebec to Labrador.”

“How many animals are there altogether in the George River herd?”

“There used to be around 384,000 at the turn of the millennium, but the numbers have shrunk to a little over 27,000 in recent years.”

“Wow, that’s a huge decrease,” Della said, “Besides the habitat destruction and the overhunting and the increase in predation, and disease, is there anything else that has caused the decline?”  Della asked.

“Well, as a matter of fact, there is.  Did you hear in the news a few years ago where there were a huge number or Caribou drowned while crossing a river in northern Quebec?”

“Yeah, I think I remember something about that.  There were tons of dead animals found floating down the river.” Della said, “Why would that happen?  I thought that Caribou could swim.”

“They can,” said Brad, “Around six miles at a stretch.  The herd generally will lose a few of the weaker or older animals every year on its annual migration, but what happened in Quebec was a man made tragedy.”

“Really?”  Della’s nose perked up, scenting the rotten stench of politics lurking behind the story.

“Yeah, what happened was that Hydro Quebec built a reservoir on the headwaters of the Caniapiscau River.  The Caribou always followed a migration route which had them cross the Caniapiscau about seventy miles upstream, just above the Limestone Falls.  Now the Caribou had gotten used to the low water flow in the Caniaapiscau while the reservoir was being filled. The waters of the upper Caniapiscau River, which flow north, were diverted into the La Grande River of the James Bay watershed to the west. That September there were exceptionally heavy rains, and the reservoir had filled up completely.  A decision was made to partially release the headwaters back into the Caniapiscau because the power stations on the La Grande River couldn’t yet turbine the full water flow.  According to the power company, any major addition of water to the La Grande River would have been diverted around the power stations for months, even years, and would  have seriously damaged the floodgates which were designed for temporary use during exceptional climatic events.”

“So the Caribou didn’t realise that the Caniapiscau was too wide and too strong for them to get across.”  Della said, sadly.

“Exactly the conclusion the biologists and wildlife officers came to, along with the local residents whose people were familiar with the river and the migration route of the animals for years and had opposed the development.”

“Yet another example of the white man’s arrogance in thinking that they can just willy nilly interfere with the natural environment for their own selfish monetary gain while making changes that can have  tragically detrimental repercussions.”

“I have to agree,” said Brad, “The government, the power company and even the wildlife authorities were jointly responsible for the death of over 10,000 animals.”

How important it is for our government to continue to invest in research and to watchdog developments to ensure that herds like the Red Wine Mountain and the George River are given every chance to recover.  To that end, Minister Crummell has committed to “identifying seasonal ranges that are extremely important to these particular herds and we’ll continue to monitor survival and recruitment and we’ll be using this information to ensure that any activity or developments involve minimal disturbance to the remaining animals.”  Let’s hope that everyone will do their part to be proactive in the recovery plan.

                                                     Moo!

Euthanasia

As a person who is dealing with the care of elderly parents experiencing extremely painful health conditions, I am so glad that the Supreme Court of Canada has lifted the ban on assisted suicides. It is comforting to know that people with terminal illnesses experiencing unbearable pain every moment of their lives now have the right to end their suffering.

In my book, The Lion’s Den, due for publication in April, 2015, the subject of euthanasia is examined, as the main character, Della Rawlins visits a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center, and experiences the grief of having to put a beloved animal down. Della’s grandmother makes a case for assisted suicide for people who are terminally ill and who are dealing with chronic debilitating pain.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/health/assisted-suicide-physicians-want-more-palliative-care-as-well-1.2948265

The Lions Den:

After her chores were done, Della went out on the verandah to sit in the porch swing and wait for Brad and Hope to come back. As she made herself comfortable, her phone dinged with the tone that indicated a Skype call.

“Hi Nana,” she smiled as the screen popped open and her eighty seven year old grandmother’s kind face filled the screen.

“Hello my beauty,” the old woman chirped, “Where are you?  I missed you tonight for our Radio Bingo date.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Della said, remembering too late that she was supposed to pick up the game cards and be at her grandmother’s senior’s residence at 6 pm sharp.  “Something came up and I had to go out of town.”

“That’s okay, my dear.  I was young once.  I remember how things used to come up back then, too,” She cackled, “Your mother was here, anyway.  Not as much fun as you, but we did okay.  Need young people like you around to keep me from getting old,” She cackled again, wheezing.

Della could see her Nana struggling to hold up the phone with her arthritic wrist,

“Damn rheumatitis,” She complained, wincing, “What I wouldn’t do for a fifth of scotch.”

“Nana!”  Della scolded, “You know you can’t drink alcohol with the drugs you’re taking!”

“Oh, I know, girl,” the old woman sighed, “Can’t do any of the fun stuff anymore.  Sucks to be getting old.”

Della smiled at her, “You can’t keep a good woman down,” she said.

“So what did you get up to after?”  Nana asked with an impish grin, “Was he taller than six two?”

“More like three feet,” Della said, trying to put Nana off the scent of what she thought might be a big secret romance, “I’m at a wilderness refuge.  My friend had to put her bald eagle down.  She has been working with him for five years, but he developed really bad arthritis and he can’t fly properly now.  He seemed upset that someone has to get his food for him, because he can’t hunt anymore.”

“I know exactly how he must feel,” Nana said, holding her arthritic wrist and painfully flexing her claw-like old fingers, “Useless!  If people were half as kind to their seniors as they are to their pets, they would put them out of their suffering when we get old and sick and depressed.  Half of the old age homes around are full of the walking dead, just hanging around waiting to die.  Who wants to be old and broken and dependant on someone else to wipe the drool off your face?  It’s so much kinder to let one die with dignity, like your friend did for her eagle.  Keeping people or animals alive because their bodies are too stubborn to quit, that seems to be more for the family than the senior, don’t you think?  The native cultures got it right, you know.  When a senior got old and sick, they would let them walk away from the tribe, alone, to die.  Animals often do that, too.  Then we have dumb people, who take men like old Dr. Kevorkian, who believe in assisted suicides for people who have excruciatingly painful, degenerative diseases, and throw them in jail.  I tell you, girl, the world is a screwed up place.”

Later, Nana took part in a television promo for the wildlife shelter where she spoke about their having to put their beloved friend and mascot, Oscar the bald eagle to sleep:

The screen opened on Nana, sitting in front of her computer screen at home.  Her poor arthritic wrist and her gnarled old hands were folded in front of her as she spoke.

“Nobody knows how helpless and useless one feels when you live every day in pain.  For a proud bird like Oscar, it is such a gift to give him to end his suffering, and let his spirit soar, free of his damaged body.  He will live on in all of you, because he has touched your hearts and helped you to understand how important it is to respect and protect all of our wild creatures.  Whenever we see animals being mistreated, we should step in and say “No”.  When we can give them a second chance on life, we can call people like Hope.  When we can end their suffering, we should.  Thank you, Oscar and Godspeed.”

Read more about Oscar the bald eagle and the Hope for Life wildlife refuge when The Lion’s Den comes out in April.

 Feel free to leave a comment and share your views on euthanasia and assisted suicide.

3rd Romantic Excerpt from The Lion’s Den

I know you’ve been waiting for it, Teaser Tuesday, the third romantic excerpt from The Lion’s Den, my Action Adventure Romance due for publication in April 2015.

 In this chapter, Brad and Della have left New York City, where Della is being hunted by al Qaeda for having proof that Osama bin Laden has escaped the May 2011 assassination attempt and is still alive and well.  The US government has a stake in keeping the failed mission secret as well, as they try to close the net around him for the second time.  Della and Brad have fled to an innocuous little seaside town in Eastern Canada where they are enjoying a romantic get away, out of reach of the forces that threaten her.  (Some bits have been edited out here for adult content 🙂  

At the Algonquian Hotel, St. Andrews by the Sea, New Brunswick, Canada

A sleek black limo waited at the hotel reception entrance for Della and Brad.  The chauffeur stepped out and said, “Good evening sir, madam,” and held open the door for them to board. They were whisked away to the wrought iron gates of the Kingsbrae Gardens, which had been transformed to night time elegance with the lighting of thousands of fairy lights.  The Maître d’ met them at the reception desk with menus and led them down the softly lit path to the privacy of the Rose garden.  They were seated in an arbor surrounded by climbing roses, and the Maître d’ plucked a long stemmed fuchsia colored rose from a nearby vase, and bowed formally, saying, “Please allow me to welcome you to Savour in the Garden.  The rose blushes at your beauty, mademoiselle.  Please accept it as a token of our appreciation for choosing to dine with us tonight.”

The dapper Frenchman expertly placed linen napkins in their laps and offered them menus and a wine list.  He took their drink order then made himself scarce, returning only to fill their water goblets and to ask if they would like their patio heater turned on.

It was a very warm night for October, and the crescent moon hung low in the indigo sky.  The soft glow of candles on the tables was all that lit the space, and the stars, sprinkled across the heavens numbered in the millions.  Brad took Della’s hands in his, “Are you warm enough?”

With the soft pashmina around her shoulders, Della nodded and told him that she was perfectly comfortable.

A waiter returned with their drink order and said he would be back in a little while to take their dinner order.  They perused the selections, each of which sounded more delectable than the last. Brad asked Della’s preference in wine and they settled on a nice Cabernet Sauvignon to complement their main course.

For a while they were content to sit back and enjoy the romantic ambiance.  Soft music was piped into the garden through hidden speakers, and Brad asked Della if she would like to dance.

Aching to be held in his arms again, Della smiled and nodded, and they wandered over to a pretty wooden gazebo, where another couple were enjoying a slow dance.  Brad took Della in his arms and fitted her to his hard contours. They swayed close together, the melody soft and sultry on the rose perfumed night air.  Too soon the song ended, and Brad pulled her to him and kissed her with a restrained hunger, just enough to whet their appetites.

They saw their waiter approaching with their appetizers and they sat down at their table as he expertly served the sumptuous fare.  Brad’s oysters were served on the half shell and the look on his face as they slipped down his throat, made her believe in the famed aphrodisiac quality of the delicate shellfish.  Della teased him about being careful not to crack his tooth on a pearl, and Brad couldn’t resist the opportunity to share more of his biological knowledge with her.

“You must not confuse food oysters with pearl oysters, Brad informed her, “Different bivalve altogether, although food oysters can occasionally produce pearls.  This species is most likely the Eastern American oyster, very commonly found in Atlantic waters”, he sagely said, causing Della to roll her eyes.

“You know way too much about animals,” Della said, “I don’t want to know anything about ducks or lambs.  I’d prefer to just think about meat as delicious proteins found on Styrofoam trays in my local supermarket.”

“Ah, yes, we must get back to your lessons in duck hunting when we get back to the cabin.  Ideal time for it right now with the ducks migrating south.  Can’t have you going back home to Michigan without bagging your first duck!  What would all of my customers say?  “Brad, your girlfriend can’t hit the broadside of a barn.  What are you thinking?”

“Am I your girlfriend?”  Della asked, swallowing the last delicious forkful of salad and laying her fork down on the delicate china plate.

Brad took a minute to consider his answer, not sure whether he should make light of the question, or if he would treat it as seriously as he took it to be. Deciding to be bold, he took her hand in his, and looked her deeply in the eyes, and placed  a kiss on the back of her hand and softly said ”I’d really like you to be.”

A warm smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she regarded the man who had stolen her heart, calmed her fears, and made her feel whole again.  “I’d be proud to be your girlfriend,” she said, and he closed his eyes, pressing a kiss into the palm of her hand and opening them to see in hers the promise of a love beyond all reason, without reservations, enough to last them a lifetime.

*Sigh* Don’t you just melt when you get to the part in the romance novel when the couple first confesses their feelings of love for one another?  One more Romantic excerpt left before Valentines day!  

Stay tuned for the release of the The Lion’s Den in April, when Brad and Della’s idyllic romantic interlude gets interrupted as the dark forces threatening to rip Della out of her cocoon of safety close in, and she is swept back into the world of foreign politics where nothing but terror and death await.

Seasons of Love

Valentine’s Day is only a month away, and I think it’s high time I gave you a little taste of what The Lion’s Den has to offer in the way of romantic fiction.  For the next four weeks, I will be posting excerpts which  show the deepening of Della and Brad’s relationship as the circumstances surrounding their lives intensify. I can’t promise any R-rated content here, that will have to be saved for the book release on April 15, 2015!

As you already know, Della and Brad get thrown together under very unusual circumstances.  She had just returned from Pakistan where her photojournalist boyfriend was captured during a tactical mission that saw Osama bin Laden captured and killed.   Not knowing whether Aaron was dead or alive, she was forced to go home and regroup and await further information before any attempt was made to extract him.

 Della’s father, the United States senator from Michigan, suggests that Della take a photographic assignment to keep her busy and out of his hair while he and his team attempt to gather intel on Aaron’s whereabouts.  Della accepts an assignment with National Environmental Magazine to cover the seasonal migration of the Woodland caribou.  It’s on the banks of a remote salmon river in eastern Canada that she makes the acquaintance of  a very annoying* stranger.

 *Isnt it funny how embarrassment and the thought of looking stupid in front of a very attractive stranger can bring out the worst in a person.

The Lion’s Den, Chapter one, Bad Beginnings

Della had been waiting for days for the rain to stop drizzling down, which was nothing new to her.  As a photo-journalist, she was used to crouching for hours in adverse conditions, waiting for news to happen in front of her camera.  Quite often, it wasn’t just raindrops she was dodging, but gunfire or worse.  She sighed as she opened the flap on the camouflaged blind that housed her camera and tripod setup, and checked the light meter to see if she would soon be able to get a decent exposure.  Her subjects had yet to arrive, and they were shier than their human counterparts about having their photos taken……..

A gentle sound outside the blind brought Della’s mind back to the present.  Flexing her cramped muscles, she pressed a button on the camera which lit the viewfinder display.  On the screen a group of shadowy figures appeared out of the lavender mists, their gray forms silhouetted against the breaking dawn sky, which painted the digital landscape with muted shades of pink, purple and gold.  Two majestic caribou, a buck and a doe stepped into the foreground, and dipped their heads to the water to drink.  The composition was perfect, the diffused lighting was perfect, the color saturation amazing.  Della paused to check the light meter one last time and gently pressed down on the shutter release, just as all hell broke loose.  Brilliant lights stabbed through the woods behind her as the roar of a monster machine rent the quiet stillness.  Dust billowed and the light blinded her as Della crouched in the blind, paralysed with terror.

Della’s heart was beating out of her chest and she couldn’t draw breath into her lungs.  Her mind was back in the Middle East, even though her body was here in the Canadian wilderness.  She stumbled out of the blind, and dropped to her knees in the dead grass, clasping her hands behind her head.   With the last gasp  in her quaking body, she shouted, “Don’t shoot, I’m an American citizen!”

The door opened on the huge vehicle.  A rack of lights on the roof, shining towards her stole almost all of her vision.  All she could see was the silhouette of a beast of a man striding towards her through the dusty air.  She kept her eyes downturned as he stopped in front of her.

“What the hell, woman?”  The masculine voice asked incredulously.

Della looked up.  She thought it odd that the soldier wasn’t carrying a weapon.  Hope dawned in her foggy brain that the man standing in front of her might be on their side.  He cautiously approached her and reached out a hand to her shoulder.  She flinched away, expecting a blow to the head.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”  He said calmly.  “Can you tell me who you are? “  He once again cautiously reached out to her, “Here, let me help you up.”

With the beep of a remote control device, the overhead lights on the vehicle went off, and Della could see the man’s face.  He was definitely not Saudi.  Brown wavy hair fell over his forehead.  His brow, framing darkly lashed blue eyes, was furrowed, not with anger, but with concern.  His cheeks were clean shaven and his strong jaw and full mouth were more Gentlemen’s Quarterly than World at War Magazine.  He was wearing camouflage, but the kind hunters wear for hunting season, not military issue.

Trembling, Della gripped his forearms to steady herself as she rose to her feet.

“I’m Della Rawlins,” she said shakily, remembering, and just catching herself in time she said, “I’ve been sent here by Today….I mean National Environmental Magazine to shoot the caribou.”

“Could of fooled me,” the man said, “Looks more like you’ve been caught in a war zone.”

Della’s hackles rose on the back of her neck.  She realised she was not in any imminent danger and she felt foolish and embarrassed and shell shocked all at the same time.  The result made her furious.

“Yeah, well, if you hadn’t barged in here like a weekend warrior, I wouldn’t have been terrified.

Who do you think you are, crashing through the woods in a military issue Hummer, of all things, dressed like a soldier of fortune!  Hasn’t anyone told you that the war here in Canada is over?”

“Well now that you mention it, I guess the gear is a little over the top,” the guy said, ruefully, scratching his head, “But, hey, I’ve got an image to uphold.  I’m Brad Jamieson, owner of Jamieson’s Outdoor Outfitters,” he said, extending his hand.  “Your tent is parked practically on my front doorstep.  This is my family’s property.   I was just wondering who was here squatting on my land………

Can I offer you a cup of tea and a bite of breakfast and maybe an apology for ruining your morning?”

Della huffed out a breath, still fuming, and retrieved her Nikon from its tripod inside the blind.

“Now that you’ve scared off the caribou and stunk up the blind with your man smell, it’s just as well to call it a day and move my gear somewhere else,” she said peevishly, “This was a perfect location.”

“Want a ride up to the cabin?”

“No thanks, I need the exercise.”

Noticing, not for the first time, the trim, athletic, definitely female body in the slick North face jacket and Sportzone leggings, he tended to disagree, but he thought it wise to hold his tongue.

Brad shrugged his shoulders, “Suit yourself,” he said, and strode back over to the camouflage painted Hummer, which Della now noted, was blazoned down the side with the company logo of Jamieson’s Outdoor Outfitters.  He swung up into the driver’s seat and expertly backed the rig up the path to where he could turn in towards the cabin.

Still peeved, Della trudged up the path, debating whether she should pack up her gear and spend the afternoon scouting other locations, or whether she would take the mighty great white hunter up on his offer of a cup of tea and see if he had any ideas on where the herd might have migrated to, having vacated “his” property.

Stay tuned for the next excerpt from The Lions Den

Norma