...or, the subject line could read:
(1) The Xantus's Hummingbird Expedition, --or;
(2) Birding Vancouver, BC in less than one minute, --or;
(3) "Psst. Hey buddy; over here". Chapter 2: Skid Row at 3:30am....
.......It's a good thing I can summon a sense of humor over this. As a wild
incredibly successful birding trip goes awry, I have to just to bury the
distress and despair by relating a little bittersweet tale in the ongoing
saga of the "Triumphs and Tribulations of a Birder."

It's not often that I go off on a rarities chase, but the Xantus's
Hummingbird near Vancouver at Gibsons pushed me over the edge, partly because
it's a 'lifer' and of course, a N.A. AOU list bird of a most bizarre sort,
not to mention a first for Canada. BTW, what's the official accepted correct
spelling? Xantus, Xantus', or Xantus's? I've seen it in print all three
ways, the latter being the one in the most recent ABA Checklist. I'd check
my Mexican field guides, but I don't have 'em any more, ...but then, that's
getting ahead of myself in this story.

I first learned of the hummingbird late Friday night, thanks to Tweeters, but
too late in the evening to take up various posted offers for car pooling to
B.C. BTW, I was very impressed to see these offers posted, thus showing
genuine concern for our resources, the environment, shared comraderie, etc.

For me I'm afraid, way up there in the wee wee hours when word of the
hummingbird arrived, it was too late, and I had to take the shotgun approach
and blast immediately out-o-here to get up there in the morning since the
weather was expected to deteriorate to rain by afternoon and continue 'til
who knows when. The only map of Vancouver (area) that I could lay my hands
on in such short order was one large scale version of most of Western Canada
that appeared only slightly more detailed than looking at the globe upon
which to roughly pinpoint this place called "Gibsons". I thought it was on
an island... a small one, thus my expectations for a tiny, packed, but oddly
infrequent ferry.

So, armed with that and the excellent directions posted on Tweeters from the
good folks at the Vancouver RBA, I was off from Eastgate/Bellevue at about
0640hrs. Tight to say the least to make the 0920 ferry. I reached the rt.
99 tunnel with 30 minutes to go. I'll never make it realizing I still had to
deal with the loss of freeway and lots of stoplights between there, through
center city, and North Vancouver, and then, just *FIND* the ferry as I had
not a clue where it was or what it was going to look like. I contemplated
cutting my losses and aborting at Stanley Park and go for the Common Eider.
Then, a wonderful thing happened. The major streets through downtown were
cordoned off with scores and scores of police everywhere. Some big deal must
be going on I thought, as traffic was funneled through the city center in a
corridor free of stops. I noted all the banners on every lamp post screaming
"APEC" preferring to imagine it was some unfathomable acronym about the
Xantus's Hummingbird "event". [BTW, if you can think of something in that
regard, I'd like to see it :-))]. The final moments before reaching the
ferry terminal were increasingly worrisome. Minutes diminishing to seconds.
I was still unsure if I was supposed to exit somewhere or just keep going
until something, as then uncertain, became obvious. Mind you, I'm still
expecting to spot a *tiny* ferry going a very short distance. All I see is
one big lunker at the bottom of the hill belching black smoke from the stack.
I noted only one small sign for Gibson's amidst a couple of others to
Vancouver Island and Nanaimo. I could imagine a large ferry going over to
the latter. At the ticket booth, and completely rattled, all I could manage
to mutter was, "Can I still get on?" without bothering to mention or even
think of a destination. "Yep, barely, if you hurry! $35 please". "Here!"
as I toss out a couple of twenties while thinking this is a tad "steep" for a
"short" trip. Then she phoned ahead saying, "last car, station wagon". I go
racing over the speed bumps and bounce onboard and come to skidding
screeching stop. Phew! "God, this is an awfully big ferry; not exactly what
I had in mind." Then, the awful dread set in. I got out of the car, looked
around, and discovered that there was not a soul in sight. Uh oh, bad sign!
Am I on the wrong boat??? This is one mega-steamer of a ferry that looks
like it may be going on a very long trip to who knows where; Alaska! for all
I know. At CD$35, I was seriously wondering. Then, I just took a deep
breath, relaxed, shrugged, and sighed, "Oh well, where ever I'm going, it
will somewhere new". Finally, I saw woman trying to board the elevator to
the main deck dragging a small child who was having a tantrum about the idea
of getting on the elevator at all. I was getting a little edgy over this
obnoxious delay as we chugged away from the dock and I was just dying to ask
someone, anyone, the horribly humbling question: "Is this ferry going to
Gibsons?" -- too late in any case to do anything about it if it were
otherwise. "Yes" she replies with a look of utter astonishment. Phew!! I
actually made it. The anxiety attack passed and things were looking up.

Next stop was an urgent visit to the restroom. It was in the restroom where
the first person I actually laid eyes upon (besides the woman and her
screaming reluctant toddler) was Gene Hunn along with a whole contingent of
Seattle birders. Seems after 2-1/2 hours on the road, everyone had the same
needs at once. Gene Hunn!! And I suddenly am swept up in a feeling of
exhilaration now that in knowing If GENE HUNN is here, this bird (Xantus's
Hummingbird) is as good as in the bag already!

And so, it came to pass (of course!). Way too easy. Wham! Within 30
seconds of my arrival on the seen, the XANTUS'S HUMMINGBIRD zipped in for
it's first of several intermittent appearances over the next 90 minutes or so
between ferries. Gene and others have already posted about the bird, so I'll
skip the heady details. As long as this bird is happy and healthy there, it
could hang around for awhile. You really should go take a look. It's
remarkably striking and quite worth the effort.

Aboard the 12:20 ferry, back then to Vancouver, and go for the COMMON EIDER,
I must. Perhaps I mis-interpreted from Michael Price's post that it might be
a little hard to find by virtue of accessability to a good viewing spot, and
the large Surf Scoter flock which it associates with tends to move back and
forth under the Lion's Gate Bridge. So, the eider sounded rather dependent
upon where the scoters were. In to Stanley Park, heading northeast along the
shoreline, I stop at the first lookout, Brockton Point, to scan with the bins
and get a lay of the area. Nothing. I'm scanning out way too far. Bam!
Ten seconds later, I find that the scoter flock is right in front of me
along the lee shore with one, as Michael Price so eloquently put it;
"conspicuous black and white tanker of a duck sitting low in the water",
right in the middle of the flock, and I haven't even gotten out of the car
yet!. Common Eider. Way too easy again! Impossible to miss, even in the
worst of times! Gorgeous bird, nearly adult male, faint musty lime green on
the nape and adjacent sides of the head, and with a lovely rosy buff blush on
the white chest.

Next item on the agenda was the long long, very long neglected CRESTED MYNA.
As this exotic with a rather interesting history, is about to vanish from
the Vancouver landscape, I decided I'd better be getting my butt in gear and
make a concerted effort to look for it. The best of the best leads (Marine
Drive and Hudson, under the Arthur Lang bridge, north side of the north arm
of the Frasier River) were always prefaced with "hit or miss"..., "kind of a
matter of luck"..., and/or... "requires patience to just wait around for two
hours under the bridge for it (them, a pair) to return to their nestsite" to
which they are loyal even in the off-season. I expected at best it would be
a long shot, but what the heck, I was for once thinking about the Crested
Myna, a new concept for a Vancouver trip where I've always managed to either
forget about it or dismiss it as, "eh, who cares... it's just an introduced
exotic." I found my way to the bridge and under the bridge and face to face
amidst a mass of concrete with lanes and ramps going off in various
directions. What a birdless desert. Nothing! So, I just kind of rolled
through slowly looking here and there for anything. At the far east end
where one of the ramps comes down onto Marine Drive, I just barely glimpsed a
blackish bird with a yellow bill tucked away up on a narrow dark cave of a
ledge, a virtual crack, and just kind of went on by for about 100 meters
dismissing that split second glimpse out of the corner of my eye was just a
Starling. Then I thought, "I haven't even seen a Starling yet... maybe I
should just take another look" and proceeded to back up against the oncoming
traffic. Hmmm. Yikes! That IS a Crested Myna! And still, I haven't even
gotten out of the car yet or been out of the car since I left Gibsons! Zero
to 20 seconds depending how you might score it, and for the third time in a
row, way too easy. I parked in the large adjacent bus area and took it all
in very nicely as it began to squawk a bit at my presence then flew off to
join a second bird on a pole, then up into the inner recesses of another part
of the bridge. I'm not sure, but I might owe the good luck on this one to
the rain, and the bridge decks which provide shelter. I think the Crested
Myna might be a good bird to look for in the rain. The bridge decks provide
shelter for the mynas and the birder as well.

So, Wham! Bam! Slam! All three trip target birds in less than a minute
actual birding time, not counting all the transit time in between. Xantus's
Hummingbird in 30, Common Eider in 10, and Crested Myna in 0-20. I was
beyond elated. Euphoric! Vancouver once again comes through as the only
place I could visit over and over and never be let down. I should have just
savored the triumph, called it a day, and headed for the border.

But wait!... it's not over......

But noooo.... I have to push the envelope one page too far. The rest of this
has absolutely nothing to do with birds.... but the ramifications for me
personally and for birding now for awhile most certainly do. [Dear Tweets,
you can skip out now if you want because the rest of this may leave you
feelng a bit queasy and disturbed]. Vancouver's flawless image was soon to
be abruptly veiled in a layer of tarnish. This is nothing personal and no
shots intended at Vancouver. Vancouver is and always will be a magnificent
city, one of my most favored on the planet, and despite what happened later,
still is so. It's just a sad reality one is doomed to find, sooner or later
anywhere in the world, but for me in Vancouver, one that I'd managed to
always avoid before. There may even be some lessons to be learned here, or
at least reinforce your own senses of awareness, safety, and security when
traveling and birding.

Instead of bolting for the border like I should have, I elected to spend the
rest of the afternoon and night in Vancouver and just kind of poke around,
explore some, then head back on Sunday maybe via Skagit or somewhere as yet
undecided. Everything seemed to be going fine, until I left the hotel at 3am
to get something out of the car. The problem was, there wasn't any longer
anything IN the car to get. The car had been broken into and everything
stolen -- binoculars, spotting scope, tripod, camera gear, and field guides.
The thief was even 'so kind' as to leave a soda can on the front seat as a
sort of calling card. It was stupid to leave everything in there in the
first place, and normally I wouldn't I guess. It was all out of sight, and
stowed out of sight even long before I parked & locked it for the night, but,
if someone wants to break in anyway, I guess they will. Parking overnight on
the street probably wasn't wise either. Hopefully, insurance will cover
this, but the one item that can't be replaced will be my R.T. Peterson
personally autographed copy of "A Field Guide to Mexican Birds".

This is when Michael Price's funny, now ironic, "Psst. Hey buddy, over here"
posting bounced back into my mind but now took on a whole new shade of
meaning.

The dark side of darkness.

First I had to find a police officer. The one I found at that hour was
anything but helpful, and supposedly guarding the streets and environs around
the APEC conference area. He didn't know anything, like street names, or
where anything was, like um... the central Vancouver Police Station for
example! Good God! He admitted that he "wasn't from around here" having
been brought in from outside somewhere (way way far outside, I'd say!) to
beef up the police presence during APEC. He awkwardly radioed somewhere and
then told me to go to Cordova and Main "kinda down & out that way somewhere"
sort of pointing east, but couldn't be more specific and generally didn't
convey much self confidence, much less earning my confidence in him. Sorry
to bother you; I'll go find someone else. And then me, with my near
globe-scale map didn't help either. I ended up kind of in the Gas Lamp /
Skid Row area and asking an admitted pair of "we're dumpster divers" who
obviously knew the neighborhood well and turned out to be very helpful and
precise, polite even, and from whom I obtained remarkably explicit
directions. Maybe that was because they initially looked suspect to my mind
or expectations lugging around large garbage bags full of stuff, were near
the scene of the crime, and I scared the be-jesus out of them by cutting them
off suddenly and stopping obliquely blocking their path, jumping out and
immediately asking if they'd mind if I looked at their stuff which turned out
to be sleeping bags. Nice chaps actually, in an agreeable sort of way, and I
gave 'em a little tip for their trouble.

Arriving at the Vancouver Police Station, a large building on the corner of
Cordova & Main, it quickly became apparent that "NYPD" this place was NOT!
It was dark and practically lifeless, save for one, and only one officer on
duty in the dimly lit lobby. Being late late Saturday night, I'd have
thought the place would be packed with all manner of sordid riff-raff of the
night and I might be hours before getting a copy of a police report.
Strangely, no one there but me. Eerie actually, as I was thinking about
what this lack of activity might be implying. That taken care of, I decided
to cruise the Skid Row area and did so for a couple of hours searching for
anything that might have been dumped. I would have forever kicked myself had
I not at least given it a try, regardless of how distant and unlikely finding
anything might be. Having gained a vast experience now in coursing through
Vancouver's darkened, damp, rain slickened, fetid trash strewn streets and
allys, poking around in trash barrels and dumpsters myself that weren't
locked shut, I could clearly see why Hollywood movie makers have moved much
of their production operations to Vancouver. It's cheaper and a hell of a
lot more realistic when you already *have* the set in place! It's the real
thing here and I felt like *I* was in a movie; a 'virtual reality' of sorts,
living out, not by choice, some of those very same scenes I've seen on the
tube or big screen. This was straight out of the "X-Files" where the worst
things imaginable could happen. Just sign me, Mulder. Strange bizarre
feeling, that was.

The theft occurred fairly close to a small park, so I started there, walking
the perimeter and through the center checking out all those wretched foul
rotting trash barrels, the bushes, anywhere I could think of where someone
may have discarded a little weight and something deemed of little value. As
for concern for my own safety, I kept a watchful eye, maintained a constant
awareness of my surroundings, and carried a pretty tight tough demeanor and
street smarts I like to think, yet one that conveyed self-confidence and
assurance through flexible body language ready to respond at the appropriate
emotional level depending on any situation that might arise, but primarily
aimed at hostility avoidance. No different than any one would and should do
on unfamiliar turf at home or away anywhere in the world. All too often,
tourists and travelers too easily get in trouble by not exercising that
properly.

I was not alone or in want of people or 'wildlife' in the park. People of
the night, dozens and dozens, were doing the same, shuffling, scurrying,
crawling (literally) around in the bushes and allyways to and fro in search
of discarded treasures, cautiously eyeing me then melting into and out of the
shadows at my approach, utterly no different from the literally hundreds of
rats that infested and swarmed that park and those backallys. Rats! Rats
everywhere! Reality check! This was a shocking horror, as I felt myself
slipping deeper into this completely different and dark world, into another
reality of grim and utter rank destitution, alcoholism, drugs, and despair.
My car was the only vehicle on these deserted streets, thus I perceived it's
symbolic power and safe refuge. As such and clearly without a slightest hint
of police presence, even traffic lights and one way streets could be ignored
and violated at whim as I explored, drove shortcuts to allys, and watching
for signs of something mine, and especially looking for any individual who
might be wearing my distinctive blue rain jacket. I felt like I owned the
street for those two hours on this dreary, dark, cold, and wet late November
night, when in fact it is those that live there that do. A man in my blue
Halley-Henson was my only faint hope. Had I actually found such an
individual, I'm not sure what would have transpired. Since I didn't, I won't
waste any more time thinking about it.

I could be way off base. The theft could very well have been a professional
hit. Load the stuff in another car, and drive off to the suburbs. There was
no damage what-so-ever. It's almost as if someone had a key and just let
themselves in. If it was someone from the street, why would they leave only
the umbrella and rubber boots with the wet Vancouver winter coming on?

This was a very enlightening and humbling journey into the dark side. We as
birders, by nature of the sport, naturally place ourselves well above such an
alien reality with little thought or acknowledgment of such an existence. I
doubt anyone on this listserv would be caught dead prowling such a place at
such a god-awful hour. I don't know anyone who either has or would admit it.
It was done so, not without complete trepidation, but since even here, and
in Vancouver at all levels on the food chain where politeness exceeds even
Seattle's notorious status, I've always tended to think and feel that the
threat of assault by the most violent means to be somewhat less threatening
than almost anywhere state-side. Had this happened in certain parts of
Seattle or Tacoma or a long list of other cities, I certainly wouldn't have
been so bold (or stupid).

Richard Rowlett (Pagodroma at aol.com)
47.56N, 122.13W
(Seattle/Bellevue, WA USA)