When you first start out in journalism, you aren’t given the most hard-hitting of assignments.
Case in point: my first byline for a major daily newspaper, nearly a decade and a half ago, was about dragonflies.
I remember feeling somewhat underwhelmed. Surely there are some recent, unsolved murders I could write about, or some seedy corruption somewhere that needed uncovering?
But like any job, you have to work up to the big stuff. So I set out to do my little story on dragonflies, and why there appeared to be so many in Saskatoon that particular summer.
And of course, I ended up learning a whole lot about the winged insects that I hadn’t previously known—or even began to consider.
Like how they can take up to five years to fully mature and develop, and some species do so in a synchronized fashion, such as the Emperor Dragonfly—which is why you might see more of them in some years than others.
Not only was it the perfect introduction to community journalism—a constantly challenging and engaging job in which you learn something new almost every single day—but it also further opened my eyes to the sheer enormity of this world and all the life it hosts; the impossibly complicated, often interconnected series of systems lurking just below the water’s surface.
So I was humbled in more ways than one, with that particular assignment. But I’m grateful for it.
I was reminded of it this week by a visit from legendary local outdoorsman, glaciologist and bird-watcher Karl Ricker, who carried with him into Pique’s office the excitement of dozens of birders from all across the world (not to mention a very hefty and comprehensive book about all of British Columbia’s birds).
He wanted to talk about the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, which was spotted in Whistler for the first time ever on Aug. 21, sending bird nerds near and far into a frenzy.
People drove from across the province just to catch a glimpse of the rare and unique bird—only the 39th time it has been recorded in British Columbia—and Ricker estimated up to 100 people showed up over the span of four days or so (read more here).
This bird is basically The Beatles in 1964—albeit on a much smaller, more adorable scale.
No one seems to know exactly why it decided to pop up in Whistler this year, when it would typically be found in places such as Texas.
“Was it pushed here by extreme weather events like the hurricane in California? Is it a climate change refugee? Is there something awry with its internal magnetic direction sense that tells it where to go during migration?” wrote local birder Dea Lloyd in an email to Pique. “Hard to tell, but we are lucky it showed up here. It appears to be a juvenile, likely hatched this year.”
Indeed, it could be any number of butterfly-effect happenings that led the Flycatcher to Whistler.
The cause of an increase in the local wasp population, however, is somewhat easier to track.
In fact, Orkin Canada, one of the country’s biggest pest control operations, even predicted it back in April.
“The mild winter of 2022 has resulted in fewer wasp colonies being naturally controlled. Wasp queens that have survived will come out early, and they’re going to start populations earlier in the year,” Orkin wrote in a blog post on its website.
The mild winter and early, warm spring also led to vegetation sprouting early in the season—much of it attracting the plant-feeding insects on which wasps feed, according to Orkin.
Cause leads to effect. Action spurs reaction. On and on it goes.
Anecdotally, Orkin’s April prediction was spot on. This year, I’ve seen more wasps in my yard, in the parks and along the Valley Trail than I can ever remember seeing in Whistler—and it’s not even close.
The insects have so far clogged up two separate traps I installed for them near my home, and they’re working on a third.
I won’t pretend to know all the intertwining secrets behind these animal and insect machinations, or attempt to draw lines or correlations where they might not actually exist. I am perfectly content to marvel at the small wonders of our world, and take time to appreciate the tiny systems, structures, and rules at play we too often overlook.
But it’s worth remembering, when life gets too hectic and demanding, the importance of hitting the brakes every once in awhile; to just allow yourself to be still in the moment and wonder.
When you do, you will more often than not discover something fascinating, or at least learn something new.
On a different note, if you saw the headline of this column and were hoping to use it as educational material for that dreaded “talk” you’ve been putting off with your child, I apologize for the bait-and-switch.
But I had to get your attention somehow, and sex sells.
