Tag: Alberta

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Fall Colours and Construction

Living where we do, it’s easy to take it for granted, and that might seem weird to people who only get to see the Canadian Rockies once in a while. But I’ve talked to other people who live in beautiful places, and they’ve had the same experience.

You still have bills, work issues, family drama, car trouble, and sometimes you forget to look around.

But every so often, the world smacks you right upside the head and reminds you of the stuff you’re not paying attention to.

I took Shonna out for dinner for her birthday last month, and as we left The Stirling Lounge in the Malcolm Hotel to walk to the car, the evening light looked surreal.
There’s a phenomenon around here that we never quite get used to. When the light is right, often when fog or cloud cover is low in the valley but you can still see the peaks, or at certain times of year from certain viewpoints, the mountains look MASSIVE.

Mountains. Aren’t they always massive?

Yes, but sometimes they look twice their size and so unreal that they might as well be CGI or AI. And photos never capture it. You have to be surrounded by the light to see it, and a camera doesn’t do it justice. At least not a photo I know how to take.

I received a very large order of metal prints this week, preparing for the Banff Christmas Market. There were also three dog portrait commissions in there. I recorded some video of unwrapping everything, including closeups of the brand new pieces, but I’ll have to record the voiceover later.

You see, right across the street this week, the town has been jack-hammering concrete and ripping up the ground. Last week, they had to move some utilities first.

It’s a necessary improvement to the street, and it had to be done sometime. Everybody has to deal with construction, I know. But it still made working in my home office with all that very loud noise a challenge.

Fortunately, it’s been a warm fall week, and ridiculously stunning. So when I completed the work that had to be done, I got on the bike and went looking for elk.

Live here long enough, and you get used to seeing them. They’re just part of the landscape, to the point that a lot of locals aren’t surprised or impressed with them anymore.

But I’m a wildlife guy. If I’m biking along a trail and a squirrel starts cursing at me from a tree trunk, I’ll stop and take its picture. That just makes it curse more, like a sailor, which means more pictures. Dude, it’s your own fault. I didn’t even know you were there until you swore at me.

I feel the same way when I see an elk. I just want to take its picture.

Now, you never want to get close to these animals, especially during calving season in the spring or rutting season in the fall. And having lived in this valley for 32 years, I know better than to do something stupid to get a photo. Too many tourists learn that lesson the hard way.

But a bull elk with a full, impressive rack, so proud and sure of himself? You only get to see that at certain times of the year. And that’s what I was after.

The trail system in this town is second to none, and it’s one of my favourite parts of living here.

The Town of Canmore has issues to solve. Name a town that doesn’t. It’s ridiculously expensive to live here. You’d almost faint at some of the grocery prices, and businesses struggle to find staff who can afford to live and work in the community.

It’s a dark joke that people think everybody who lives here is rich. For the record, you’re thinking of those with second homes here, many of whom only live here part-time and complain about the taxes.

But one thing this town has gotten right is its commitment to getting people to walk and bike more and leave their cars at home. Our trail system in and around town? I’d challenge you to find a better one in Canada.
So I went up to Three Sisters by the golf course, down along the Bow River, to Millennium Park, and other places where elk are known to frequent.

For a couple of those days, I didn’t see any. Just lots of evidence they’d been there.

Yes, I’m talking about poop.

But while I wasn’t finding elk, I was still riding the trails around town through some of the most beautiful landscape you’ll see anywhere in the world, in my favourite season to see it.
This is Quarry Lake, on the road up to the Nordic Centre. It’s a local swimming hole in the summer, with a nearby dog park, and just a lovely place to be. Hard to believe it was once a scarred strip and open-pit coal mining operation.

Many of the shots in this post are right off well-worn and paved trails, next to neighbourhoods and the Bow River. You can cut in and out of one stunning postcard after another.

When I finally found a herd of elk on Tuesday morning, it was by accident.

While on the river trail near the old train bridge, I stopped my bike because I noticed a couple of cow elk moving around in the trees below the trail.

I circled around to the neighbourhood on the other side, locked my bike to a sign post beside the local pickleball court, and walked into the trees, carefully, because elk blend in very well.
I stood there for a few minutes and saw an elk lying down about twenty feet away. I hadn’t noticed her until just then. Within a few minutes, giving themselves away by their ear twitches, I realized the whole area was full of elk, most of them lying down in the fall brush.

Unless you were really looking, you couldn’t see them. Then you couldn’t NOT see them.

Fortunately, they were all in front of me, and I was able to back off and watch from a safer distance. But it was a thrill. And it dawned on me, with all these cows, there must be a bull. That’s how this season works. One big bull and his harem.
I eventually spotted him, just munching away on leaves or grass, far enough away that I wasn’t worried. I managed to get the above shot, but it’s unremarkable. Handheld at 300mm, in the shadows. To get the shot I’d really want, I’d have to get too close to be safe.

My last time being charged by an elk was while living in Banff, when I was younger and faster. I don’t need to experience that again.

On Wednesday, I’d already been working since 5:30 a.m. at my desk when the construction noise outside reached peak volume around 9. So I grabbed the camera, got on the bike, and went out again.

This time, I’d just crested the river trail near Millennium Park when I saw a big bull on the other side of the dry tributary of the Bow that only holds water part of the year.
A few cows were heading into the trees, and I managed to get a couple dozen shots of him before he disappeared into the woods after his harem.

I’ve already painted a bull elk, a  personal favourite piece called Bugle Boy. I’ve since retired it because it wasn’t a bestseller. From my experience, elk aren’t particularly popular paintings. At least, not the ones I’ve done so far. But maybe someday I’ll paint the one that changes that.
Regardless, I’ll keep chasing the shots.

Because taking the photos and imagining what I might paint has become as much a part of the experience as the artwork itself.

Cheers,
Patrick

 

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Last Call for Critter Captures

As the colder weather approaches, animal photo opportunities become less plentiful, and that scarcity, real or imagined, makes me want to take more pictures.

Considering I have thousands of neatly organized reference photos I have never used, for well over a hundred animals, running out has never been a problem. But it’s hard to ignore the impulse to stock up, just in case.

Hey, squirrels store way more than they need for the winter, too.

Time ticking was the prime motivation for my trip to the Alberta Birds of Prey Sanctuary in Coaldale last month. Releasing two hawks into the wild was worth the trip alone, but after editing and sorting my pictures, I’ve also got dozens of new photos I can paint from.

Still open until September 30th, Discovery Wildlife Park usually closes from October to the end of April. But during the pandemic, they created a holiday lights drive-through feature. With the worst of the health crisis thankfully over, their impressive Light The Night experience has continued to grow, open this year from November 15th to January 5th.

With winter gift shop stock in mind, they placed a surprising end-of-season order for prints and stickers. I always like to deliver those in person so I have an excuse to take photos.

I had driven to Coaldale in a torrential rainstorm, but that meant great light for pictures when I arrived. In an unwelcome repeat, but with the same result, I drove to Innisfail last week in another storm. When I got there, the weather was so foul I was the only person in the park.
While I had lunch with my zookeeper friend, Serena, a couple of other people arrived. Coincidentally, they were also longtime friends of the park. Rather than the usual bear education presentation we’d seen several times, Serena gave the three of us a behind-the-scenes personal tour and visit with the bears.
Cold, dark, and windy, the rain at least let up for a few hours. While the pictures I got weren’t impressive photographs on their own, some of these shots will be amazing for reference. I’ve written before about how sunny days aren’t great because they can wash out detail in the highlights and shadows, but an overcast day provided some very exciting photos of bear fur and features.
If that weren’t enough, Serena has been hand-raising an orphaned raccoon since he was tiny. Shonna I got to see him earlier this summer, but on this day, he was getting his first look at a much bigger world, as he was let loose for a bit to run and play in a large enclosure. If you’ve ever seen a cat or dog with the zoomies, imagine that with a raccoon. He was having a very good time.
After the park, I took my parents out to dinner in Red Deer and spent the night at their place for a nice, albeit short, visit.

This past week, the cool fall weather has shown up. Though I’m not a fan of the winter that follows, fall is my favourite time of year. The light on the mountains around here is softer and ever-changing, and we get some beautiful sunrises, which I can see from my office window. And when the larches change colour, it’s like somebody spilled brilliant yellow and orange paint all over the place.

Though I generally dislike driving, the route south on Highway 40 through Kananaskis, up to the Highwood Pass is an exception. It’s the highest paved road in Canada and the spectacular scenery is some of the most beautiful in the world. While busy on weekends, self-employment affords me the luxury of going during the week. Thursday was a pretty day for a drive, and even though the larches haven’t changed yet, they’re beginning to. Traffic was light, the weather was great, and I enjoyed the 40-minute climb from Highway 1.
Several years ago, a local photographer told me about Rock Glacier, just off the highway below the Highwood Pass. He had said that if I wanted to see pikas, that was the place. It’s a massive scree slope of rocks, and I can’t even guess how many of the little ‘rock rabbits’ call it home.

It’s hardly a secret, as the site has two extra parking lanes and several Alberta Parks educational signs about the critters.

Their peeping is unmistakable, but it can be hard to see them as they’re very small and perfectly camouflaged among the rocks. It’s only their darting movements that give them away. I’ll admit that chasing them around the rocks is part of the fun. They’ll scurry along routes only they can see, pausing on rocks along their path, perfect for photo ops.
Their primary motivation is food, so they’re usually en route to one of the small patches of grass and vegetation among the rocks, where they’ll stuff their faces before running back to their stash. It’s fun to watch.

The challenge is usually to get a few pictures before they run out of range, but twice on this visit, I was delighted to see one running toward me. With each pause, I’d get a better shot until one eventually ran right by my foot, intent on a patch of green behind me. All I had to do was circle it and take more photos. They didn’t seem to mind my presence as long as I avoided quick movements.
It can get cold up there at 2200m (7200 ft), and I always pack extra layers, but it was a pleasant fall morning, and I only needed a light jacket. On a few visits, there’ve been ten or 12 other people, often photographers with much bigger lenses than my 70-300mm, doing the same thing. But on this visit, I spent an hour and a half crawling over the rocks and snapping pics with the whole place to myself. Nobody else stopped.
On each drive up to Rock Glacier, I usually see black bears or grizzlies, but none this time. They’re likely still low in the valleys, eating as much as possible before winter. But they can show up anywhere around here, and on these excursions, I’ve always got bear spray on my hip. Aside from the above pic of a line of bighorn sheep walking the top of the ridge, I only saw the wildlife I came for.
Though I have kept dozens of pika photos over the years, I’ve always felt I hadn’t quite got the one I wanted, that perfect photo to paint from. I finally got one on this trip, but I haven’t shared it in this post. It’ll just have to be a surprise.

Now, you might be thinking, “I’m seeing plenty of photos lately, but where’s some new artwork on this artist’s website?”

I am working on several pieces and a commission right now. However, taking photos for future paintings is also a big part of my work. I can’t paint ‘cartoony, but real,’ if I don’t know what real looks like, and taking photos always inspires new paintings. Though I often plan to paint a critter and then go looking for reference, it’s frequently the photos that come first, inspiring the paintings that follow.

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A Long Overdue Return to the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre

The Alberta Birds of Prey Centre in Coaldale, Alberta, just outside of Lethbridge.

This weekend marks the end of the visitor season for the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre in Coaldale, Alberta. It’s a welcoming and beautiful facility home to many species of owls, hawks, eagles, and more.

A juvenile Great Horned Owl

Cofounded, owned and operated by Colin Weir since the early 1980s, the dedication it takes to keep this place going is remarkable and impressive. On days I feel sorry for myself for not having had a day off in weeks, I remind myself that people like Colin (and my friend Serena at Discovery Wildlife Park) go many months without a day off, and sometimes that’s only a sick day when they’re really ill.

Caring for animals is a calling, and these critters require constant care. When I expressed my admiration for his commitment, Colin humbly dismissed his efforts and likened it to farming, saying it’s a lifestyle more than a job.

A Barn Owl. The background in shadow made this capture look like a studio photo. Sometimes it almost looks like I know what I’m doing. Almost.

Colin is on call 24/7 year-round to rescue birds from all over Alberta. Though he can’t always be there in person, he’s told me that sometimes people just need encouragement and advice, a supportive voice on the phone to help them do what they can for a bird in need.

While many adult birds they rescue are nursed back to health and released, it’s not so cut and dry for birds missing a wing or for the little ones. Some will never develop the skills to survive on their own, but they find a home at the centre.

A Ferruginous Hawk. I have to look up the spelling every time.

Years ago, I painted a Golden Eagle named Sarah. I had taken the reference for the painting when I first met Colin and his daughter, Aimee, on their visit to Canmore with some of their birds for a wildlife event. Sarah has been with Colin since she was a year old, and I was delighted to see her again. She is still healthy and doing well at 42 years old.

From their website, “We do not receive any government operating subsidies, which means we rely solely on donations and volunteers to keep the birds fed and cared for year-round. One hundred percent of all donations we receive is spent on programs and projects that directly benefit the wildlife and wetland habitat we strive to conserve.”

I could go on at great length about their incredible work for wildlife conservation and rehabilitation, but I’d rather you visit their website as it does a much better job than I would.

Snowy Owl. I got some really nice shots of this little lady, including some reference that will no doubt inspire a painting.

The Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation is an official charity, and I’ve been supporting them with a monthly donation for several years, but I’ve only been to the centre three times. It’s a 4-hour drive, which usually means an overnight stay.

From deadlines and workload to weather and wildfire smoke, something came up every time I planned to get down there this year. But with the season ending, I had to make it a priority this past week or wait until next year.

As luck would have it, Wednesday was one of the worst rainstorms I’ve seen in years. There was a heavy downpour for most of the drive, with a strong crosswind from Calgary to Lethbridge. With poor visibility, water-filled ruts grabbing at the tires, and fun with hydroplaning, I was relieved to arrive in Coaldale at about 1 PM.

This little Kestrel is full grown, but adorably small.

Finally, inside the centre’s entrance, I was met by adorable juvenile Burrowing Owls, a young Saw-whet Owl, and a Kestrel, all on perches, chortling and squawking away.

I immediately started snapping pics with my phone, thinking, “I want to paint you, and you, and you, and all of your friends and family.”

Northern Saw-whet Owl

Colin had told me he was hosting a large group that day, but one of the staff said they had to cancel because of the weather. At that moment, I was the only guest in the whole place. I spent the next few hours taking photos on what felt like my own private tour.

On the weather app radar, the vast rain system occupied much of southern and central Alberta, rotating like a tropical storm. However, the eye settled and turned over Lethbridge and Coaldale for most of the afternoon. Cool and blustery, but no rain for a while, and fantastic light. A few other guests showed up, but the afternoon was quiet.

Just before 4, the rain began again, and I retreated to my hotel for the evening. It poured all night, but I woke to a clear morning and a light wind, perfect for another visit with the birds.

One of my favorite features of the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre is their Burrowing Owl breeding program. An endangered species, the foundation has released Burrowing Owls into all four western Canadian provinces.
This juvenile Burrowing Owl has big owl attitude. They all seem defiant and feisty, right up until they run for cover.

One of the reasons I wanted to get there before they closed for the season was to try and capture some shots of the flight training. For birds that can’t be released, they get regular exercise on two long runways where they fly back and forth for food.

Jefferson the Bald Eagle getting some exercise

Our romantic notion of eagles flying for the sheer joy of it, simply because they can, isn’t supported by reality. Birds of prey are pretty lazy, and if they don’t have to hunt, they’ll sit in a tree all day. The caregivers at the centre need to be careful not to feed them before flight training because if they aren’t hungry, they won’t fly.

I think her name is Grace.

They also tend to overheat, and it only takes two or three flights down the runway before an eagle will pant like a dog to cool off. After the training, they’re taken back to the aviary when handlers allow younger guests to give the birds a rain shower with the hose to help them cool down, something the birds clearly enjoy.

Jefferson, staying low to the ground for most efficient energy use, eyes locked on the piece of chicken he’s aiming to capture.

While the storm conditions made the light great on my first day, the wind cancelled the flight training. Clear skies and sunshine on Thursday made for good flying conditions, but the light was too bright, so while I enjoyed watching them fly, I didn’t get any good action shots for painting reference.

Wildlife and weather, you can’t count on either.

A juvenile Bald Eagle. The crown feathers eventually turn completely white between four and five years old.

I still took plenty of reference photos for future paintings, especially for one bird I’ve wanted to paint for years. And had I returned home with only the shots I’d taken thus far, I would have been pleased with the visit.

But after the first flight training, Colin texted me to meet him at the gift shop. He’d been off the property on Wednesday and responding to a rescue call that morning, so I hadn’t seen him yet.

I was pleased to see him again, as I hadn’t since my last visit in 2021. Colin told me he had a surprise for me outside. We walked out to his truck with Miyah, one of the senior staff, and he said he was going to let me release two Swainson’s Hawks back into the wild.

Cofounder, owner, and operater, Colin Weir, readying a Swainson’s Hawk for release back into the wild.

I would have been content just to see a release, but to let one go myself (let alone two) was an unexpected thrill. I thought perhaps I’d just be opening the door on a box, but I soon realized Colin was about to hand me an adult hawk…twice!

 
A rare privilege, holding a Swainson’s Hawk, about to release it back into the wild. At this moment, I’m thinking, “hold tight, but not too tight.”

Obviously well practiced in making this experience memorable for anyone granted this honour, Colin’s instructions were clear and specific to ensure the birds’ safety and be in the correct position for the best possible photos. He and Miyah had cameras ready to capture the releases and took plenty of pictures for me.

The second Swainson’s Hawk, unimpressed at my violation of its personal space.

While I wasn’t as graceful as an experienced hawk-thrower, I thrust each bird forward and upward as instructed and let go, a great feeling to see recovered birds once again flying free. Hopefully, mine are the last hands those birds ever feel, and they live a long and healthy life in the wild, thanks to the tireless efforts of Colin and his team.

Once released, each Swainson’s Hawk flew a wide circle up and behind me. It was a special moment watching these now healthy birds climb high into the air. Not even a thank you for Colin before they flew out of sight.

On the sunny, pleasant return drive home, I had time to reflect on the incredible privilege of having had that experience. I didn’t do any work to save those birds, but I got the reward. What a gift.

Their last day of the season for visitor access is Monday September 2nd. If a last minute trip isn’t in the cards for you or your family this weekend, the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre will open again in May. If you plan to be near the Lethbridge area next spring or summer, make a side trip to Coaldale and see these birds for yourself. In the meantime, visit their website or follow their efforts on Facebook and Instagram. Support them if you can.

Many facilities like this exist in communities worldwide, run by dedicated animal lovers trying to help nature keep up with our impact on the planet. Please consider donating to one of them to help these folks continue to do their incredible work for wildlife conservation.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Fire and Blowing Smoke


Canmore sits in a narrow valley framed on both sides by tall peaks. There are mountains everywhere you look.

As I write this, however, the smoke here is so thick that I can’t see any.

The Bow Valley becomes a bottleneck; the wind usually comes from the west, bringing the warm Chinooks in winter. So if the B.C. interior is on fire, we often get their smoke. Some summers, it’s a light haze with a faint campfire smell. But when it’s bad, we can’t open our windows. That’s tough to take when it’s 30 degrees Celsius, often at the peak of forest fire season.

This smoke has come from the north and east.

Alberta has fire activity each year, often in the northern part of the province, but in dry conditions, fires can pop up anywhere.

My wife grew up in a little town called Fox Creek. We usually have to tell people where it is, a 2.5-hour drive northwest of Edmonton. But the town has made headlines this month for the large fire that forced its evacuation almost two weeks ago.

Several towns and communities in northern Alberta have been evacuated as forest fire season started like a bomb this year and way too early. Shonna’s father and stepmother have evacuated, as have family and friends.

Until you’ve been told to pack quickly and get out of your home, you can’t understand the stress of it.

Ten years ago, we evacuated our condo for a once-in-a-lifetime (hopefully) flood and rain event. It caused a lot of damage to Canmore, Exshaw, High River and Calgary, among other municipalities. We were fortunate to return to our home as we left it after only three days. Unfortunately, I have friends who weren’t so lucky; they were out for weeks and months.

Before 2013, if you suggested an evacuation-level threat around here, most people would have assumed fire.
Even with that small level of experience, I can’t imagine the stress these recent fire evacuees are enduring. Two weeks out of your home, watching the fires on the news as they get closer, often from hours away in shelters or homes in unfamiliar communities, not knowing when or if you’ll be able to return.

Firefighters from all over Canada and the U.S. have arrived to help, Canadian Armed Forces members have been deployed, and volunteers and homeowners are working in challenging situations to save homes, towns and livelihoods.

From the B.C. Wildfire Service, “Most wildfires in B.C. are started by lightning strikes. When lightning strikes an object it can release enough heat to ignite a tree or other fuels.”

“The most important thing about human-caused wildfires is that they are preventable. The easiest way to fight a wildfire is to prevent it from starting. Humans start wildfires in several ways, either by accident or intentionally. For example: open burning, vehicle and engine use, industrial activity, fireworks, sky-lanterns, outdoor flame lighting, discarding burning items (cigarettes), arson.” 

Wildfires are destructive enough. But what bothers me most is how so many use these disasters to further their agendas, political or otherwise.

One of the big reasons I left social media was the overabundance of speculation and conspiracy theories that pollute every situation.

While these fires are raging, Alberta is in a provincial election. It’s part of my job to draw editorial cartoons on these issues, so I must follow this emotionally charged right vs. left conflict.
Some supporters of BOTH political parties accuse the other of deliberately starting these fires to win votes. People in the energy sector are accusing environmentalists of starting fires to destroy the oil patch. Climate change activists use the fires to trumpet their agendas, and deniers share cherry-picked links to debunk them.

Political candidates are falling all over themselves to look serious,  compassionate and concerned in front of any camera they can find while accusing their opponents of grandstanding and opportunism for the same behaviour.

Meanwhile, everybody else shares these links, videos, and photos so they can feel like they’re important or part of the story.

Clearly, we learned nothing from the pandemic.
Amid all this noise, people out of their homes haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, they’re unable to work, their kids are out of school, and whatever problems they already had are compounded. They’re scared, vulnerable, and feeling helpless. Their world is falling apart, and they can do nothing about it.

Rather than provide solace, online armchair quarterbacking and political theories only add to their stress.

Everybody knows life is more important than possessions. But it provides no comfort to tell a senior who worked their whole lives for the things that symbolize their safety and security that they can always replace it. Unless you’re physically helping them rebuild their homes and replace their furniture, dishes, clothing, vehicles, electronics, and memories, telling them ‘it’s just stuff’ accomplishes one thing.

It proves you’re an asshole.

If your dinner on the stove suddenly ignites, you don’t grab your phone and record a TikTok video. You don’t check for appliance recalls or dissect the political leanings of the CEO of the company that made the frying pan. You don’t share a Facebook post that the timing of this kitchen fire seems awfully suspicious since you usually don’t eat dinner until later. You don’t start a Tweet thread that PETA has been sabotaging chicken feed at the hatchery to make poultry catch fire more easily.

And you certainly don’t pour gasoline on it.

First, you put out the fire.

Everything else can wait.

____
©Patrick LaMontagne 2023

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Blame the rider, not the e-bike

The following is an opinion piece I wrote for the local newspaper, The Rocky Mountain Outlook. I’ve been their cartoonist since its beginning in 2001 and I’ve never missed an issue. This busy tourist-town community is currently involved in a heated conversation surrounding transportation infrastructure. Many municipalities are dealing with these same growing pains, or soon will be.In June last year, my wife and I stopped at a Yield sign in Calgary. A woman ran a red light and collided with another vehicle, sending it over the curb into our car.

We walked away, but the car was written off with an unreasonably low settlement from our insurance company. With supply chain issues, ridiculous prices, and questionable auto dealership ethics, we haven’t yet found a replacement, opting to share one car until we do.

Having lived in the Bow Valley for thirty years, we bought electric bikes from a local business.

Biking home one afternoon with a fender cargo crate full of groceries and an equally loaded backpack, I rode up the hill beyond the Hwy 1 underpass, headed for the lower Cougar Creek bridge. Spread across the path were a half dozen pre-teen boys on their bikes.

I rang my bell several times and finally squeezed by on the left at about jogging speed. As I passed, one of the boys yelled at me, inches from my face, “CHEATER!”

Startled, I pulled left and caught the edge of the pavement, crashing hard to the ground.

Later, I could fix the bent brakes, light and fender. However, the wrenched shoulder, bruises and scrapes on my arms and legs took longer to heal. While I had loud, angry words for the kid, we’ve all made stupid choices at that age.

Many ill feelings about e-bikes seem to revolve around what some think, but what that kid said. Some see e-bikes as cheating and resent that if they must strain to climb that hill on a bike, then everybody should.

Canmore and Banff want fewer vehicles on the road. While paid parking seems like a money grab, people will find other alternatives if it becomes more expensive and inconvenient to take your car.

For many locals, e-bikes aren’t luxuries. They’re transportation.

This isn’t Saskatchewan. We live in a community with significant elevation gain on either side of the valley. At the end of a long workday, perhaps after running errands, heading up to Three Sisters, Peaks of Grassi, Eagle Terrace, or Cougar Creek on a traditional bike is an ordeal. Add in the summer heat, torrential rain, or a chinook wind, and it becomes downright insulting.

If your bike commute to work is 15 minutes up a hill or with a headwind, it won’t be long before deodorant fails you. How much will a tourist enjoy their crisp cool green salad if delivered by a foul-smelling sweaty server?

I’m in my early fifties, physically fit, with no mobility or health issues. But I have friends with failing joints, arthritis, and other age-related ailments. E-bikes allow people who aren’t hardcore athletes to navigate our community without forcing them to buy a car, take the bus, or walk everywhere. People don’t have the time, not when many work long hours to afford to live here.

I’ve been an avid trail walker for years. I’ve been startled and grazed by fast-moving cyclists silently passing within inches. It is inappropriate to go fast on a busy trail on any kind of bike.

Canada has capped e-bike assist speeds at 32 km/h.

With a full backpack and rear cargo crate, you can bet I’m using full assist while biking up Benchlands Trail on my way home from the grocery store. That’s not about speed but help with weight and elevation.

When I need to share a road with vehicles, many riding my fender while I try to navigate the 1A roundabout or drive through Spring Creek, maintaining 30 km/h is essential for my safety.

We bought reflective vests, helmets, bright front and rear lights, and the loudest horn available on the market for when the bell isn’t enough.

Drivers don’t want e-bikes on the roads, pedestrians don’t want them on the trails, and both resent anybody who uses one.

On weekends, we’ve used them to tour around town. We slow down, give warnings, and yield to oncoming bikes and pedestrians. And still, we get flack. E-bikes are new, making them an easy target because some people don’t want to share.

Trail use requires compromise, and most people around here get that. We’re an active community; when we’re not walking, we’re biking or driving. Most often, when approaching another trail user, I thumb the bell, and the person moves to the side, saying thank you as I pass; at the same time, I’m offering my thanks for their courtesy. It’s not complicated.

Pedestrians routinely walk three abreast, forcing others into the rough to go around them, or they walk into a crosswalk without looking, comfortable in their right-of-way. Some wear earbuds, so they don’t even hear the bell of an approaching cyclist, but they still get angry when they’re surprised by one.

Many cyclists don’t wear helmets, have no lights or reflectors, fail to signal, and weave in and out of traffic, jumping from sidewalk to road and back without warning.

Vehicle drivers speed through school zones, fail to obey stop signs and traffic lights, cut people off, tailgate, and make other aggressive moves.

The modes of transportation aren’t the problem; it’s a lack of empathy for those sharing the route.

There are indeed inconsiderate e-bike riders on the trails. They’re the same people who text and drive, take two parking spots at the grocery store, talk in a movie theatre, fail to pick up after their off-leash dog and run a red light destroying somebody else’s car.

Bad apples will always draw the most attention, and it’s convenient to blame their e-bike if they happen to be riding one. There’s a guy with a loud aftermarket muffler who races down my street, his bass stereo cranked so loud I can hear it through my closed windows. Should I blame the truck?

Vehicle congestion is a problem, but you can’t simply remove cars from the roads and expect the people in them to disappear. They still need to commute, run errands, and recreate.

Our trails and roads are for all of us, and compromise is a skill that requires practice. Everybody wants problems solved, so long as they don’t have to change.
____
©Patrick LaMontagne 2023

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Fear, Panic and Calgary Expo


In the wake of the rapidly changing (over)reaction to the Covid-19 virus, I’ve been thinking about the Calgary Expo next month.

It’s the only show I do, but it’s a big one. Close to 100,000 people attend each year. With the Alberta economy doing so poorly, my expectations for this year are already low. People don’t have a lot of money for luxuries, of which art is undoubtedly one.

But I was optimistic it would still be worth my time to connect with my regular customers, hold my booth space until things improve and hopefully make some money.

In recent days, however, with conferences and events being cancelled all around the world as people shy away from crowds, it’s now looking like the Calgary Expo could be twice cursed.

The Emerald City Comic Con in Seattle was postponed yesterday until sometime in the summer, a week away from their event, about the same size as Calgary’s. Leading up to it, the list of cancelled guests was huge. The organizers offered refunds to advance ticket holders nervous about attending because of the virus, and 10,000 people took them up on it. That’s a significant number.

The SXSW (South by Southwest) event in Austin, Texas, which draws 400,000 people, was cancelled yesterday.

So I find myself facing a dilemma. If I cancel, I lose my booth fees, $1200 in a year where my revenues are already taking a hit because of the economy.

I’m reminding myself of the sunk cost fallacy, which makes people do something against their best interest because of money already spent. We’re emotional, irrational creatures and will often tend to double down on a bad bet because of money or time we’ve already lost.

If I continue on this present course, I will spend more money on three nights in a hotel, electrical fees, parking, insurance, ordering more stock, only to potentially have a large corner booth in the middle of a ghost town for four days.

If the guests and celebrities don’t show up, people don’t show up. With the economy down and folks staying away out of fear, the odds of making enough sales to make a profit this year goes beyond optimism. It’s naïve wishful thinking, bordering on delusion.

If I cancel, I lose the booth cost and my preferred booth space, which is based on seniority. There’s a good chance I’d no longer do this event.

I’m not worried about getting sick. I have a healthy immune system and most people who get this particular coronavirus have mild symptoms and recover well. Seniors with existing medical conditions are the most vulnerable to this illness, and the Calgary Expo is just not their scene.

It’s not a question of fear or pessimism, but surveying the land and deciding if there’s a reasonable expectation of growing any crops there. I still want to do the Expo, but it’s a LOT of work, before, during and afterward. It seems foolish to invest that time and money only to be standing there for four days, stinking of desperation.

Ideally, it would be great if the Calgary Expo cancelled the event and issued refunds, but if that happens, I don’t see it coming for another month. They’d have a hard time postponing the event until the summer as Emerald City Con did because that would require a vacancy at the BMO Centre for a five day event, and that’s unlikely. If they cancelled the event this year and bumped everybody’s booth and fees to next year, I’d be okay with that, too.

A lot of people will be affected by cancelling Expo. This event is a big moneymaker for many, including me. For some, it’s part of the foundation of their annual income, especially those putting the con together. People have booked flights, rental cars, ordered stock and planned their big book, art, and product launches around this event. The local economy counts on this event, the largest in Calgary each year, second only to Stampede.

To lose it will hurt a lot of people.

To go ahead with it could be just as bad.

I’m an obsessive worrier by nature, and even I’m not worried about getting sick. Since the symptoms of coronavirus are mild for MOST people, I expect there are thousands worldwide who’ve had it, recovered from it, and nobody even knows. How often does the average person go to the hospital for the flu? Most will assume that’s just what they had.

But if one person dies or catches it at Calgary Expo and infects somebody else who dies, that could likely be the end of the whole event. The mass hysteria, finger-pointing and unreasonable fear that’s currently infecting the world are far worse than the virus itself. The court of public opinion, on Facebook, Twitter and everywhere else would descend en masse on the organizers.

When we become gripped by unreasonable fear, we start looking for an enemy to blame.

The SARS outbreak in 2003 would have been far worse for the world and economy if we’d had social media. Daily updates on where the virus has shown up are incredibly bad for your mental health. What’s worse is that people aren’t only absorbing the panic; they’re spreading it on their own social media feeds.

This is new. We’re freaking out, and losing all perspective. According to the World Health Organization, nearly 1.25 million people die in road crashes each year, on average, 3,287 deaths a day. An additional 20-50 million are injured or disabled. In the United States alone, 37,000 people DIE in car crashes each year.

Could you imagine being updated EVERY TIME somebody dies in a car accident, let alone gets hurt in one? We’d never get in our cars.

But we’re so used to it; we ignore it to the point where we have to be told not to use our phones while we drive.

Despite the assertions of everyone and anyone on Facebook, Twitter and the News Comments sections who have suddenly become virology experts in the past five minutes, there are no easy answers. There rarely are for complicated issues.

At present, I will wait on a decision, evaluate the situation as it unfolds, expect the worst, but hope for the best. Eventually, I’ll have to decide whether it’s worth it to go ahead or pull the pin, take the loss and accept the consequences.

In the meantime, I won’t be buying any masks, hoarding toilet paper or running and screaming every time I see an Asian person. It’s stupid, dangerous, and if it goes unchecked, it won’t be long before we’re turning on each other. Because when things get scary, that’s what people do.

To illustrate that point, I’ll leave you with this short scene from the movie, The Mist.

Take a breath,
Patrick

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A Visit with Birds of Prey

After my first visit to the Alberta Birds of Prey Centre in Coaldale, Alberta last year, I was looking forward to another visit this season. Unfortunately, with other obligations close to home, I didn’t manage to get there before they closed last month for the season.

After reading their latest newsletter, which is always informative, I realized that I had not only failed to visit this year, but I hadn’t contributed financially either. I called up last month to make a donation and the patriarch of the family, Colin Weir, told me they’d be in Canmore again on October 5th at the Civic Centre.

I marked it in my calendar and made sure I wouldn’t be away or have other obligations.

A really nice day for it, I got there first thing on Saturday to avoid what would later become a good crowd of people. The birds were outside, in conjunction with a larger event focusing on Geology, fossils and the Canmore Museum, located in the Civic Centre.

The regular cast of characters were there, the ambassadors that travel with Colin when he goes to these events. These are birds that can’t be released back into the wild and have lived at the Centre for a long time. A Great Horned Owl, Short Eared Owl, Barn Owl, Burrowing Owl and Golden Eagle, each with names like Basil, Dexter and Edgar.
Their Golden Eagle is in her early thirties, and I painted her a couple of years ago. Sarah is a beautiful bird and Colin admits he’s very close to her, having raised her since the 1980s. His daughter, Aimee has joked that Sarah is the favorite child.

While I enjoyed painting Sarah, it’s not one of my more popular prints, largely because when the general public thinks of eagles, they’re most often after the Bald variety and that painting of mine is far more popular than this one.

Even still, I couldn’t resist taking more photos of Sarah, knowing I still may do another painting of her, for my own enjoyment.
I spent a good couple of hours there, taking hundreds of photos of all of the birds. The opportunity to get up close and personal, acquiring such detailed reference is one I rarely pass up. I was happy to leave another donation for the privilege of having the birds come to me.
When it comes to supporting charities and causes, I would encourage you to find the thing for which you feel a personal connection.

Whether it’s research into a medical illness that has touched you or a member of your family, efforts for building a new library in your community, or a regular donation to the food bank, find something you can regularly support that makes you feel like you’re making a difference.

As this is a wonderful facility that rescues and rehabilitates birds of prey, I know how much they rely on public support to continue the work they do. With so many worthwhile charities and causes out there, it can be overwhelming to want to give to everybody, but only having the funds to support a few. I decided quite some time ago that all of my charitable donations would go toward wildlife causes, especially facilities that help animals in need of emergency care and rehabilitation. I make a monthly donation to the Alberta Institute for Wildlife Conservation in Airdrie, contribute to Discovery Wildlife Park in whatever way I can, and I support the Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation, but I say No to most everything else, even though I still feel guilty while doing so.

Giving is one of the most selfish things we do, because it feels so good. It’s addictive. I’ll freely admit that it’s also self-serving for me to support wildlife causes and facilities because it’s allowed me to be able to get up close and personal with many of the subjects I’ve painted. How could I not support them in return?

I make a good living, but I’m not wealthy, despite the outsider’s view that everybody who lives in Canmore and Banff is rich. That’s right, the people serving coffee in the local shop, working at the gas stations, cleaning hotel rooms, and working in the grocery store are all rich people, slumming it because they’re bored.

To support a charity, any charity, doesn’t required a huge outlay of funds. A monthly donation of even $20 helps these places because they’re not just relying on your contribution but all of the others who can only give a little, which amounts to a lot. A monthly donation helps them budget for the year, to get the most of their donations and stretch it as far as they can.

I was talking to Colin on Saturday about the challenges faced with fundraising in a facility like his. He told me that their small staff does everything, from rescuing the animals, caring for them, releasing them, training new staff and volunteers, ordering for the gift shop, maintaining the facilities and what I can only imagine is a much longer list of daily duties that go on even when the facility is closed to the public in the off-season.

He told me about somebody who had called him recently from Fort McMurray who hit a Great Horned Owl with his truck at night. Colin showed me the picture of the owl trapped inside the damaged grill, looking out at the man taking the photo. He had to talk the guy through the extrication over the phone and they managed to free the owl that was seemingly undamaged. These types of calls are not unusual, and come at all hours.

On top of all of that, they also have to have a sharp focus on fundraising, or it all stops.

While the Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation has a few generous corporate sponsors, like Fortis Alberta and AltaLink, they don’t receive any funding from the Alberta or federal governments. When governments change, priorities change and funding can suddenly be frozen or come with strings attached that would ultimately hinder their good work, rather than help.

If you think about some of the larger, more well-known charities, Colin points out that those organizations often have fundraising and marketing departments with more people in them than the entire staff at the Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation. Not to mention that the marketing budgets of larger charities often exceed the entire operating budget of a facility like the Birds of Prey Centre, where all of the funds raised go directly to conservation.

The next time you’re thinking about where best to put your limited charitable donations, I would encourage you to find somewhere that does great work that aligns with your values. Consider choosing a small facility, where they might not have the flashiest of ad campaigns, but are on the ground doing great work that matters, necessary work that if they didn’t do it, nobody would. You won’t get the chance at a lottery prize or be invited to a gala fundraiser, but you’ll be able to see firsthand where your money goes and the good that it does.

It might be your local SPCA or animal shelter, a local greenhouse that grows food for struggling folks in your own community, or somewhere like the Alberta Birds of Prey Foundation.

Be selfish. Give a little.

Cheers,
Patrick
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Clearwater Calf

On a recent visit to the cabin near Caroline in June, I was delighted to hear from the owners of KB Trails that they’d leased the adjacent pasture to a neighbour for his cows.  While I’m not exactly a city slicker, I’m pretty sure that nothing says, “he ain’t from around here” quite like standing in the middle of a field taking pictures of cows.

Even the cows seemed to be asking, “What’s this guy’s deal?”
But for me, any chance to get up close and personal to a critter for some photo reference is a good day.

I do love that landscape up there in Clearwater County, and the pasture behind the cabin. It seems there’s always something new to photograph. Deer, coyotes, moose, horses, cows, and a wonderful dog names Jingles. This is the second painting I’ve done from my trips up there, Jingles being my first. But it certainly won’t be the last.

From time to time, I’ll paint an animal where it’s a real challenge to get it to look right. Might be something in the features or in the fur, but some of my paintings have felt like real work.
This one, however, was quite easy, which was a welcome surprise. It still required quite a few hours at the digital drawing board, but it never had any frustrating moments. It was just putting in the time until it was finished.

Up next…well, I’ll let you know.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Brown Bear Beauty


Yes, it’s another painting of Berkley, without apology.

Every time I see her, I think of all of the garbage I pay attention to in my daily life that just isn’t important, stuff I should let go. If I had to pick one word to describe this little bear, it’s joy. She sure knows how to live in the moment and has a personality that just can’t help but make you smile.

I was up at Discovery Wildlife Park in the middle of last month and Berkley’s enclosure was my first stop. With the camera ready, I went to the bottom of her large enclosure and seeing her at the other end, I called out to her. She looked, sniffed the air and came right to me. I tried to take shots of her while she was coming, but no dice.

Once she got to the fence and I started to talking to her, there was no chance for good photos, too close to the fence. She started digging as she usually does so I walked only the fence line with her and she followed me. Just a cartoonist and a bear going for a walk, it’s still a strange but wonderful experience.

At one point, other visitors came up to the fence so I stepped back so they could see her, but because I was behind them, she started digging again and accidentally hit the electric wire that surrounds the enclosure. There was a loud snap, Berkley let out a startled ruffing growl and ran away into her enclosure.

It’s important to note that the electric fence is the same as a cow fence. It doesn’t hurt her and is of low enough power that it just acts as an annoying deterrent and the animals learn to avoid it. The keepers regularly come into contact with the wires and get zapped themselves, with no lasting effects.

Berkley retreated to her large pile of tree trunks in the middle of her enclosure. Last year, she dug her hibernation den beneath it, so I imagine that’s her safe space. She was sulking a bit, but crawled around on top, and I was able to get some nice photos without the fence showing up in the shots.

It didn’t take her too long to forget about the shock and she came right back over to the fence to continue our visit.

There’s a lesson there, about moving on from the negative stuff, one I still have yet to learn.

Cheers,
Patrick
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Continuing Crisis of Conscience

My friend Derek and I went for a morning drive up Highway 40 into Kananaskis last week. It was raining, grey and while we were initially headed up to the Highwood Pass to take pictures of the pikas, we were also keeping our eyes peeled for anything else we might find, especially bears.

Derek is an incredibly skilled painter and tattoo artist, the owner of Electric Grizzly Tattoo here in Canmore. His photography skills are pretty tight as well, so when it comes to art, we have a lot in common.

We never made it up to the Pass because it started to snow quite heavily as we gained elevation, but it was a quiet morning, very little traffic and we saw quite a few bears. Seven grizzlies and a black bear.

While we both got some very nice pictures, a few I can even paint from, the whole experience was tainted by my ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t’ guilt over taking the photos in the first place.
One of the most difficult parts of painting wildlife, even in my whimsical wildlife style, is the gathering of reference. Before I became proficient with a camera, I would often borrow from generous photographer friends or buy stock photos. I still do buy reference from time to time when taking the shots myself would just be unrealistic. For example, my recent underwater painting of an Orca would require a drastic lifestyle change and a lottery win to be able to gather those shots.

I’ve taken plenty of photos at Discovery Wildlife Park and at the Calgary Zoo, many of which have resulted in finished paintings. But even though I’ve made peace with the fact that both of those facilities are doing their best to aid in conservation and that the animals are receiving the best care possible, they’re still captive animals. My support of those places has drawn some criticism and I accept that. I still believe in both places and their best intentions, for lack of a perfect solution.

What many fail to understand is that when they say animals should be left to be free in the wild; there are very few places in the world where that’s still possible. Outside of national and provincial parks, sanctuaries and wildlife reserves, most animals are at constant risk from the most dangerous predator around. Us.

My friend, Serena, head keeper at Discovery Wildlife Park, is one of the most knowledgeable people I know when it comes to bears and other wildlife. She’s big on leaving bears alone in the wild, that pulling over in your car introduces people smells and habituation risks to bears, even in parks where they’re protected. Part of their bear presentation twice a day at the park is all about educating people on being bear aware in the wild, including being a responsible tourist.

Having lived in and near Canada’s most famous national park for the past twenty-five years, I’ve seen firsthand what happens when tourists forget themselves, and close in like a mob on a grizzly bear, in order to snap that pic for Facebook. If the bear defends itself, or becomes too used to humans, they sometimes have to shoot the bear.

Apparently shooting tourists is frowned upon.

I spend most of my life feeling guilty for my choices. Even with the best of intentions, trying to be an advocate for wildlife protection AND making a good chunk of my living painting whimsical wildlife portraits, there doesn’t seem to be a good answer to where I should get my reference. If I were a wildlife photographer, it would be even harder.

If I take the photos of a captive animal, no matter how well cared for or considering their circumstances, I’m a bad person for supporting that practice. If I take photos in the wild or in parks, well I’m a bad person for stopping to get a photo, even if I’m trying to minimize my impact on the animal.
Derek and I did our best to be responsible, as we always do. We both had long lenses, so we parked a good distance from all of the bears we encountered. We stayed in my car, either taking shots from our windows or out the sunroof. We were careful to limit our time with the bears we encountered, even though we would have liked to have stayed all day, especially near the grizzly and her cubs.

We even justified those pics because on the other side of those trees behind them is a campground with plenty of people smells already there. And Parks was on scene monitoring them.

That still feels hypocritical, telling myself whatever I need to, in order to justify the shots.
Basically, there is no right answer because everybody has their own opinion and judging others by the most rigid standards of hyper morality is at the core of being human. We compare our own best traits to the worst traits in others, convinced we’re better than most. (see: social media)

If another driver fails to signal a turn, they’re a stupid asshole, deserving of a long blast on the horn, shouting and obscene finger gestures. If we fail to signal, however, well we’re only human and it was an innocent mistake. Get over it.

Think on that, next time you’re in traffic.

I will continue to wrestle with this moral dilemma, convinced there is no answer that will please everyone. Just like my artwork, I am a work in progress.

Take care,
Patrick
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