– by Barry Mathias –
Those who visit the Gulf Islands are often surprised and delighted by the variety and population of the wild animals that inhabit them, although the word “wild” might, sometimes, be confused with domesticated,
or even farmed.
A visitor’s first interaction is often with the native black tail deer or, on Mayne Island, the non-native fallow deer. These attractive creatures will happily pose for photographs on steep, winding roads, adding unforeseen adventures for those who are compelled to stop and record everything. Taking pictures of the police station later is not encouraged.
Deer can be found enjoying high-quality food in manicured gardens, lined up like the recipients of a food kitchen outside certain houses, or playing “dare” at busy intersections. As hunting is banned, their numbers rise and fall at the whim of the motorized vehicle, combined with the fawns’ lack of parental control. These are docile creatures, although stags do break out of their rut occasionally.
Raccoons are great favourites on the other side of glass and on other people’s properties. These gangster look-alikes, with their dexterous hands, approach closed bins like safebreakers without explosives. Although recent immigrants, these omnivores have adapted to the menus of the Islands, and there has been a noticeable diminution in feral cats.
Llamas, usually kept as farm animals, can present an interesting challenge to walkers on lonely lanes. A while ago, a large individual on Saturna would often block a narrow path and stare at advancing walkers with unblinking eyes; their decision was either to pass in front and risk being spat on, or get knee-capped from behind. This idiosyncratic creature is rumored to have met its demise in a neck-ripping confrontation with a wolf.
For many months, this news-grabbing wolf would, without the use of a ferry, travel back and forth between Saturna and Mayne, outwitting numerous hunting expeditions. Eventually, to the relief of horse owners and farmers, and the laments of the media, Canis lupus was forced to take early retirement.
Another fairly recent arrival is the alpaca, a South American settler. It is a politer and smaller version of the llama; it spits less and offers the expensive possibility of warm, exotic clothing. While not so good as a beast of burden, it shares the llama’s remarkable dexterity for uninhibited lower jaw movement – truly a dentist’s nightmare!
The rat, mankind’s historical adversary, is rumored to have taken up residence in Island homes in the last few decades. Those who rent their property as “vacant” are, understandably, unhappy about this possibility. Most people do not want to contemplate the fact that there are two separate versions: the black rat Rattus rattus, a name much beloved by little boys, and the brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, which is virtually unpronounceable. Its eradication does, however, provide yet another form of Island employment, besides getting rid of ants, hornets and mosquitoes.
The Islands attract visitors, although we are long past the time when an athletic cougar or an ambitious brown bear might try
to rediscover his ancestor’s hunting grounds. However, I live in hope.
