The Walking Dead
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I was enjoying my second cup of coffee in the late morning of what appeared to be the warming surge of yet another sweltering summer day. On my deck, I sat back sipping and enjoying the activity of Heron Cove, a nurturing spot for a wide assortment of local and migratory species of fishes, birds and other animals.
At one time in the cove there was a boat launch and place to clean boat hulls which obviously left scars on the unique urban sanctuary. City storm drains emptying directly into the cove also had an effect on the flora and fauna, but thankfully renewed interest in the cove has resulted in the construction of a natural rain garden in Fisherman’s Wharf Park and a new storm water management system to deal with flooding and run-off. The City’s investment is paying off, and the seabed has recovered significantly which has resulted in a welcome return of diverse wildlife to the cove.
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There is the Great Blue Heron for whom the cove is named. Disheveled and majestic, the heron is a solitary and territorial bird, except at breeding times. If you look closely, you might spy the heron perched in a branch of one of the old trees hanging over the cove, his chest facing south towards the hot afternoon sun with skillfully balanced wings fanned out on either side of a puffed-up ruffled body. Like a graceful, mastered yogi.
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Other regulars to the cove are Canadian geese, different types of ducks and gulls, cormorants, crows and other smaller birds like King Fishers, Oyster Catchers and Phalaropes. Warm winters occasionally entice Trumpeter Swans and Brown Pelicans to Victoria and into the cove. I once read that over a hundred different species of birds visit Heron Cove each year; considering how small the cove is, this seems unbelievable - until you spend some time watching the day-to-day activity as the seasons change.
In addition to all the feathered creatures of the cove, there are others who come and go on the Pacific winds and tides. Over the years, ‘the little cove that could’ has supported many generations of river otters, harbor seals, mink and raccoons, as well as much sea life, such as different types of crab, fish, muscles, sea stars and jelly fish. The only oyster native to the area, the Olympic Oyster, also calls Heron Cove home. While no longer abundant along the Pacific Coast, some of the largest populations of Olympic Oysters live in Victoria's Harbour.
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When the tide is low enough and the sunlight penetrates the water in just the right way, all sorts of human activity is also visible. Like many coastal areas, the cove was once a dumping ground and there are tales of car axels, a plane cockpit and other evidence of human waste strewn along the ocean floor. Umbrellas, wheel wells, tools, shoes, eye glasses, cell phones, Barb’s pagers, and much more, have all been fished out of these waters.
This morning, I was watching the heron hunt, motionless, stalking its underwater prey; calmly waiting for the right moment to strike its razor sharp beak into the water, plucking out a wriggling sea snake from the shallows, tilting its head back to gulp the snack down. It’s beautiful and violent at the same time, patient and precise.
Lost in nature’s television, I noticed something in my periphery emerging from between two float homes. Slowly bumbling, something was making its way into the deeper waters of the cove, but my brain couldn’t figure out what my eyes were seeing. Its proportions made it look like an unusual jellyfish-like sea creature with a very large head/torso section floating above the water line and a long tail extending down to the seabed; as the head bobbed with the waves, the tail bounced on the sea-floor, giving the creature a walking-in-water like movement. As I looked closer, my hopes of being featured in the Journal of Cryptozoology were dashed as I realized it wasn’t a previously undiscovered sea monster, but instead I was watching an old, heavily sea-encrusted television set stumble across the cove.
The half submerged screen-head/body was being supported by a long tail-cord covered in layers of barnacles, sea cucumbers, mussels and seaweed that reached the ocean floor. The GVHA had recently replaced some of the docks with new floatation and wooden planks, and must have unknowingly released the TV-beast from under a section of dock.
As I went to get my kayak, I noticed my neighbour was already launching his, so we communicated a recovery plan. He lassoed the creature then slowly coerced it back to the dock where more neighbours had gathered to help pull the beast out of the water. The GVHA was notified and eventually removed the TV carcass.
How long it had been there was unclear, but it obviously had been awhile based on the marine growth that had fully engulfed the cord and part of the set. It wasn’t one of those fancy modern Hi-Def, plasma TV’s; it was actually the old vacuum tube in the set that caused it to float, otherwise it would have been sitting at the bottom of the sea with the cockpit, old rubber tires, and sunglasses instead of fumbling along like some technological zombie.
