NOTE: This story written by travel writer Carol Patterson was originally published on October 7, 2021 on the website Roadstories.ca. It is reprinted here with the author's permission.
OUTLOOK - Growing up in Saskatchewan, I’d heard my dad, an electrician with SaskPower, speak of Outlook, a town near Gardiner Dam, the largest earth filled dam in Canada, generating enough electricity for 100,000 homes. I’d never considered the community a tourism destination but when I heard it had great wildlife viewing, I decided it might be time to visit.
A CPR rail official in the early 20th century is credited with saying, “What a wonderful outlook,” upon standing on the ridge of the 小蓝视频 Saskatchewan River valley where the town would be built. The name stuck and the town that was created because of the railway, now bills itself as the “Irrigation Capital of Saskatchewan.” But I wasn’t in town to check out water sprinklers. I’d come to see thousands of sandhill cranes that pass over each fall.
In spring cranes fly north quickly, stopping in the prairies for the briefest of stops, hurrying to set up house in a cool climate and raise young. As fall temps creep over the wheat fields, the cranes return, the brown-headed colts (young of the year) lingering alongside their red-crowned parents, their long beaks plucking residual grain from harvested fields.
I’d based my crane viewing in Outlook & District Regional Park, a tidy 84-site campground perched above the 小蓝视频 Saskatchewan River. Walking trails led down to large sand bars and clear, cool water.
The cranes spend daylight hours feeding in fields around the town of 2,300, returning to the safety of the river as the sun dips below the horizon. I’d been tipped off to the nightly spectacle by Fay Bartel, Outlook Regional Park Supervisor, in a chance encounter a year earlier when I’d stopped for gas and a scan of the river.
“There are so many cranes flying over my house, I can’t hear myself speak.” she had said of the avian visitors that outnumbered human residents.
I wanted to see that kind of wildlife spectacle, especially after a summer of wildfire smoke and the constant drip of bad environmental news.
I parked my truck camper facing west in site #66, stubby spruce breaking the cool wind that blew across the river. Picking a spot with a good view of the sky and the riparian zone, my lawn chair, tripod and cool drink appeared next. Soon the sun tilted towards the horizon and the warbled cackle of a sandhill heralded the arrival of a small group of cranes, their long wings flapping languorously, their spindly legs stretched out behind their narrow bodies.
Circling as they lost altitude in a purposeful dive towards the river, they dropped their legs, feet kicking up sand as they landed, a cacophony of sounds announcing their reunion with other birds.
Soon there were flocks arriving from every direction, their lanky bodies illuminated by a sinking sun as they abandoned the grain field buffet for a safe sleep. The yips of coyotes signaled the approach of darkness and one of the hunters these birds face.
As the sky glowed yellow, then orange melting into red, a young bull moose strode across a sand bar to the water. Growing up in Saskatchewan, I’d never seen a moose in the prairies but now, one was turning my evening into a wildlife extravaganza as it plunged into the river. His husky shoulders were a dark silhouette as he forded shallow waters, the water dappled with orange as the last rays illuminated his path. He emerged on the sand below my feet, shaking the water from his dark coat. He looked upwards. I looked back.
A great horned owl started to hoot as the moose’s ears swiveled upwards. He could sense my presence and wary of humans (rightfully so, as this area is popular with hunters), the moose plunged again into the current and swam back to the bush cover of the west hillside. A few minutes later, I saw his profile as he emerged along the valley crest, his body a dark shadow against sunset’s last hurrah.
As darkness took hold the cranes faded from view but their audio track never did. I woke several times to the squawky murmurings of the birds. Bleary-eyed I watched at sunrise as they lifted off in large numbers, headed back to the open prairies for breakfast. I brewed coffee, watching transport trucks lumber across the transport bridge, and realized there’d been enough animal activity in a few short hours to rival any wildlife safari.
My outlook on Outlook had definitely changed.
To see more photos, check out the article as it appears online at the following address: roadstories.ca/changing-my-outlook-on-outlook-saskatchewan/
