The actual title of this post should be “The 17th Annual International Leeds & Grenville Pink Flamingo Croquet Match and Beer Swill Champion“, but it was just too damn long…

Every summer for the past nine years, B and I have headed down the 401 to the Greater Lansdowne area to take part in the Pink Flamingo croquet match.  Organized by B’s aunt and uncle, Gerry & Claudette, and a number of their friends, the annual gathering is always one of the summer’s highlights.

The event is a pretty wacky affair.  Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, pink flamingos figure prominently, and invitees typically wear bright pink ensembles.  Each year, the outfits seem to get more outrageous, with truly breathtaking mou-mous, kaftans, and assorted cross-dressers.

Of course, at the heart of the fun is the game of croquet.  Around 60 people play in the two preliminary rounds, with just six players making it to the final.  While the first round is pretty casual, the semi-finals and the final can get fairly competitive.  At stake is a stunning trophy and the chance to be next year’s Grand Poobah.  Winning is considered both an honour and a curse.

It may sound funny to the uninitiated, but croquet is a very dramatic sport.  Games can have huge momentum swings – laggards suddenly jumping into the lead with an inspired run, frontrunners falling apart with one poor shot.  The wait between shots can seem interminable as you helplessly watch an opponent roquet your ball into oblivion.  It is not a game for the faint of heart.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m no expert.  The only time I play is at the annual croquet match (where practicing is forbidden).  So it was through sheer luck and other people’s misfortune that, after nine summers of failed attempts, I wound up as this year’s champion.

I cannot overstate the impact this victory had on my two sons, especially A.  He was buzzing around me the entire afternoon, giving me tips, proposing strategy, and repeatedly saying, “You’re going to win, Dad, you’re going to win”.  As the pressure mounted in the final, he was a ball of nervous energy – his hands clenched into fists, his body tightly coiled.  When victory came, he treated it was as if I’d won an Olympic gold medal.

Yes, it’s just a friendly little croquet match.  No, it’s not supposed to be competitive.  But truth be told, I’m glad I won.  My boys thought I was actually good at something, and being the recipient of your child’s unabashed adoration is a rare gift.

Here are a few photos from this year’s match.

Rules are very important.  Key thing to remember is don’t touch a flamingo – the punishment can be severe.

The event is held at a different location every year.  There’s nothing like spending a summer afternoon at a beautiful country house.

B and a colourful group of competitors in the opening round.

The happy family.

The six finalists.  I am committed to finding an appropriate pink ensemble for next year.

Raising the trophy with the help of my two minions.

My son drew this at dinner tonight.

He says it’s a cannon firing at a target.

He wanted to know why Mommy and Daddy were laughing so hard…

When I pictured the perfect trip to Yellowknife, it included some kind of northern adventure.  A unique experience that I couldn’t get in the suburbs of Ottawa – something memorable, perhaps with an element of danger or calculated risk.  A story I could tell my kids about, one that would make their eyes would grow wide with wonder.

In an abandoned gold mine on the outskirts of town, I got my wish.

Day 1:  Warning Shot

After about 15 minutes of exploring the Ptarmigan Mine, I came to a large, roofless building at the bottom of a hill.  I heard a hooting sound and looked up to see a beautiful Great Horned Owl perched on a girder.

I snapped a photo and then walked through the open door, intent on exploring the interior.  I was suddenly aware of a large shape rushing towards me, and I quickly ducked back outside.  Dozens of small birds hiding inside the building began to tweet furiously.  I glanced around and the owl was gone – it had clearly decided that I was a trespasser and needed to be scared off.  Message received.

I looked around outside and saw the reason for the owl’s hostile reaction to my visit.  A cute baby owl sat on the floor of the building, and it stared at me with clear contempt.  Not wanting to risk another attack, I skirted the building and took a few photos from the opposite end.

I left the mine a few minutes later, walking with a spring in my step.  I had been menaced by a great horned owl at an abandoned gold mine – a nice adventure story to tell the boys.

But that was just round one…

Day 2:  The Return and a Warning Ignored

The next morning, my colleague Heather suggested we go back to the mine before our flight departed for Inuvik.  She wanted to see the mine for herself, and it sounded like a nice way to kill some time before departing for the airport.

Twenty minutes later, I led her on a tour of the mine, retracing my steps from the previous day.  As we approached the processing building, I scanned the rafters for the owl.  After a few seconds, I spotted it perched in a pine tree just beyond the building.  I took a few steps forward, trying to get a couple of pictures of the owl framed between the exposed metalwork.

I was about 30 feet away when the owl began to go “Whooo.  Whooo.”

“Cool,” I thought.

She began to shuffle from foot to foot, her bright yellow eyes locked on me.

“Um, it’s starting to move,” warned Heather.

Sensing I had overstayed my welcome, I began to back away, glancing down to put my camera back in the bag.  I looked up just in time to see the powerful bird hurtling towards me at great speed, its wings spread, talons extended.  It looked something like this:

In that split second, I turned my head and tried to raise my arms defensively.  Suddenly I was on the ground, the right side of my head throbbing, with stinging by my eye.  I instinctively reached up to grab my head, and thought, “Holy shit, she actually hit me!”

I got back to my feet and started to run, worried that this was just the first volley.  I looked around frantically, but couldn’t spot the owl anywhere – she had simply disappeared.  I pulled my hand away from my head, expecting to see it covered in blood, and was relieved to find nothing.

Heather and I headed back to the car, my heart pounding and my mind racing.  I looked in the mirror and saw three small scratches beside my eye.

In the days following the attack, I considered how lucky I had been.  I imagined different scenarios, including one where the owl plucked out both my eyes with her sharp talons, like some kind of Old Testament punishment.

In case it isn’t already clear that I acted foolishly, I had ignored another warning about the owl.  After the first encounter, I Googled the mine and came across a story on Northern News Services.  A journalist and a photographer had been at the mine a couple of weeks earlier, and the photographer had been attacked by the owl.  In his case, the owl drew blood.  You can find the article here and the journalist’s blog post here.

So in the end, I got my adventure story.  It was truly one of the scariest and coolest things that has happened to me in a long time.   I can’t wait until my next visit north (likely Whitehorse in October) and the promise of another adventure – suggestions are welcome.

On the drive back from Cameron Falls, I stopped about 20 minutes outside of town to take a picture of the headframe of an old gold mine.  A quick photo op turned into a memorable experience.

As I found out later, the mine I explored is Ptarmigan Mine.  It’s one of several gold mines in the area.  Giant Mine, which was the site of a famous explosion in 1992 that killed nine replacement workers during a labour dispute, is just down the road. The headframe of Con Mine on the outskirts of town is the tallest structure in the Northwest Territories.

Gold was first mined at Ptarmigan in the early 1940′s before stopping during World War II.  It resumed again in the 1980′s and continued until 1997.  During the ten years it was in operation, the mine produced around 75,000 ounces of gold.

Since 1997, the mine site has been essentially abandoned after the company went bankrupt.  There was talk about a decade ago about cleaning up the site, and an auction was held in 2005 for the remaining buildings and equipment.  As you can see, much of the mine was just left to rot.

Walking through the site is cool and kind of creepy.  The ground is littered with garbage – gloves, old jackets, twisted pieces of metal.  An old ambulance lies in the weeds, doors torn from their hinges.  A large rack filled with hundreds of core samples stands in the forest.  The graffiti that covers the walls is crude and sometimes funny – I imagine lots of kids over the past decade have escaped to the mine to party.

I’m sure the cost of reclaiming the site is astronomical.  In 1997, the estimated cost was $350,000.  Obviously it would be millions of dollars now to clear the buildings, cap the tailing ponds, revegetate the site, and it doesn’t seem to be a priority for anyone in the public or private sector.

If you’re curious about the site and want to see a few more photos, there’s a good set of photos on Flickr here.  They were taken about five years ago, and as you can see, not much has changed.

The mine has one notable remaining resident, and I’ll tell you about my encounter with her in the next post.

First stop – the controls for the mine elevator.  I assume this used to be covered by a building.

The entrance to the mine shaft.  Despite the invitation, I decided not to risk life and limb by climbing inside.

One of several buildings on the site.  I think the rollers were to transport ore carts from the shaft down to the processing building.

A & K wanted me to explain what this poem means – easier said than done.