Spontaneous birding with a grouse

~ by Sumalee ~

Last summer, V. and I hiked longer trails than typical for us. These were upward of eight miles, and we revisited these longer trails twice or more. Perhaps this was because we weren’t really able to camp or coordinate our row-boating outings as we were the prior summer, mostly because we had a new kitten we were acclimating to the household. But we felt we could at least spare time to hike, and we enjoyed the longer mileage. 

S. had always correlated longer nature walks with the peace and tranquility so iconic of English Romanticism, namely the walks that William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge took together or traveled to visit each other. Their nine or more mile walks across the Lake District countryside on a daily basis inspired their wonderful poetry of the natural environment and extracted the fantastic of that environment as a fine liqueur. So these longer hikes promised adventure and potential new bird identifications.

The first time we embarked on the gorgeous Cone Peak Trail, we aimed to see grouse species or owl species. A 6.7 mile long steep trail with views of the Oregon Cascades and with Iron Mountain at the epicenter, this trail is popular for its wildflower meadows. So the first outing proved impossible to bird, as crowds of families and bucket-list go-getters taking photos of the wildflowers with their smartphones kept all intelligent birds at bay. Shall I point out that all birds are intelligent. We luckily managed to see several species of warblers and buntings, but neither owl nor grouse. 

After the first foray, rich in wildflowers but poor in birds, we determined a second outing later in the summer. Such a foray fortuitously coincided with S.’s birthday. We decided to hike the trail clockwise this time, which translates into a long gradual steep incline then short decline. This put us in the more densely forested trail up front, when our birding wits were about us before fatigue. We heard Indigo buntings and spotted blurs of indigo, but V. was unable to capture a photo. There were surprisingly fewer bird spottings this time around despite the absence of manic crowds. We were disappointed from a birding standpoint but gratified by the quiet and serenity.

As we walked further along the soft, fir needle-laden trail, we began to hear the repeating boom of . . . we weren’t sure what? It sounded like the sombre beat of Native American or Japanese Taiko drums. Was this the deep throaty call of a bear? Or some unfamiliar elk? The boom would repeat after about two minutes and to our ears, sounded like five beats. Shortly after hearing this call, we came upon a party of three, the sole male of which stated that they had heard a Spruce Grouse. He seemed completely confident in his identification, so we were temporarily lulled into belief although that grouse has not been spotted in the area. 

But as we ascended the trail, skepticism and common sense elicited doubt. We suspected these calls were not Spruce but some other grouse or bird. The booms repeated from time to time. We finally ran into a couple, admirable for their possession of an old-school paperback bird field guide that they consulted to make identifications. The friendly guy informed us that they were tracking an owl and thought these booms were a Great Gray Owl, which they had been chasing forever. Although V. and I had started to descend, and although I worried about prolonging an already long hike and consequently, causing a charismatic Husky mix back home to retain urine and get a UTI, V. convinced me that it was worth a shot to re-ascend and possible see a Great Gray Owl. It was actually fun to join a real birding couple in this adventure--temporary friends joined by a common cause. 

The four of us quietly and stealthily climbed the mountain, the boom calls always just beyond reach of visible perception. V. and the guy were in front, myself and his lady in the back. Suddenly, a blur crashed across the path a short distance before terminating in total silence. We all looked at each other: no self-respecting owl makes noise like that but on the contrary, are silent fliers. Vicky had glimpsed the blur and was drawn ahead to trees where she thought it may have settled. Then she spotted it. Up high, sitting quietly was a large, plump feathery ball with a relatively small head. We all took turns crouching down in the best spot to view it. It was slaty gray with a white speckled pattern on its underside. We could see its brilliant slice-of-orange skin just above the eye. He tolerated our company for a few minutes then suddenly crashed away. 

However, V. succeeded in snagging some photos and we all got down to the business of identifying this bird. Their field guide was an older guide and by all appearances, the grouse was a Blue Grouse. However, our Audubon mobile app stated that the Dusky Grouse and the Sooty Grouse once were considered a single species, the Blue Grouse, before the new designations qualifying tiny differences obtained. We couldn’t tell the difference at that point and would have to consult our guides at home but we learned through the couple’s field guide and our app that the behavior we heard and saw was part of the courtship ritual. 

The best guide to compare slight, nearly imperceptible differences is the Sibley Guide to Birds. Sibley is not only an inimitable illustrator but he has a knack for noticing distinctions not even the Creator of the Earth would ostensibly know. So Sibley nailed it for us: he notes that the Sooty “male advertising call a series of low, pulsing hoots . . . rising then falling slightly (compare Great Gray Owl) . . audible at a quarter mile” whereas the Dusky’s call is “audible only at close range.” So our birding couple were not far off when they thought they were chasing a Great Gray Owl. Since we all heard that call in the distance far up the mountain, we know it was a Sooty. V.’s photo also shows the second major distinction: light blue-gray tips on the tail feathers. 

We’ve not had another occasion of a serendipitous meeting among strangers that transforms into a collaborative effort to stalk and identify a bird since. We had a similar encounter in Massachusetts, though not as prolonged and intense. It was pure fun and we look forward to adding to our lifelist with spontaneous conspirators in the great chase.