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Campsite #512: Algonquin Provincial Park, Canada (Maine to Montana, Part 4)

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Today, we continue Braden’s epic birding trip from Maine to Montana with an astonishing visit to a place few people get to experience: Algonquin Provincial Park. Enjoy this latest installment, and if you’d like to support FatherSonBirding and independent journalism, please consider buying one of Sneed’s books shown to the right. Oh, and please share this post!

Twelve hours west of the Maine border, I spotted the giant sign reading “Welcome to Algonquin Provincial Park.” When many birders think of Canada, they imagine huge tracts of boreal conifer forest filled with the birds of the north: Canada Jays, Yellow-bellied Flycatchers, crossbills and, of course, Black-backed Woodpeckers and Spruce Grouse. Much of my drive from western Maine towards Ontario did not give that impression at all. In fact, the part of Canada that includes Montreal and Ottawa (both cities that I drove through) is lower altitude than western New England, and much of it lies in the St. Lawrence River Valley, a warmer, more humid region filled with deciduous forests, agriculture and suburbs. The area reminded me more of central Pennsylvania or New Jersey than of western New England, despite being at a similar latitude.

But Algonquin Provincial Park was noticeably different from the St. Lawrence River Valley. Three hours west of Ottawa, this large preserve sat at a higher elevation than the valley. The soil was rockier and because of that, far more conifers grew here, especially around the various lakes and bogs scattered through the park. Finally, I felt like I was back in good boreal habitat.

Algonquin Provincial Park represented a significant departure from lower altitude St. Lawrence River Valley only a few hours away.

I wasn’t allowed to camp in the park without paying a hefty fine, so I pitched my tent on a dirt road right outside it, in what appeared to be a site for keeping horses on the shore of a large lake. As dusk fell, I heard the twitter of an American Woodcock displaying high above. I’d seemingly settled in the middle of his territory, and he kept me company all night as I dreamed of what birds I’d see the next day.

My impromptu campsite outside of the park rewarded me with an American Woodcock that serenaded me to sleep.

After a short walk around my campsite at dawn, during which I detected a few Cape May Warblers, I headed into the park. My first location: the Spruce Bog Boardwalk. Spruce bogs, which I’d gotten to know during my time in Maine and the Northeast, are strange, almost other-worldly habitats scattered across the northern United States. Generally consisting of an outer area dominated by spruce trees with a core of peat moss floating atop water, they are home to a variety of unique species including carnivorous plants like pitcher plants and sundews. Because of their unique habitat structures, spruce bogs are also havens for a variety of boreal bird species that are otherwise less common in more southern parts of their range. So, as I set foot on the boardwalk, I found myself once again searching for Spruce Grouse and Black-backed Woodpecker—species I find myself looking for frequently.

Extensive searching brought no luck, although I did find more boreal warblers, including several Cape May Warblers and another great look at a Bay-breasted. I also heard a Lincoln’s Sparrow, my first of the year, singing from the wet back half of the bog. I had much of the day to bird Algonquin Park, so after striking out on my main targets at the boardwalk, I decided to take a short stop at the visitor center. 

I had hoped for both Black-backed Woodpeckers and Spruce Grouse in this spruce bog, but struck out with both species.

Within ten seconds of pulling out onto the road my Toyota RAV4 screeched to a halt. There, ten feet away, staring me down, stood a huge female moose. The animal had to be at least five feet tall, though from my seat in the car it seemed a lot taller! After we shared several seconds of each other’s presence, the moose trotted off into the woods. I didn’t end up seeing any of my bird targets at the visitor center and the center itself was closed, but I was now filled with adrenaline—I’d just scored my most wanted mammal of the trip!

Next, I hit Rock Lake Road. While I hadn’t seen many reports of my target boreal birds here, I figured that this road—a dirt track winding past marshes and through patches of spruce and budding Paper Birch—was as good a spot to try as any! Over the next hour and a half I drove slowly with my head out the window. Again, no woodpecker and no grouse, but I ended up tallying 40 species, 15 of which were warblers! Nashville and Magnolia were the most abundant, along with a smattering of Black-throated Blue, Blackburnian, Canada and others. Near the beginning of the road I also heard several Wood Thrushes singing, a surprise this far north. Along my drive I was also accompanied by the near-constant drumming of Ruffed Grouse, and the loud, piercing whistles of a pair of Broad-winged Hawks.

Though I continued to strike out on BBWOs and SPGRs, Algonquin presented a nice assortment of warblers including Nashvilles, always a favorite!

At this point I admit that I was feeling a bit ungrateful. I’d been birding for three or four hours and had not so much as glimpsed either of my targets—birds that were supposed to be somewhat regular within the park, and had compelled me to drive through Canada in the first place. Sure, I’d seen some great birds and a moose. But if I went the whole day without getting a Black-backed or a Spruce Grouse, I was going to be a bit salty. I jumped on eBird to check on any recent reports of either of them nearby and elected to visit, as my last stop of the morning, Pog Lake Campground. A Black-backed Woodpecker had been seen there only a few days before, and I figured it would be my best chance before continuing my journey west. I parked the car and began walking toward Pog Lake, keeping my ears and eyes peeled for my target species. One of the first birds I heard was a Tennessee Warbler, another boreal species with an electric song, singing loudly from a campsite nearby. I recorded it and continued onwards.

Then, I came across Campsite #512. Surrounded by gorgeous coniferous trees, it at first seemed just like any other campsite in Pog Lake Campground. The first thing that made Campsite #512 stick out, though, was the Ruffed Grouse drumming in the bushes nearby. Now, I’ve heard plenty of Ruffed Grouse drumming in my life—and had heard dozens on this trip already. Seeing one in action was a different story. I’d tried to sneak up on them before, but was always unsuccessful—the birds would flush from under my feet. However, this particular bird sounded incredibly close so I shelved my other goals and went into full stealth mode, sneaking towards the campsite to see if I could watch the grouse in action. After about ten minutes of tiptoeing around, I heard the beating of its wings—and that’s when I spotted it. Through ten feet of dense foliage, there the grouse stood, its wings striking its chest to make the sound that you feel more than hear.

I promptly sat down and spent the next thirty minutes with that grouse. Every five minutes or so, it would stand upright on its mossy log and begin its display. Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom. I watched it drum five or six times—with and without binoculars, and filmed it on my phone’s camera. It was magical. (Click the above image to watch my short clip.)

After twenty minutes, I also heard honking overhead. At first, I couldn’t see any birds above me, but I figured it was just a flyover flock of Canada Geese, though the calls sounded a bit strange. Then, in the gap above Campsite #512, I spotted several flocks of two hundred or so geese—and quickly realized that these were not Canadas. Between a bad view I got through my binoculars and listening to their sounds on Merlin, I realized I’d just seen a massive flock of Brant migrating over me, headed for the Arctic! I’d never seen these birds away from the ocean and never in such numbers! Sure enough, though, Algonquin Park lies right in the middle of Brant’s narrow migration route across Canada, and I’d just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

The Brant disappeared into the distance and the grouse drummed again, and I decided that, even though I hadn’t found my targets, I felt more than satisfied with my experience with Pog Lake Campground. But Campsite #512 hadn’t finished with me. 

As I slowly stood, taking care not to startle the grouse, I heard strange, frantic calls coming from the woods on the other side of the campsite. I quickly recognized them as calls I’d been listening for all morning, and suddenly, a male Black-backed, decked out in sleek black feathers with a yellow cap, flew into the campsite. It landed on a downed log near me, and proceeded to hop along the ground, getting closer and closer to until it stood only five feet away! It either didn’t notice me or didn’t care, poking for insects in the roots of the nearby spruce trees. After a minute or two, the woodpecker flew away, leaving me debating if I should EVER leave Campsite #512.

My best-ever look at a Black-backed Woodpecker will forever embed Campsite 512 in my birding heart.

As you can probably guess, I did continue on my journey, but knew that my visit to Campsite #512 would become one of my most memorable birding mornings ever, one that would be etched in my brain for a long, long time.

Braden’s Maine to Montana Birdventure, Part 1: A Day in “The County”

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Today, FSB kicks off Braden’s accounts of his truly remarkable spring birding trip from Maine to Montana. This adventure would take him to an astonishing variety of habitats most of us never get to experience. Along the way, he would drive 5,000 miles, visit nine states and provinces, and record 264 bird species, seven of them lifers. He begins this series with a visit to Maine’s arguably wildest and most inaccessible county: Aroostook.

Twenty-four hours after walking across the stage of the Cross Insurance Center in Bangor and receiving my college diploma, I was alone in a tent in Northern Maine. I’d gone to school in the state for four years, but never experienced it in the summertime, those three months when Maine is at its best. Now, with an abundance of time, I could leisurely make my way back to Montana instead of the six-day dash I’d done across the country last August. Because of this distant deadline, I’d arranged to spend a week in Maine birding and exploring following my graduation, and there was no better place to start than with one of the two counties I’d never visited: Aroostook County.

A Cedar Bog up in Aroostook County! This one shimmied with Palm and Magnolia Warblers.

Known simply as “The County” to locals, Aroostook is by far the largest and least populated part of Maine. The County contains a large portion of the state’s agriculture, mostly located on its eastern flank, whereas the rest is coniferous forest. Aroostook’s high latitude and cooler climate create a haven for many boreal species of birds that have receded from their more southerly haunts because of warming and excessive logging that promotes regrowth of a different, unsuitable habitat. This northern conifer forest is also a hotspot for the primary topic of my dad’s previous post: warblers.

Warblers, in fact, were a major factor in my decision about where to go to school. I wanted to go to college somewhere where I could see as many warblers as possible, and Maine fit that bill perfectly. With almost thirty species of breeding warblers (nearly triple what Montana, a state twice the size, has) there is no better place to be, and that is especially true of Aroostook County, where most of them could be found. Lying in bed the night of Monday, May 12th, I felt nervous. It was still fairly early as far as migration goes. What if the birds weren’t here yet?

This was my camping spot in Aroostook County, on a backroad in northern Maine!

On Tuesday, May 13th, my worries were settled when I woke up to the sound of a Nashville Warbler singing above my tent. I dressed as quickly as I could and set off down the logging road I’d driven in on, my ears receptive to any and all of the birds sounding off in the surrounding woods. Every level of the forest had songsters belting out their tunes: Ovenbirds from the ground, Black-and-white Warblers from spruce trunks, Magnolia Warblers from ten-year-old firs and Yellow-rumped Warblers from high in the canopy. Present in lower numbers were species like Blackburnian Warblers, Black-throated Blue Warblers, and American Redstarts, all likely early representatives of their species, most of which were still farther south, booking it north.

Magnolia Warbler in a spruce tree.

I was especially excited about the two Cape May Warblers. While I’d seen a fair number of Cape Mays before, I’d rarely seen them in their breeding colors and I’d never heard them sing before. This is because of their distributions. While I’d encountered many of the East Coast warblers on their breeding grounds during my time in Pennsylvania, I was hundreds of miles too far south for Cape Mays, which use contiguous spruce-fir forest and are mostly confined to Canada. These warblers (which are named after Cape May, New Jersey, where they neither breed nor spend the winter) are particularly dependent on an insect known as spruce budworm. Budworms are spruce parasites, and their populations are cyclical. During outbreak years the insect infects and ravages thousands of acres of spruce trees before the population crashes. Cape May Warblers, Bay-breasted Warblers, and Evening Grosbeaks, therefore, all have populations that rise and fall with the populations of this insect.

A “Myrtle” Yellow-rumped Warbler, which is the subspecies that lives on the East Coast!

Besides agriculture, the main industry in Aroostook County is logging, and understandably, the logging industry is not the biggest fan of an insect that defoliates thousands of acres of their crop. Unfortunately, the industry’s historical response to spruce budworm outbreaks (which, remember, are ecologically “normal” and important for the birds dependent on them) has been to clear-cut hundreds of hectares of infected forest. Spruce-fir forest is a mature ecosystem that takes centuries to develop, however, and the forest that grows back after these clearcuts is not coniferous but deciduous. This is a major reason why many spruce budworm-specialists, like Cape May Warbler, and many other birds found in boreal forests, like Canada Jays and Black-backed Woodpeckers, have retreated from much of southern Maine in the last hundred or so years. Their habitat has simply disappeared.

I saw evidence of this as I birded The County. Sure, there was a lot of seemingly healthy spruce habitat. There were also massive empty lots, covered in nothing but slash and debris. The forests were filled with birds, while the lots had almost none. It almost seemed apocalyptic. At least the empty lots provided good views of Mt. Katahdin, Maine’s highest peak, rising in the distance.

Again, though, the forests DID have birds, and not just warblers. Many migrants had not yet arrived (namely the flycatchers, of which I saw very few), but I recorded dozens of Ruby- and Golden-crowned Kinglets, Blue-headed Vireos, and Winter Wrens. Ruffed Grouse drummed from wet thickets, Hermit Thrushes foraged in the road, and I even got to see an American Goshawk bomb overhead at a million miles per hour, chasing something or perhaps just trying to give me as least satisfying a look as possible. In the evening, a walk along a side road yielded incredible, up-close views of Canada Jays, or “Whiskeyjacks” as they are known colloquially. These subtle, white-and-gray corvids landed in the trees less than five feet from me, curiously searching for insects while paying me no mind.

A photo of a Canada Jay that I took with my phone!

After a night and a day spent in The County, I headed back south to investigate the other corners of Maine I had yet to explore. Stay tuned!

What the forest looked like in Aroostook!

Birding the Burn 2025

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In many ways, my own birding journey began with my book Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests. That’s when my birding mentor, UM Professor Dick Hutto, showed me the critical importance of burned forests and the spectacular birds that colonize them. It’s also when Braden and I began birding avidly. Since then, we have explored burned forests many times and they have become some of our favorite places to bird. Last week, we were excited to check out one of our area’s newest burns, last year’s Miller Creek fire area, about an hour from our house. To reach it, we headed all the way out Miller Creek and then wound our way up dirt roads until we reached the burn at Holloman Saddle. On the drive, we passed through terrific riparian and conifer habitat, and Braden could pick out Yellow and Orange-crowned Warblers, Swainson’s Thrushes, and Willow Flycatchers through the car window. At about 6,300 feet elevation, we reached the burn, parked, and began exploring.

Researching and writing Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests set me firmly on my birding journey—and propelled Braden and me to start birding burned forests. The multiple award-winning book is a great primer for kids and adults on many little-known aspects of forest ecology. To order a copy, click anywhere on this block!

Thanks to Dick’s tutoring, I had some experience sizing up burns and at first, this one didn’t seem ideal. Three birds essential to “opening up” a burned forest are Black-backed, American Three-toed, and Hairy Woodpeckers. These birds hunt wood-boring beetle grubs in the newly-charred forest and along the way, drill out cavities essential for other cavity-nesting birds. But Dick’s research had shown that Black-backed Woodpeckers need larger-diameter trees to nest in, and the forest that greeted us now mainly seemed full of smaller-diameter trees. I also saw stumps where larger trees had already been removed—another huge problem in human (mis)management of burns.

Braden trying to locate a promising bird call in the Miller Creek Burn.

Through decades of well-intentioned Smokey Bear messaging, we have all been taught that all fires are bad, bad, bad. Even when a natural fire does occur, the forestry Powers That Be have taught us that humans must somehow “save” a burn by salvage logging it. For those unfamiliar with it, salvage logging involves going into a burn and removing trees that retain commercial value. The problem? These trees are exactly the larger-diameter trees that woodpeckers need to drill out their homes and, in the process, provide homes for dozens of other animal species. Salvage logging also often severely compacts forest soils and removes the seed sources (cones of burned trees) needed for the forest to regrow. This means that we now have to pay people to replant the burn site—when the forest was already perfectly equipped to replant itself.

Left to their own devices—i.e. without “salvage logging”—most burned forests recover quickly—and with a much greater variety of plant and animal life than before.

Nonetheless, shortly after Braden and I began walking, we heard the distinctive drumming of either an American Three-toed or Black-backed Woodpecker. These can be distinguished from other woodpeckers because the drumming noticeably slows at the end. To find out which bird was drumming now, we began making our way down a steep hillside toward some larger trees, but the burned ground proved very crunchy and we may have spooked our quarry before we got eyes on it. Disappointed, we climbed back up to the road, and continued walking. Fortunately, the forest around us sang and flitted with bird life.

Almost immediately, we began seeing Mountain Bluebirds, one of Montana’s most spectacular species. MOBLs are well-known “fire birds” and their vivid blue plumage looks especially striking against the blackened trunks of a burned forest. Today, we saw these birds everywhere. During our three-mile walk, Braden recorded seven of them, but we both agreed we probably undercounted.

By popular consensus, Mountain Bluebirds are the most stunning “fire birds” you’ll find in burned forests. However, another common fire bird, Western Tanager, might challenge that opinion. Did you know that bluebirds are thrushes? They are relatives of at least four other popular Montana thrushes: American Robin, Swainson’s Thrush, Varied Thrush, and Townsend’s Solitaire.

Suddenly, a large shape took off from beside the road and spread its wings as it glided down into the woods. “Dusky Grouse!” Braden exclaimed. It was one of the birds he most wanted to see since arriving back in Montana the previous week. Hoping for a better look, we crept down after the bird and, sure enough, espied it sitting quietly in the shadows. We enjoyed it through our binoculars for five minutes and then slipped away, leaving it in peace.

Before heading out, Braden told me, “I really want to see a Dusky Grouse.” This one obliged perfectly—and it was the first we’d ever seen in a burned forest.

Except for the mystery woodpecker that had drummed earlier, we had not heard a trace of other woodpeckers, but what we did hear was astonishing: wood-boring beetle larvae actually munching away inside of the dead tree trunks! I’d been told that one could hear these, but with my crummy hearing, I didn’t believe that I ever would. Sure enough, in several places, we listened to these big juicy grubs take noisy bites out of the wood!

Score! While we watched, this Hairy Woodpecker extracted a juicy beetle grub from a dead tree.

Finally, we also heard tapping on a large tree ahead. Braden got his eyes on it first. “It’s an American Three-toed,” he exulted. We could tell it was a female by the lack of a yellow crown, and we settled in to watch this amazing bird. It was working its way down the trunk, flaking away burned bark, presumably to check for insects hiding underneath. Once in a while, it stopped and really began pounding away after a beetle deeper inside the wood. It sounded like someone driving nails into cement!

Even female American Three-toed Woodpeckers can be distinguished from Black-backed Woodpeckers by having some streaky white on their backs—though not as much as on Hairy Woodpeckers (compare with previous photo).

As we continued our walk, we also saw Hairy Woodpeckers and another three-toed, this one a male. Woodpeckers, though, were just some of the birds making use of the burn. We got great looks at Townsend’s Solitaires, Red Crossbills, American Robins, Dark-eyed Juncos, Yellow-rumped Warblers, and Chipping Sparrows, and heard both Red- and White-breasted Nuthatches. Most of these are classic “burn birds” and we felt exhilarated to see them.

Though we didn’t get eyes on one in the burn, we did hear a White-breasted Nuthatch—and saw this one the day before up nearby Pattee Canyon.

At a couple of places, unburned green scrubby areas abutted the fire boundary, and it was fun to see birds dash from these green protected areas into the burn for quick meals or nesting materials before dashing back to safety. Many birds, in fact, love to “set up shop” at the boundaries of such two contrasting habitats.

We never did find a Black-backed Woodpecker, but that did little to detract from yet another great birding outing. We vowed to return to this spot the next few years, hoping that no one would move in to “save” this precious forest that didn’t need saving. On the drive down, we also stopped at some of the lower riparian areas for great “listens” at MacGillivray’s, Orange-crowned, and Yellow Warblers along with our favorite empid species, Willow Flycatchers. Amid the current chaos of the world, our burn bird outing offered a fun, revitalizing—and yes, inspiring—break. If you’re lucky enough to have a burned forest near you, we hope you’ll check it out.

We can’t prove it, but it seems to be a really good year for Orange-crowned Warblers—not always the easiest birds to see in Montana.

August: It’s Just Weird

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August is a weird month to bird. As we’ve no doubt mentioned before, we used to just write off August. I mean, most birds have stopped singing. No songbirds are migrating. Oh, and in Montana, hot, smoky weather often sucks the motivation from every pore of our bodies. Over time, however, our “bad August attitude” has, like the current presidential race, suffered a total reversal. Now, Braden and I cautiously look forward to August birding. The only problem? We’re never sure what we’re going to find. (See, for instance, last year’s August post “Birding Treasure at Garnet Ghost Town.”)

This August has been no different, but we began the month with some clear objectives. As Braden’s summer in Montana dwindles ahead of his final year of college, he had accomplished most of his summer birding goals save one: finding a Spruce Grouse. I could relate! After all, I saw my lifer spruce grouse only last year (see our post “Gambling on a Grouse-fecta”). As for me, I too coveted another Spruce Grouse on top of other Year Birds that had so far eluded me. The latter included Olive-sided Flycatchers, and Three-toed and Black-backed Woodpeckers. We both wanted to see migrating shorebirds, but realized it might be a tad early for some of them.

Sadly, Braden and I probably had only one day left to bird together before he departed, so any strategy to accomplish our remaining goals would involve compromise. Nonetheless, we set off last Sunday morning for a place we’d never birded together—Skalkaho Pass east of Hamilton. We got on the road before seven and made a brief stop at Lee Metcalf NWR hoping for shorebirds. No luck, probably because water levels were too high, but we did see a lot of the other usual suspects. Most surprising? Vaux’s Swifts, which I myself had probably never seen at Metcalf before, and at least half a dozen Sandhill Cranes—an unusually high number for that location. “Hm,” we thought, “Maybe some birds are already on the move for their fall migrations!”

There was something off about this Sandhill Crane at Lee Metcalf. I just can’t quite figure out what it was!

After a quick stop in Hamilton for breakfast sandwiches, we headed toward Skalkaho, the road transitioning from a two-lane road with a painted yellow line, to a “one track” paved road, and finally to dirt. We encountered an early surprise with a herd of bighorn sheep, and then climbed through a gorgeous forest canyon that gave off moist Pacific Northwest vibes and hosted a huge variety of trees. Here, we heard Pacific Wrens and Golden-crowned Kinglets, but our real destination lay high above us.

A great advantage of birding is that we see a huge variety of mammals during our adventures—including these bighorn sheep.

As the road snaked upward, we entered large burn areas that looked about ten years old. If you’ve been reading this blog (or my book Fire Birds) at all you know that we love to bird in burned forests. Not only do they provide great visibility, standing dead trees attract some of Montana’s most special birds. We pulled over a couple of times to listen for woodpeckers, but didn’t hear anything. Getting out of the car for the third time, however, we were greeted by a loud “Quick! Three Beers!” Braden and I laughed.

Though not a great photo, this is exactly the kind of pose we usually find Olive-sided Flycatchers striking in a burned forest.

“Olive-sided!” he exclaimed. And not just one, either. We would count at least half a dozen in the next couple of hours.

When we passed 7,000 feet we at last felt we had reached proper Spruce Grouse country. I had located a promising dirt road on the map, but before we reached it, we spotted another dirt road leading to the left. “That looks good,” I told Braden. “Let’s take that.”

“Sounds good,” he answered.

The burns near Skalkaho Pass were custom-made for finding cool birds.

It felt like a good day to find a Spruce Grouse. As on my Spruce Grouse excursion with Braydon Luikart last year, the day was overcast and misty, and I kept expecting to see bevies of grouse sitting in the middle of the road. That didn’t happen. In fact, we drove slowly for about twenty minutes, I keeping my eye on the road while Braden searched trees and openings along the road.

“C’mon, grouse,” I urged them, but it seemed like it might end up being a grouse-less day after all.

Then, Braden said, “Stop! Back up a few feet.”

I obeyed. “There, next to that stump,” he told me. “That definitely looks like a grouse.”

Sure enough, it was a gorgeous female emanating a distinctly Spruce Grouse aura. Just to make sure, I called up my Sibley app and compared it to a female Dusky Grouse. The two looked very different. Most diagnostic were this bird’s golden-brown patina and horizontal stripes across its breast and belly. Dusky females are grayer with more vertical barring in front.

We could have easily driven past this female Spruce Grouse as it imitated a tree stump, but Braden’s sharp eyes caught it as we rumbled by.

“We did it!” I affirmed. “We found a Spruce Grouse!” Neither of us could quite believe it. Even better, we spotted two babies popping their heads up and down right behind mom.

We continued up the road for another ten minutes, hoping to glimpse a male, but didn’t see one, so turned around and began bumping back toward the main road. We were not finished with this promising area, though. At another burn area, I pulled over. “Let’s just walk up the slope a bit,” I suggested, grabbing my camera and binoculars. We did, scanning the forest of dead tree trunks for any sign of woodpeckers. Then, we heard drumming to our right and our eyes locked.

“Let’s go over there,” Braden said, and we began picking our way over fallen logs and slash, and through fresh, thriving young trees and shrubs. As we walked, the drumming sound was replaced by tapping, and we grew closer and closer until we felt sure it was coming from a tall tree right in front of us.

“Do you see it?” I asked peering hard at the trunk against a backlit sky. Braden shook his head, so I circled around the tree, trying to spot it from different angles. Finally, I saw movement down low behind a green branch of a living tree. “I got it,” I called to Braden.

It took some time to get a clear look at it, and the first thing I saw was a lot of white showing on its back. This led the pessimistic side of me to conclude it was a Hairy Woodpecker. After all, no yellow showed on its head—the clear sign of a male Three-toed or Black-backed. As Braden also got his eyes on it, though, we began going through its other features. Most prominent? Black barring on its breast.

“Do Hairys have those black markings?” I asked, quickly consulting Sibley. “They don’t!”

This female American Three-toed Woodpecker provided an ideal “study bird” for teasing out the finer details of this species. We were thrilled to find it!

“It’s a Three-toed!” Braden agreed.

Wow. On this one day we had set aside to bird at elevation, we had found almost all of the birds we longed for, missing only a Black-backed Woodpecker.

We weren’t as successful with shorebirds, but that didn’t surprise us. Making our way over to Warm Springs, we found a nice group of Long-billed Dowitchers, and Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, but not the Baird’s or Pectoral Sandpipers or small “peeps” (Least, Semipalmated, or Western Sandpipers) we were hoping for. Still, we did discover a surprise Black-crowned Night-Heron at the main Warm Springs ponds—something totally off our radar. In fact, I had started the day hoping for maybe one or two Year Birds, and ended up with six! Our success was only dampened by the knowledge that it might be our last big day of birding together this summer. Still, that is the yin and yang of birding—and of life. You just gotta enjoy it all.

Our grouse eBird checklist: https://ebird.org/checklist/S190227269

Gambling on a Grouse-fecta

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FatherSonBirding is a totally free, non-commercial blog that Braden and I write to share our passion for birds and birding, and to help educate others about birds and bird conservation. We do not accept donations, but if you would like to support us in our endeavors, please consider purchasing *new copies* of one or more of Sneed’s books—the new picture book Border Crossings, for example. These books are widely available online or can be ordered from your local independent bookstore. Oh, and they make great holiday gifts! Thank you for your support.

Many of you have followed my woeful failure to see a Spruce Grouse since I began birding ten years ago. This has brought endless shame to my family and led me to self-medicate with copious quantities of chocolate, exploding my waistline and making it difficult to hold up my head (and pants) in the Montana birding community (see our post “Fall Birding in Glacier National Park”).

I have rendered myself such a pitiful specimen of a birder that several of you have kindly reached out with compassionate suggestions of where I might finally find a Spruce Grouse so that I could regain a shred of self-esteem. I had dutifully begun making plans to pursue these suggestions—when I saw that accomplished Lake County birder Braydon Luikart (not to be confused with my son, Braden) had sighted some SPGRs relatively close to me. I contacted Braydon to see if he might be up for a Spruce Grouse expedition, and he cautiously accepted, no doubt wondering if it might damage his birding career to be associated with such a “grouse failure” as myself.

Though he could at first be confused with my own son, Braydon Luikart is no relation—but generously agreed to lend his terrific birding skills to my search for a Spruce Grouse.

I picked up Braydon at his house at 8 a.m. as a crescent moon rose into a growing dawn, and he led me to a logging road across from Finley Point on Flathead Lake. In no time, we were climbing up the breathtaking face of the Mission Mountains. Finding a Spruce Grouse sat foremost in our minds, but we began musing that if fortune shined down on us, we might find all three possible grouse: Ruffed, Dusky, and Spruce! This especially appealed to me because—and I don’t know if I should even admit this—I hadn’t seen ANY of them in 2023. I’d spotted almost all of the other game birds in Montana including Greater Sage-Grouse, Sharp-tailed Grouse, and even White-tailed Ptarmigan, but the three in my own backyard? Nada. Zilch. Rien. Shum davar.

Our idea to win the “grouse-fecta” got off to a great start when, after the first five miles, Braydon hollered “Stop! Dusky Grouse!” I hit the brakes of my wife’s CRV which, on Braydon’s sage advice, I’d borrowed in favor of the minivan. “Where?” I asked, already reaching for my camera. Braydon pointed at five chicken-sized birds scurrying up into the brush.

This female Dusky Grouse kicked off our potential “grouse-fecta” in fine style. Note the color and pattern differences from the female Spruce Grouse below.

Fortunately, grouse tend to be pretty unreactive, placing far too much faith on their amazing camouflage to escape detection. Four of the grouse made their way into photo-unfriendly territory, but the fifth, a female, posed attractively on a stump. This allowed me to capture one of my best Dusky Grouse photos ever, and afterward, I happily climbed back into the car.

“One down, two to go,” I said.

We continued climbing switchbacks past smoldering stumps and log piles—efforts to reduce slash after recent logging and a forest fire several years ago. At around 5,700 feet, Braydon said, “I hear a Boreal Chickadee.” To be honest, this was almost as exciting as a possible Spruce Grouse. Only the week before, Braydon had been the first person ever to confirm and photograph Boreal Chickadees in Lake County! As for me, I had never seen one outside of Glacier National Park. (See our post “Are You Ready for . . . the QUACH?”)

The week before our expedition, Braydon became the first person to confirm and photograph Boreal Chickadees in Lake County, Montana. Fortunately, we saw them again on our outing! (Photo courtesy of Braydon Luikart)

We scrambled out of the car and quickly found ourselves in a wonderful mixed flock of both Boreal and Mountain Chickadees, Golden-crowned Kinglets, Red-breasted Nuthatches, Canada Jays, and one of my favorite mixed-flock birds—the secretive Brown Creeper. With my new hearing aids (more on that in another post), I could pick up more call details than I’d heard in years, and Braydon managed a great photo of a BOCH that briefly alighted on the end of a branch. “But where are the Spruce Grouse?” Braydon lamented as we continued picking our way around rocks and slash down the muddy road. “They were all over here last week.”

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a good photo of a Brown Creeper—but am always delighted to find one! They commonly accompany mixed-species flocks, but are often overlooked.

I tried to be philosophical. “I probably just haven’t put in enough time looking for them,” I said. “The grouse gods have not yet deemed me worthy.” Unfortunately, the road continued to deteriorate, with puddles the size of small lakes appearing in front of us. I powered through several of these, but about 18 miles in, I finally began fearing the wrath of my wife Amy if I had to abandon her car in a deep muddy lake in the middle of the mountains. Reluctantly, I performed a five-point turn and we headed back toward civilization. “We’re going to see Spruce Grouse on the way back,” I said, but didn’t really believe it.

We continued to keep our eyes out, but relaxed into conversation about birds, careers, and life. I learned that Braydon is taking a gap semester after high school and plans to pursue a career in wildlife, probably after a degree from the University of Montana. In fact, Braydon asked a number of questions about my son Braden’s plans and what made him choose the University of Maine. As we were chatting amiably, however, I rounded a corner—and saw three shapes fifty yards ahead of us.

I slammed the brakes. “Grouse!”

“Spruce Grouse!” Braydon confirmed.

As spectacular as male Spruce Grouse are, I gotta say I just love the patterns on this female.

Sure enough, two females and a male lifted their heads in surprise as we stopped. Unfortunately, as we cautiously got out of the car with our cameras and binoculars, the male and a female ambled into the scrub—but the other female seemed completely unperturbed by our presence. In fact, as we crept forward, the other female joined her, allowing us great photos of both birds. I was especially glad of that because I hadn’t realized how gorgeous the females truly are. As usual, most attention goes to the males, but these females displayed striking stripes and almost golden rufous patterning. True, I would have liked to see a breeding male, but I felt exultant. Not only had The Curse of the Spruce Grouse been vanquished forever, this bird was 998 on my Life List—only two birds away from that magical number 1,000. (See our recent post “From One Nemesis Bird to Another.”)

Elated, we again lapsed into lively conversation as we continued down the road. Only a couple of miles later, however, Braydon again exclaimed, “Stop!” I saw immediately what he was looking at, but it looked suspiciously like a rock.

It wasn’t.

Strike a pose! This handsome, if overdressed, male Spruce Grouse—my first ever—evidently mistook me for the casting agent of Project Grouse-way.

There, in the middle of the road, sat another Spruce Grouse—a resplendent male. Even better, this one didn’t flee as we climbed out of the car, and we were able to walk to within twenty yards of it, getting some great photos. After a few minutes, the bird decided it would rather view us from above, so with a few quick flaps of its wings, it skedaddled into a space between two spruce trees. There it stayed, giving us more decent photos before we left it in peace and headed back down the mountain.

After flying up into the trees, this male Spruce Grouse kept a curious eye on us.

Alas, we were still one grouse short of our “grouse-fecta”—a Ruffed Grouse. Still, I felt optimistic. Ruffies live down at lower elevations, often in riparian areas, so our chances would improve as we made our way back down to Flathead Lake. We rounded corner after corner expecting to see one—alas to no avail. Our bookie walked away with our fat grouse-fecta bets, an important lesson in getting too grouse-timistic. Braydon, though, redeemed this minor setback by locating one of the first Pacific Loons of the year on nearby Flathead Lake. The bird preened far out on the water, but its gray head clearly showed itself—a wonderful bonus in a day I would long remember.