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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.