Reasons to Grouse
An Advanced Guide on How Not to Bird
Operation Ruffed Grouse was botched before it even began.
Shit, I muttered as my eyes opened, not in response to a tinkling chime from my iPhone but of their own accord. I knew before I looked I had forgotten to set a 4:30 a.m. alarm. I grabbed the phone and saw the damage—5:50.
As expected, there was a text from the friend I was supposed to have picked up nearly an hour earlier—We still good for this morning?
I replied in a panic—
FML I overslept
I’m so sorry
I’ll leave in 15
I wouldn’t have blamed her for punching me in the face, but kind Sofia wasn’t mad when I finally pulled into her driveway. No matter, I was mad enough for the both of us. Not only had I left her hanging at that ungodly hour, we’d be arriving at our destination later than we wanted. We were on a mission, after all. A quest to find Pennsylvania’s elusive state bird.
Ruffed Grouse.
First, let me take a moment to congratulate Pennsylvania for having chosen a terrific state bird, the only state to choose Ruffed Grouse (there should be no repeats when it comes to state birds). So many states have flubbed this important decision, and none worse than Michigan, my beloved previous home. Nothing against the wonderful American Robin, but when you have a bird like the Kirtland’s Warbler, a rare bird that breeds almost exclusively in your state, you don’t pick American Robin. Worse still, the effort to name a state bird was spearheaded by the Michigan Audubon Society, who should have known better than to risk a public vote. Of course something unique was going to lose to something ubiquitous. Take a bow, PA. You’ve earned it. Michigan, go to your room.
It may seem preposterous that I’ve lived and birded daily in Pennsylvania and have yet to see the state bird, but I’m not entirely to blame. Sure, Ruffed Grouse is listed as a species of least concern from a conservation point of view, but that doesn’t mean they’re easy to find, especially in Allegheny County, where they’ve been extirpated due to a nasty one-two punch of habitat loss and West Nile virus.
Some knowledgeable birders of western Pennsylvania advised us to try Ohiopyle State Park in Fayette County—75 miles to the southeast and one of the likeliest spots to find a Ruffed Grouse without having to travel an obnoxiously long distance. Even so, we had a 90-minute drive ahead of us. We were also advised that likeliest in this case didn’t mean likely, but we were game to try and find the secretive gamebird. If we were lucky, there might even be a photo opp…
Shit, I muttered before my partner climbed into the car, realizing I’d left my camera battery in the charger—plugged into the wall in the kitchen. Could I rely on a trusty backup like any birder with a granule of sense would have?
I could not. I lost the backup years ago. My wife Alex had been urging me to replace it, but I can be a real ace at not getting around to things.
I apologized profusely for my tardiness and the needed detour. The house was more or less on the way, but it meant more time lost.
Why was the early start so important? Ruffed Grouse are bashful and extremely well camouflaged. Finding them is often a matter of luck, but as fun as it would be to flush one of these forest chickens in a chance encounter, I didn’t want to count on luck. My hope was to hear one. Early morning during early spring is the most likely time for that to happen, when the male of the species beats his wings in a hilarious courtship display.
It was still fairly early when we pulled onto Middle Ridge Road and hopped out of the car. I was hopeful, if not particularly optimistic, we would be greeted by the drumming of a randy grouse.
Silence. Ghostly silence. Not only did we hear no drum, there was barely a bird to be heard at all, aside from a distant crow. Up and down the road we walked, listening hard but hearing little, aside from our footsteps and the little plashing streams.
About an hour and a small handful of songbirds later, we found ourselves noting that, lovely as it was, the spot didn’t seem too suited to birdlife.
Tall trees abounded, but there was little understory throughout most of this woods, and that was another problem when it came to our quest. Ruffed Grouse like young forest, and there wasn’t much evidence of that, from what we could see. The work of hungry deer? I would guess at least partly so, but knowing little of the area and its management, it remains just a guess.
We agreed there was no Ruffed Grouse vibe to the place at all, and I proposed a new strategy—abort mission and chase a rarity, a confirmed waterfowl one hour away. Ruffed Grouse would have to wait until we were willing and able to drive to where they’re still thriving.
Let’s go get that Eurasian Wigeon!
The vagrant dabbling duck had showed up in Westmoreland County recently and was first reported on eBird on March 2. I’ve never seen a Eurasian Wigeon, but the distance was prohibitive and I didn’t go after it right away. I was ready to now though, and I liked our chances much better than our wild grouse chase. The bird had been hanging around all week, including the day before, obviously out of its range but content to hang around. One hour separated us from a life bird. We had time, so off we went!
There was a birder with a spotting scope when we rolled up to the site. Good sign. Hopefully he had the bird locked down. That way, we’d see it quickly and get to spend our time admiring it instead of trying to pick it out of the several rafts of ducks like this one.
Are you seeing the wigeon? I asked.
I’m seeing wigeons, he replied. But not the Eurasian Wigeon.
I shook off a flutter of disappointment, fetched my own scope, and we got to work, the three of us checking out every duck. Ducks can gather by the hundreds and thousands, so were fortunate the groups were small. The bird in question was a male. That helped too. Male Eurasian and American Wigeons both have a white (AKA “bald”) crown, but the otherwise red head of the Eurasian variety is distinctive from the American’s green. There are other differences, but the head was going to be key to distinguishing the distant ducks.
There were several species to pick through. Aside from numerous American Wigeons, we saw Greater and/or Lesser Scaups, Ring-necked Ducks, Gadwalls. Best of all, there were Northern Pintails, always special and a top contender for Best Duck (after Canvasback, of course).
Our new friend knew his stuff, and he wasn’t seeing a wigeon with a red head. Neither were we. He also knew the spot, and he was happy to let us follow him to the other side of the reservoir where another group of ducks loitered.
More Pintails awaited us there. Mallards too.
And two ducks were floating by themselves near the shore. Their heads were tucked, but one of them was showing just a bit of red.
BINGO!
I think we got it!, I said, retrieving my scope from the car and preparing for the dopamine flood that comes with getting a lifer.
That female merganser fooled me for a second, our guide announced upon my return. The red head in question was fully visible now, and it definitely did not belong to a wigeon.
The disappointment was more than a flutter this time as the two ducks slowly swam away from us, no doubt annoyed by our presence. Common Mergansers, one male and one female. The Common Merganser is a wonderful bird. A delightful diving duck. But a duck, as the name might suggest, I’d been seeing all winter. All of the ducks were swimming away from us now, along with our hopes—it was becoming apparent that no vagrant waterfowl was in the cards.
Our companion announced his intention to move on to other lakes and other ducks. After bidding each other good luck, we drove back to the original site for another sweep, just in case. More birders had arrived on the scene—more eyes and more scopes and more cameras not finding the bird.
Now it was time for us to go home. Naturally it was only after we were back in Pittsburgh, after I had dropped off the very patient and understanding Sofia, after the birding day was done, that fresh reports of the Eurasian Wigeon began appear in my inbox. Shit, I muttered one last time, hoping the duck would give us another chance and stick around a few more days, but no further reports were forthcoming. The Eurasian Wigeon seems to have finally said goodbye to western PA and resumed its migratory journey to wherever.
But the day wasn’t a total loss. We had a lovely time and some great conversation. We explored new parts and saw some ducks! Oh, and those Northern Pintails? They were a lifer for Sofia, one of her most coveted birds. There were sixteen of them—nice, clean looks at both sexes. I thank each of those Pintails for making me not feel like a total Pinhead.
And that’s the thing about birding—the challenge comes with disappointment, but only some of the time. The rewards are there all of the time. One of the best feelings I experience in life is the thrill of getting a new life bird. I didn’t get a lifer that day, but Sofia’s excitement gave me a dopamine rush all the same. And honestly, if I can’t find joy in looking at ducks for a couple of hours, I might as well chuck my scope into the pond and be done with it.*
Mishaps aside, the day was a success. Alas, my reprieve from ineptitude was short lived. I sit here in the Tazza d’Oro cafe in Pittsburgh, writing this post and sipping jasmine tea, when I should be outside with my camera. I intended to visit the Panther Hollow Bridge to check in on the Great Horned Owlets, take some photos, and share an update with my readers. But I forgot my battery. Left it in the charger on the kitchen wall.
But hey, there’s always tomorrow. Always another chance.
Always an SD card to forget.
Featured Photo—Smooth-brained Dorkface (Nerdus imbecillus)
That’s me on the right, 24 years old and looking my most moronic, in one of the many parks in Venezuela I moronically didn’t bird. Let’s zoom in a bit so we can better behold the drooling face of an utter moron.
This is the only photo suited to the moronic week I had.
Featured Video—Great Horned Owls
I did go back the next day, but not before taking inventory—binoculars ✅ camera ✅ battery ✅ SD card ✅ tripod ✅. I had to see the owl family at least one more time before the nest was empty. Those who follow my Notes know that one of the baby owls fell from the nest a couple of weeks ago and dropped 100 feet into Panther Hollow. Amazingly, the owlet survived with minor injuries, was rehabilitated, and has been placed in a makeshift nest not far from its birthplace. By all accounts, she is doing well and is being visited and cared for by her parents. I don’t know where that new nest is located, but I spent about an hour observing the sleepy parent and preening offspring yesterday. I believe the third sibling is still in the nest, but these two were the only owls visible from my vantage point.
10/10 Recommends
Having. Goddam. Backups.
I just ordered a set of three batteries. Alex will be pleased. I’ll stow a spare SD card in the car. I would like to say Never again! and mean it, but I know me. If I can just reduce the frequency of my camera gaffes, I’ll call it a win.
That’s all for this week. Do you have any birding misadventures you’d like to share? Any moments of ineptitude to help make a guy feel better? You know where to post them 👇
Until next time, make sure to set an alarm, and get yer ass out of bed!
Sorry, Sofia.
nwb
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This post was human-generated. All photos by Nathaniel Bowler except where noted.
*Birding With BillBow does not endorse littering.
What a joy to read: sleeping later than planned and not seeing the target bird, but having a great experience anyway. This also makes me want to hear more of your thoughts on state birds.
Always good to know when to pivot from one target species to a new one. Really hard to beat a Pintail--my favorite duck. Then again, depending on the day I say that about Bufflehead, Green-winged Teal, Gadwall, most ducks.
The more birds we see, the more likely it is we'll experience vicarious joy from another's lifer than joy from a lifer of our own. It's special to share in that moment.
A great adventure and outing nonetheless! This was a fun read, Nathaniel and I'm sure you'll spot that Ruffed Grouse soon enough. Hopefully the Eurasian Wigeon makes its way back to your area as well. Very nice footage of the Great Horned Owlets. Thanks for sharing.