Fowl encounters of the feathered kind
The fool hen
We were putt-putting along the trail, with Paul riding the snow machine while I was standing in the back of the toboggan. When the trail is good and hard, I don’t have to concentrate so much on the variation of the trail (the curves and side hills) anymore but am free to look around—usually on the straight stretches.
I checked out the forest to my right, watched the trees buzz by and looked to see if there might be an owl guarding her territory from atop a spruce tree. The term fool hen is given to the spruce grouse. They can sometimes be extremely tame, which means they can be caught.
This greyish chicken, with its clucking sound, is badass! It’s “playing” with its life. I’m sure we’re not the only ones who have been scared by this harmless-looking bird that flies up just before it can be stepped on.
One of these provided Paul with a few tasty morsels for his next day’s lunch. The grouse was still under the fresh snow on our trail when we showed up, and all I saw was the feathers flying out from under the end of the snow machine’s track and towards my face.
I shouted, which got the rig stopped. Paul was happy to get an unexpected treat (and the bird was quite dead, having slept in till 11 am). Another time, they were trying to scare the turd out of me while riding through an open-pine forest … Two birds flew up and away, then I saw another five or so still clinging to a pine tree, huddling, trying to be invisible.
Spotting the ptarmigan
Willow ptarmigan, white in winter, are so cute. Usually they’re quite shy, unless you walk softly and keep really, really still; then they might not move but may stay put and hope you won’t spot them. In early winter, we may see a flock on their migration south, flying away from our noisy snow-machine approach. When you see their fresh tracks in the snow among the willows and alders, watch for very dark points (you might catch sight of one or two; their black eyes and beaks give them away).
They eat meat!
Everyone knows grey jays. In certain Yukon campgrounds they’ll eat out of your hand (a highlight for tourists), so they are also called “camp robbers.” When we’re on foot our resident whiskey jacks follow us, whistling and being very nosy. I think they have an excellent sense of smell because not 10 minutes after putting a squirrel carcass outside the door, they’re hopping close and are ready for a feast. They’re smart, using saliva to make “meatballs” and then hiding them for future dinners among the pine needles.
Another meat eater, the boreal chickadee, picks at the fat on the carcass. I can hear their nasal “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” to warn their buddies. But when feeling safe, they sing tender songs to each other.
Every once in a while, a common raven or two flies over our camp to see if we’re still around. Once we left a bag of bread outside on a shelf and, needless to say, when we got back, a day later, it was gone and the bag was ripped to shreds. I guess every Yukoner has one such story to tell.
If you take time to look, you might just spot a cute little boreal owl perched on a spruce tree and waiting for an appropriate meal (a mouse or squirrel) to head out on its final stroll. We will be hearing this night-active, yellow-eyed owl again in February or March, emitting rapid series of whistled notes.
Nibbling on dog pee
Last but not least, the easily-identifiable white-winged crossbill sings “chiff-chiff-chiff”; the common redpolls (’polls) sport a red dot on their crowns; and the crossbills, well, their mandibles are crossed at the tips. Both enjoy nibbling on dog pee … getting some minerals, I guess.
I can see twittering and trilling ’polls descending to the freshly-churned overflow (churned by the snow machine) and drinking water or “beaking” the minerals. They fidget a lot, so it’s not easy to take pictures of this small, nomadic tribe. I didn’t know that they sleep in snow tunnels to keep warm (they definitely had to do that in December!).
Crossbills enjoy the seeds of spruce cones more so than pine cones, and they breed in any month of the year.
Going to check on my squirrel line now, and happy that the light is coming back! Onwards.
Sonja Seeber, Yukon trapper
