No matter how many times I bird northern Minnesota, I don’t think I will ever tire of its landscape or its avian inhabitants. It is home. And it is a place birders from all over the country and even the world want to go, often repeatedly. For me, it holds the same allure as a place like southeastern Arizona. Despite how many times you may see the resident species, they never fail to bring the wow factor, even after years of birding bring about new birding destinations and additions to the life list.
Our annual tradition is to go home to the Iron Range the day after Christmas to visit Melissa’s family. The timing of our visit allows me to participate in the Cook area Christmas Bird Count. This is the CBC I look forward to the most. Even though species counts are usually low, it’s the quality that trumps the quantity.
Local birder Julie Grahn always keeps me apprised of good sightings when we go back home. This time was no different as she had not one, but three Northern Hawk Owls hanging out in the Cook area. I was ecstatic. Despite all the owls I have seen over the years, I have never observed any of the northern owls anywhere close to home. And I have always wanted to. So the day before the CBC, I went about searching to finally enjoy one of these awesome owls in an area I enjoy the most. Hawk Owls are usually not hard to spot, but I was only able to find one of Julie’s owls. It was good enough. Actually, it was perfect.
Hanging out with a Hawk Owl by yourself is more enjoyable than being part of the owl paparazzi at the Sax-Zim Bog. This particular owl was first sitting on top of a power pole with his back toward me. Of course owls move their heads in all directions, but I was absolutely shocked when it took off flying in the direction it had its back to and nabbed a vole nearly a quarter mile away. The owl then came back and worked on enjoying his meal in the privacy of various spruce trees.
For the CBC the next day, I recruited Evan to help me record bird tallies and spot birds. Evan has not been into birds for a very long time. That’s dad’s thing. I’ve been cool with that. This recruitment was not about me trying to turn him into a birder again; it was about spending time together and also doing something Evan enjoys immensely–grouse hunting. He agreed to do the CBC because there might be a chance to get a Ruffed Grouse as I regularly see them whenever I bird the Northland. Evan was excited. I was excited. After all, I’ve seen some pretty darn good incidental birds while taking him out hunting this fall. In October there was an incredible encounter with a juvenile Northern Goshawk while we were grouse hunting on his Great Grandma’s property:
This Goshawk was seen multiple times because it was carefully guarding and working on a Snowshoe Hare meal along a trail that we walked several times in search of Grouse. 
And about a month ago, I took Evan pheasant hunting on a WMA near Willmar and came face-to-face with a Long-eared Owl while trying to push pheasants out of a small spruce grove.
In these instances, birding was secondary and turned out to be phenomenal. Now on the CBC, the hunting was secondary. Would the birding be just as good?
Things started off fairly mundane on our CBC route: the usual American Crows and ubiquitous Common Ravens. Of course, for me, any bird is exciting on a CBC. Each bird counts and gives you something to tally as an observer. The hope for a good species count or unusual count numbers (high or low) or a rare species keeps the interest high at all times. But for Evan, who was hoping for a Ruffed Grouse to shoot, it was starting off kind of boring, though he dutifully tallied whatever I dictated to him. Things picked up a bit when I spied a Black-billed Magpie, a very good bird for the count. Evan seemed interested that we had found a “good” bird. And then I spotted a Red Fox bedded down in a field. Evan enjoyed checking him out with my binoculars.
Shortly after this, we were approaching a Northern Hawk Owl territory, and I was on high alert scanning everywhere. This would be a key bird for the count, and I really wanted to get it bad. This resulted in me spotting a bird high in a birch tree that I first thought was our target. But it wasn’t. I was just as thrilled, though, because it was a Ruffed
Grouse–I knew Evan would be pumped. Sure enough, new life came to the almost teenager as he frantically transitioned from his pencil and clipboard to getting his gun ready. Despite Evan’s best attempt at being stealthy like the fox, the grouse flew away unscathed without a shot fired. A letdown for sure, but now Evan at least knew his dad wasn’t crazy when he said there would probably be a chance to shoot at a grouse.
We set about working our route, and at one point, we were near one of my favorite black spruce bogs to bird. Some of this bog is in the circle and some is out of it. Just for fun I decided to check one of my hotpsots for rare woodpeckers just a couple hundred yards outside of the circle. I played a Black-backed Woodpecker recording and instantly heard one vocalize just off the road. I went into the bog after it and saw that gorgeous jet black back of a female Black-backed Woodpecker.
As I watched her, I was surprised when a male Black-backed scooted down the tree, interacted with her, and buzzed off. Where had he come from? The male wasn’t as photogenic but still gave some great looks.
Evan had declined my offer to join me in the swamp to see these rare woodpeckers even though I knew he hadn’t seen them before. He opted to stay in the car; non-Grouse birds were still not exciting to him. He should have joined me because there was so much woodpecker activity (these two plus a Hairy), that I was stomping around in the bog for quite some time investigating every bit of tapping. And then, I heard yet another woodpecker drumming in a cadence that was perfect for a woodpecker even more rare than the Black-backed. It was an American Three-toed Woodpecker! I played a recording, and it instantly flew in, allowing me to visually confirm what I had heard. This species is rare enough in Minnesota that it is flagged in eBird and requires documentation. Thankfully I was able to get a few identifiable photos.
Once again I asked Evan if he now wanted to check out two rare woodpecker species, but he declined. He’s never seen either. There was so much activity that it was hard to keep straight, and our quick stop to check for woodpeckers was now going on a half hour. Even still, Evan preferred the car over the excitement around us. This particular spot has often held these two elusive boreal woodpecker species. In fact, two years ago almost to the day, I had the same encounter in this same spot: two Black-backeds and a single Three-toed.
As exciting as the Woodpeckers were, I had a bored kid in the car and an unfinished CBC route. So we got back to it. The way the CBC circle falls, we only had to go a half mile before we were back in the circle again but still in the same spruce bog. This bog has held Boreal Chickadees in the past, so I decided to stop and try the secret weapon: playing the recording of chickadees mobbing a singing Eastern Screech-Owl. It never fails to attract a swarm of angry Black-capped Chickadees, looking to bring war to a fake owl. Often times this tremendous commotion can bring in other onlooker birds, ready to join the angry mob with their pitchforks. Sometimes this even attracts rare birds. And this time it did. Two of the chickadees sounded different than the others and proved to be the much rarer Boreal Chickadee. This was a solid find for the count.
I asked Evan if he wanted to get a good look at the coolest chickadee species there is, but he again declined. I was pumped regardless. It’s always fun to see these birds, even more so when they count for a CBC. A bonus was that as I was observing them, another Black-backed Woodpecker flew into the bog nearby and vocalized! Another great count bird!
We got back to doing our route. Evan was hoping for grouse redemption; I was hoping for something, anything, that would be interesting. My hope came true first. Going down a road, we saw a half dozen Ravens scatter from the road. They must have been on a kill. Evan said, “Looks like six ravens and one magpie.”
“There was no magpie there,” I responded.
“Well, look in that tree right there by the road. There’s something special in it.” So I looked with the binos and caught sight of a Black-billed Magpie flying out of that tree! The kid was right, and I had missed it. I think he felt a surge of pride and was starting to get into this count thing.
A few miles later as we drove down a different road with the windows cracked, I heard some chickadees. So I decided to play the mobbing recording again. It paid off with a pile of Black-capped Chickadees, a few Red-breasted Nuthatches, and two more Boreal Chickadees!
Evan still didn’t share my same level of enthusiasm, but we both shared enthusiasm for the CBC potluck right after finishing our route. The potluck is just as exciting for the nourishment as it is for catching up with other birders and comparing notes on how everybody did. Additionally, it was a reunion of sorts for me as I was among a group of over a dozen people that included several parents of kids I graduated with over 20 years ago. So after food was in our bellies and sufficient small talk was made with people from a past life, it was time to go through everybody’s results. Julie Grahn, who is the compiler for the count, did this by calling out a species and then have everyone go around the table giving their numbers for that species. Evan surprised me when he whispered, “Dad, I want to be the one to say the numbers.” Maybe he was finding some interest in this CBC thing after all, even if he didn’t get a grouse from it. Not surprisingly, Evan and I were the only ones to produce Boreal Chickadees. Surprisingly, our Black-backed Woodpecker was one of four that day. Evan and I also produced half of the total Magpies as well as the only Northern Shrike.
After we bid goodbye to our CBC friends until next year, I decided to run Evan out to the two Hawk Owl spots. Even before we reached the first territory, he was questioning why we were doing this when we’ve seen Hawk Owls before. I tried to explain that they are just that cool and are always worth seeing, especially when they are close. I don’t think he was buying it, though. The first Hawk Owl was right where it was supposed to be. Evan, who had never used binoculars in his early birding days, picked up my pair and looked at the owl. Evan had never seen an owl through quality optics before, and clearly he was impressed. “Whoa! He’s creepy. He has yellow eyes! He’s staring at me!” I chuckled as the little birdwatching kid from the past was back, for however a brief a moment.
We moved on the second Northern Hawk Owl which set up territory right at the edge of the count circle. When we got there, it was on a high pole just outside the circle. This time I set up my scope and zoomed all the way in on this owl for Evan to get a really good look. “Wow! It’s like he’s looking into my soul!”
As we watched, the owl did us a huge favor and flew down into the count circle! We thought we saw it go to the ground and guessed that it had gotten a vole. Sure enough, he popped up and landed in the trees right near us with a vole in its talons.
Evan and I were in the car by this point, and the owl kept flying all around us, landing at various perches, and working on downing his meal. “This is incredible. This is absolutely amazing. This is the coolest thing I have ever seen!” Evan was in genuine awe. I hadn’t seen him that excited since we saw the Boreal Owl two years ago. I got just as much a kick out of watching Evan’s reaction as I did watching the Hawk Owl. I think Evan was starting to understand that Hawk Owls are never ever not cool. What other owl not only doesn’t care about you but also gives you the death stare from 20 feet above your car?
After we texted Julie to let her know that two Hawk Owls were securely in the circle for count day, we headed back toward Grandma and Grandpa’s. I was sure to take a route that would run us through some habitat where I have had good luck seeing Ruffed Grouse over the years at this late hour in the day. When there is so much snow on the ground, the grouse will eat the catkins of birch trees near dusk. As we drove along, we were able to spot two grouse doing just that, and Evan was able to harvest them. And to cap an already great day, I heard and saw our 5th Boreal Chickadee of the day.
The next day we were supposed to head back to Willmar, but a huge snowstorm had covered almost the entire state. Traveling would have been treacherous, so we extended our stay one day. The snow was so bad, that when I attempted to go out birding in the middle of the day, I had to turn back because of unplowed roads. The 15-minute foray was not unproductive as it produced three Black-billed Magpies doing their best Bigfoot impressions.
The weather calmed down enough later in the afternoon, and the plows had cleared the roads. So I made another attempt at birding. I really wanted to spend some time in the solitude of the spruce bog, tracking down woodpeckers again. Well, it was a complete 180 from yesterday–absolutely nothing was around. So I began to drive home but always with a watchful and hopeful eye for anything cool. I have longed to see Great Gray Owls on this particular road and have been trying for about 6 years now. I did not see any of the Great Grays, but three moving clumps in the top of a birch tree got the birding juices flowing again. Ruffed Grouse! I looked at the clock and realized that I probably had enough time to go pick up Evan and bring him back to this spot. With an hour until sunset, I figured those birds would be there for a good long while. So I phoned ahead to the house so he would be ready for me to pick him up and make a quick return. Then I marked the tree on Google Maps so I could get right to it again. Within 20 minutes, I had gotten Evan and we were back at the spot except…the grouse were gone. We were both wondering if I was off a bit in my marking, so we continued to scan treetops. Finally I decided to turn around and go looking in the other direction. To turn around, I had to perform a 3-point turn on the narrow gravel road, a move I have perfected over all these years of birding. As I had the car crossways on the gravel road, Evan shouts out, “Dad! An owl!” My mind was reeling. Was it the Great Gray I had been after for so long? Where was it?? I couldn’t find what Evan was seeing. “Dad, it’s right there!” Finally, I caught sight of the owl just 20 feet away perched 6 feet high. It was a beautiful Barred Owl. And it didn’t care that through serendipity we had invaded the exact spot it was hunting.
It was truly magical in this winter wonderland. Had we not turned around in that exact spot and had Evan not had watchful eyes, we easily would have missed this owl. Can you see why?
The owl allowed us to complete our 3-point turn and gawk some more. Evan effused more words of awe at this majestic creature that just stared back at us. The little boy who used to get excited about birds was back. It was an incredible moment to share together. We both seemed to have forgotten about grouse completely. It was just a spectacular display of nature–vibrant life that had materialized out of the deep, dark bog.
We finally peeled ourselves away from the Barred Owl. Like the owl, we had hunting to do. In that respect we were quite successful. We ended up seeing a total of six more Ruffed Grouse, and Evan was able to take two. As we drove and scanned for grouse, I was struck by how things had come full circle. Almost 30 years ago, I was the one sitting in the passenger seat hoping there would be a grouse to shoot, while being driven around by my dad who didn’t really care if he shot a grouse or not. And in that same vein, maybe someday Evan will return to a greater interest in watching the birds more than hunting. Regardless, we made some great memories together in the northwoods.
We carried on with our walk that had us traversing the same stretch of road several times. Then we heard drumming quite a ways from the Black-backed and knew it was a different bird. We repeated the drill of tracking down the source. Only this time it was different. John was the first one to get eyes on it and announced it was the American Three-toed Woodpecker and the male at that!
It was a huge lifer for me–there are only a handful of regular birds in Minnesota I can still add to my life list, and the icing on the cake was that this was a hometown bird. It really doesn’t get better than that, and I spent a lot of time soaking up the experience and taking lots of photos.
At one point this Woodpecker flew down and worked the bark along a downed tree. This bird was oblivious to my presence and let me approach within 5 feet as it frantically flaked bark to look for insects.
It was a beautiful day to be birding back home and enjoying a long-awaited lifer. John had gotten his fill long ago and left. Julie was quite patient as I spent an inordinate amount of time photographing this incredibly accommodating bird.
I did, finally, pry myself away and Julie and I wrapped up our birding for the day. However, I found myself back on this road the next morning because the allure of these Woodpeckers and the Spruce Grouse was just too strong. That second morning I decided to drive the stretch of road first with the windows down. Unlike the day before, the action started almost immediately. I heard the unmistakable rattle call of TWO Black-backed Woodpeckers that seemed to be chasing each other around in some sort of courtship dance. I got lucky enough to catch them on the same tree together.
Then all craziness broke loose (as if it hadn’t already). There were now four Woodpeckers chasing each other around. As I tried to make sense of it all, another unexpected sighting happened–Sparky Stensaas came bursting out of the woods with a large camera and tripod in hot pursuit of this action. All of this action was just nuts. I started photographing two Woodpeckers on a dead snag and realized I had the male Black-backed and male Three-toed together on the same tree!
And in the end, one Woodpecker clearly won out.
Eventually, the Woodpeckers (and Sparky) dispersed into the woods and the excitement was over. Later on, Julie Grahn and Dee Kuder showed up, and along with Sparky we all enjoyed the Spruce Grouse show that was highlighted in the last post. A huge thank you goes out to Julie Grahn for finding and reporting these birds and assisting me in finding them. It was an incredible experience–I couldn’t have asked for a better way to get this lifer.
It’s also how you can point out to Grandma during that all-day gathering that the bird that flushes from the house each time someone goes in or out is actually a pretty cool bird and not some lame Robin that none of us can stand to have making a mess on our house.
Unlike the Robin, the Eastern Phoebe’s nest is quite aesthetically pleasing and well-constructed.
I almost passed on the opportunity to get crushing photos of the most accommodating Eastern Phoebe I’ve ever seen. That would have been a shame.
But don’t let me fool you, it wasn’t all incidental birding. I was in northern Minnesota, after all, a land ripe with fascinating birds in all seasons. Local birding friend, Julie, had told me about a Connecticut Warbler she had recently found in a Black Spruce/Tamarack bog not more than 20 minutes from my parents’ house. The Connecticut was a bird I had previously only had as heard-only in the Sax-Zim Bog, so I rose early one morning donning some knee-high rubber boots, long sleeves, long pants, and an unhealthy dousing of bug spray. I was going all in to mosquito central. No sane person does this.
But we die-hard birders do, especially when we think of the possible reward of visuals of a skulker like the Connecticut. It’s worth some welts and the loss of a little sleep. Julie had made things easy for me by marking a tree where the Connecticut had set up a territory along this abandoned, water-logged road pictured above. However, as we are getting into July, the Warblers just don’t sing as much. When I got to the spot after hiking a quarter mile, I didn’t hear it. But patience eventually rewarded me with that clear, ringing sound of the Connecticut: “Bea-cher, bea-cher, bea-cherbeach!” After waiting it out a little longer, I did get some great up-close looks, but I wasn’t quick enough to get a photo. Seeing one was a good improvement on my heard-only lifer, but I really wanted that photo. Maybe this Warbler was busy with a nest because it never did show itself again despite me waiting for an insane amount of time in the cloud of mosquitoes. I finally decided to call it quits and head back to rejoin the family. A heard-only Boreal Chickadee and a Lincoln’s Sparrow were a couple of good birds on the hike out.
Here you can see and hear that distinctive drumming. It’s such a cool sound.
Here’s another video. I was hoping to capture him drumming some more, but instead caught him itching himself. Mosquito bite?
Thrilled with the bonus Woodpecker, I continued my waterlogged hike back to the car. Then I again heard a Black-backed Woodpecker a couple hundred yards from the first two, and then I saw one of them following the other around. I thought they must be those two that I saw earlier. I glassed the two birds as one followed the other up a Spruce and was shocked to see that both were males–an adult being followed by this juvenile!
Something even more amazing happened while we tried to lure out this guy–a second Black-back showed up! There was a male and a female! Unfortunately I never did see that classic field mark of the yellow crown on the male, but Tommy and Gordon each got to see it. I will continue to search for these birds until I finally see that and finally get good photos of this species.
The weather forecast for the day was not good with thunderstorms all day long starting at 6 AM. As we made the half-hour trip up to Orr, the rain paid no attention to the forecast and came a little earlier. Ugh. So much for good photography conditions IF the birds were even still there. Regardless, I had come 300 miles for this. There was no turning back now.
My memory’s a blur, but I think I left my dad in the dust as I raced down the Bog Walk to find the nest. Everyone said you can’t miss it; it’s right by the boardwalk and the young are making a holy racket. It turns out you can miss it…by a day.
It was sickening. I knew this outcome was a very real possibility, but knowledge and feelings are very different. Adding injury to insult were hordes of mosquitoes and a steady rain. In vain I looked and listened, but those Woodpeckers weren’t speaking to me. It was a ghost town. I thought about giving up to get ahead start on licking my wounds on my 300 MILE DRIVE HOME. But then I remembered I’ve been in this spot before and have come out thriving. Coming to mind were clutch birding moments from my past like getting the Chestnut-collared Longspur last minute at Felton Prairie last year with Steve Gardner or getting a lifer Blue Grosbeak at Blue Mounds State Park two years ago with Evan in a break in a rainstorm the last morning of our trip. I sent Dad back to the car to get a reprieve from the rain and mosquitoes; I had work to do.
The suppressed calls I was hearing now made sense as this was a young male just learning his voice. Though not that evident in this photo, you can see the yellow spot on the forehead. Watching it long enough, I eventually saw momma come in.
I really wanted pictures of mom and dad, though, especially dad with that golden yellow crown. Eventually momma and baby made their way to the trees by the boardwalk with me shortly and soggily behind them. Dad was able to get his life looks at this bird now too and then proceeded to be my spotter for photographing them.
With the low light conditions that exist in a bog at dawn on a rainy day, I needed all the chances I could get in order to get any kind of decent photo. We positioned ourselves within earshot of the calling baby and sure enough, we’d get frequent looks at the mother as she would forage for food to bring back to baby.
The jet-black back of these birds really stands out. You can see how it would be effective camouflage in their preferred habitat of recently burned forests.
Despite the poor conditions for photography, getting this much-wanted lifer in this way in this place with this company was pretty special. After all, we’d all be stuck on some metaphorical tree without the guidance of a parent. Mine even called me out of the literal trees and gave me dry socks for the ride home.
