227 - American Goshawk

Flukes, Clearcuts, and Blinds

a7úsayagwem, or Naka Creek, is a small watershed on the northern end of Vancouver Island which empties out into Johnstone Strait and falls within the territories of the Kwak'wala speaking Kwakwaka'wakw Nations, and is currently contested territory between the Ma’amtagila First Nation & Tlowitsis First Nation. The area comprises a former village site known as Komkiutis which served as a key location for salmon fishing. The name a7úsayagwem is Kwakwala for "little greyed hair", which refers to the broader area at one point resembling a grey head of hair due to the blackened trees left behind by a fire. This information comes from the Tlowitsis Living Map, the Museum at Campbell River, Ma’amtagila Press Releases, and the BC Geographical Names database, all of which I highly recommend for further learning.

The pair of Flammulated Owls from last year in the Okanagan who (indirectly) led to my being at a7úsayagwem / Naka Creek. With only one known record on the island this is not a species I expect to get for the Big Year.

While I can't speak to the history of fire in and around a7úsayagwem / Naka Creek the same salmon that led Tlowitsis and Ma’amtagila to prize this area led (indirectly) to my being here this weekend. Two of my close friends Simone Littledale and Simon Marcel have been coming here for decades with Simon's family fishing here since he was a child. Back in May of 2023 they got engaged while watching a Burrowing Owl at the Meadowlark Festival in the Okanagan and by total fluke we ran into each other a few hours later when they attended a bird tour I was helping to guide. One thing led to another and they showed me said Burrowing Owl later that day, and I showed them a pair of courting Flammulated Owl which we proceeded to get the first known thermal footage of copulation for (do not watch that if you're averse to excessive swearing). Fast forward a year and we (read; they) organized a half-engagement-anniversary, half-iNaturalist-bioblitz, half-catch-and-cook long weekend for a group of friends and I to explore a7úsayagwem / Naka Creek together. Beyond the need-not-mention delight of spending a weekend with friends this trip also provided a great opportunity for the big year to try to track down one of the island's most elusive and threatened species; the American Goshawk.

Here on Vancouver Island and up through coastal B.C. and Alaska our Goshawks are part of the laingi subspecies. They stand out as being far darker than Goshawks throughout the rest of the continent, a trend that cuts across most of our coastal temperate rainforest bird populations. Unlike their continental cousins, they also prefer intact old growth forests, and have proven themselves to be highly intolerant to the mangy patchworks of obliterated forest preferred by the BC Ministry of Forests (imagine that!). At the risk of painting our current provincial government as climate criminals lacking the sense or will to do what we've known needs to be done for decades I'll quote a recent study that looked to assess the state of old growth in B.C.

"BC’s remaining old growth is biased towards high-elevation and low-productivity ecosystems so that less than 1% of BC’s forest supports high-productivity old growth stands, known for their high value for biodiversity, carbon storage, and resilience (Ashcroft 2010; Lindenmayer 2012, 2014; Hauer et al. 2016); less than 0.1% supports the very high productivity old growth ecosystems that can grow massive trees."

Conflicting portrayals of remaining old growth: the British Columbia case

Karen Price, Rachel F. Holt, and Dave Daust

Long story short, we've re written the rules to get away with logging some of the oldest forests on earth down to unrecognizeable mudscapes and then fallen short of even those barest of rules. As a little kid growing up in B.C. I found a sense of identity in being from a place known for its healthy forests and ecosystems. Not till I was in my 20's did I step foot in a real old growth forest and realize how delusionally placed that sense of identity was.

With all the above in mind, American Goshawk featured as one of the most anxiety inducing birds of the big year; they're around, they breed on Vancouver Island, but they are incredibly rare, both because of their dwindling numbers and their overall low density. As of writing this, there have been 6 reports on eBird of American Goshawk for the entire year, all fleeting encounters in which nobody but the original finder(s) were able to see the bird. In March, I followed up on a report by a number of birders from Nanaimo and drove up to OK Mountain with them to see if lightning might strike twice but no dice. What I did get out of those trips though (aside from great looks at Golden Eagle & Sharp-shinned Hawk), was a tip about breeding Goshawks in Tsitika Provincial Park, 10km west of a7úsayagwem / Naka Creek. In twist of irony I fully appreciate given everything I've explained above, we did not see any Goshawks amidst the old growth of Tsitika. Where we did see a Goshawk was soaring over a clearcut as we drove one of the logging roads to Tsitika, a find which we announced with high beams and honks to get the immediate attention of all three cars. To say I was relieved would be the understatement of the year. Not only did I get to see one of these forest phantoms I've read so much about, but I got to do it alongside some of my best friends during a trip specifically aimed at spending time around some of the last remnants of this species habitat left on the island.

Though American Goshawk was thee target of the trip that doesn't mean it was the only new bird for the year. The first morning we were there we woke up at 5 AM to a Macgillivray's Warbling singing its heart out almost directly above our tents for #224. We then grabbed a granola bar, a redbull, and our scopes to go start a three hour seawatch. Being a narrow passage, Johnstone Strait can sometimes funnel species typically found farther out at sea nearer to land and that proved to be the case that day with a surprise Fork-tailed Storm-Petrel spotted by Joachim for #225. Last but not least, later in the day as we were sitting in camp we had the first Black Swift of the year for the north island for #226. These high-flying, sickle-winged mysteries have the unusual breeding strategy of nesting on vertical cliffs underneath or adjacent to waterfalls where their chicks are protected from any would-be predators. As is the case with numerous aerial insectivore species their populations are in steep decline and they are listed as Endangered in Canada. Organizations such as Birds Canada have been pivotal in fighting back against those declines, both by advocating for responsible pesticide legislation to halt the ongoing insect apocalypse, as well as organizing a vast suite of surveys to find, document and protect their poorly known nest sites. For those interested in learning more and getting involved I highly recommend this video my friend Kris Cu did with Birds Canada explaining the effort.

As if the above wasn't enough for one weekend I have one more story to share of one of my favourite bird encounters from the entire half decade I've lived on this island. Standing at just over a foot tall with with a brilliant ochre to charcoal mirage of feathers ascending to a puffed up black frock of a neck, Ruffed Grouse come in as one of North Americas most subtly extravagant birds. More spectacular than their looks is the displays the males do to get the attention of potential mates. Aldo Leopold once wrote "In terms of conventional physics, the grouse represents only a millionth of either the mass or the energy of an acre yet subtract the grouse and the whole thing is dead.” In a similar way to how our Goshawks here on the coast make up a distinct population, the Ruffed Grouse on Vancouver Island represent a unique subspecies found only on said island, called brunescens. Visually they stand out as being darker and browner than their mainland cousins, but that's only part of what sets them apart. What really distinguishes them is their unique drumming pattern. What do I mean though when I say drumming? Many species in the family Phasianidae (pheasants, grouse, peacocks, and everything in between) shirk the more common tactic of birds songs and vocalizations for physical displays. These range from the frantic group tap dancing displays of the Sharp-tailed Grouse to the bulbous yellow throat balloons of the Greater Sage-Grouse to the thousand opalescent eyed walls of charcoal tail erected by the Gray Peacock Pheasant (do yourself a favour and follow those links for those of you not familiar). Ruffed Grouse have opted for the somewhat less dazzling but no less impressive option of drumming. To do this, males rotate their wings forward and back at such high speeds they create miniature pressure differentials, with air rushing between the high and low pressure disturbances creating sonic booms. They do this in drawn out sequences with the intensity of booms increasing to a panic before trailing off to silence. Because the booms are made at such low frequency they become almost felt on the skin rather than heard by the ear, like being engulfed in a tapering heart beat. Getting back to our brunescens subjects, whereas the above pattern is true of all other Ruffed Grouse, our island grouse have a unique drumming pattern found nowhere else. As described here by biologists Richard Hedley, Jeremiah Kennedy and Ian Cruickshank, our grouse have a stuttered start to their display which quickly accelerates to a fever pitch before ending abruptly, nothing like the gradual start and stop of other grouse. While this may not sound like much, in a field where species are often differentiated by a slight difference in colouration or minute change in song, some have speculated this could point to brunescens being a totally different species.

While the results of Vancouver Island Ruffed Grouse's species status are still up in the air, what is not up in the air is how fascinating they are, as well as how sparsely documented their displays. That's why, when we heard one drumming just outside of camp after Simon picked it up the first night there, Simone, Carter and I set off bushwhacking to see if we could get lucky and find the bird's display site. After 30 minutes of searching we spotted a flash of gray in the underbrush and, though it was only there for a minute before scuttling off into thick ferns, pointed us to a perfectly protruding moss covered log which Carter speculated had to be its display log. Upon bringing this news back to camp, Joachim had the bright idea based on his work guiding in Papua New Guinea that we build a blind in which to conceal ourselves and allow us to get up close and watch the grouse display. For a group of birders sitting around camp with little to do the idea was too tantalizing to turn up and we sprung into action. Using an assortment of branches, ferns and moss gathered from the forest, as well as a conveniently discarded fishing net Aiva found right next to the site, we spent an hour under the tutelage of Simone constructing a wall of greenery that would (hopefull) conceal us from even the most discerning grouse. Further to our advantage was the knowledge that any potential shortcomings in our fern fence would hopefully be outweighed by the immutable horniness of the grouse, who was after all and for all intents and purposes busy doing his utmost to attract a mate. To further increase our chances of success we then cleared all the twigs and sticks along a path of approach to the blind so we could reduce any noise as much as humanly possible.

Over the next three days our group made successive attempts to sneak up on and view the grouse display with varying results. On our first attempt we managed to all get behind the blind and view the grouse before, just as it seemed it was about to drum an unexpected visitor came bounding down from the canopy above us and we watched as a Pacific Marten (the first I'd ever seen alive!) tore off into the woods after the fleeing grouse! On our second attempt, worried our target bird may have been recently devoured, we had the mixed results of recent signs of the bird, proving it was alive, but no sighting. Later the next day though Carter confirmed it was both alive and present, and even witnessed it drum, proving our blind theory was possible. Sadly when other members of the group went to see for themselves it had departed, and many had to go that night and so were unable to get to watch a display performance.

Our final morning in camp I heard the bird before I was fully conscious. Peeling myself off the ground I hastily threw a sweater on and went to check if anyone else was awake yet to find I was the only one. Running on Redbull, adrenaline and ire at this elusive bird I slipped off into the forest, barefoot to ensure I made as little noise as possible. With a mixture of joy, elation and relief I found the bird right where I had hoped it would be, perched on its display log and scanning the surrounding forest. A slowly slid my camera onto the tripod I had set up there the night before and hit record and before my eyes watched for the first time as the source of the rhythmic drumming which had been cajoling me deeper into the woods for years. I could wax lyrical ad nauseam but but to do justice I'll instead just let the bird speak for itself.