Boreal Species of New Hampshire

The days are long now and at noon the sun is high in the sky, another cycle of new life granted to the northern earth. If you are outdoors a lot, you understand why ancient peoples prayed to the life-giving sun as well as the planet and plants that bathe in its glory.

There is a sign on the way from Colebrook to Pittsburg, New Hampshire announcing that you are crossing the 45th parallel, the halfway point between the equator (zero) and the north pole (90-degree line). Here near the Canadian border you find a climate and vegetation called "boreal," typical of northern or mountainous regions.

This was the first ever bird club outing to this area, and as leader I had been hoping for decent weather. Those mountain gods do not listen to prayers, but the day was warm, the winds calm, and the bugs few.

The sun rises even earlier here, but does not rise as high. The extra time of daylight comes from its rising and setting farther north. It was already well past dawn when we assembled outside our lodging at 5:30 a.m., but soon we were at a place called East Inlet. The spruce and balsam forest surrounded a small pond where a few fishermen launch their boats. Around us on all sides were vistas of forested hills, no sign of habitation, and no jets flying overhead.

We were here to search especially for four species that reside all year in these boreal forests, one grouse, one jay, one woodpecker, and a chickadee. The first one we found is aptly named, the boreal chickadee. We heard the softer, more whiny notes of this northern cousin of our familiar black-capped chickadee, and followed them to the trees where two birds fed.

This species used to be called the brown-headed chickadee, and we could see why. It is a chunkier bird than our black-cap, but has the same friendly disposition. The two birds ignored our presence as they fed and followed each other from branch to branch in the small trees.

Our caravan of four cars wound slowly along the dirt logging roads, stopping at likely spots to listen and look. We found some of the tropical thrushes, flycatchers and warblers that pass through southern New England on the way to these boreal nesting grounds.

Three times a grouse was encountered on the side of the road, but each time it proved to be a ruffed grouse, which is a common species nesting throughout the Northeast. The much rarer spruce grouse we hoped to see is restricted to these forests and is not so abundant. Either one is secretive and wary, staying in the thick underbrush as much as it can.

The next day we drove south to the White Mountain National Forest and climbed a trail up the side of Mt. Jefferson in the Presidential Range. Here the forest is thick and not recently logged. At about the 4000-foot elevation the trees open up to a vista of the slopes below and above.

We sat on a huge rock carved by the wind and rain, hoping to see the extremely rare Bicknell's thrush in the small stunted trees this bird favors. The wind blew so hard on this exposed part of the mountain that the thrushes stayed down and hidden in the tangle of brush. Time was also running out on our chance to see any of the other three target species. Then fortune smiled on us.

Suddenly two large birds appeared in the low dead spruces next to the rock. They peered at us and poked at their perches, expecting a handout of chips. It was the famous gray jay of the high boreal forests. Even here in these haunts where they stay year round they are quite scarce, but they are also tame and often visit campgrounds or picnic areas to beg for food. After a few mild whistles and murmurs of disappointment at our stinginess, they moved away.

They were replaced in these same trees a few moments later by a bird that is always hard to find, the black-backed woodpecker. It was a male with a bright yellow crown patch contrasting with the jet-black back. We held our breath and enjoyed this special gift from the mountain gods. This day they were not as fickle as they usually are.