A Tale of Winter Birding in Minnesota雲杉松雞：明尼蘇達冬季賞鳥紀事
我成長於加州南岸，在那裡，草地被積雪覆蓋是件百年難得一見的事；人們會為了看雪而專程開車到山上去；小孩喜歡用雪覆蓋在車子的引擎蓋和保險桿上，在雪還沒融化前，急著給他們的朋友看。這一類的事情在加州總不斷地上演著。
雖然現在我住在愛荷華州，我還是覺得冬天實在很有趣，雪積得越深就越好玩。
也因此，當我得知愛荷華當地有一個賞鳥社團，要去明尼蘇達進行為期四天的冬季賞鳥活動，我毫不猶豫地加入他們。在一個冰冷的早晨，我很高興地和他們碰面，一起前往一個叫做Duluth的地方。我非常期待能夠在冰天雪地的北方發現只有當地才能觀賞到的鳥類。
像雪鴞（Snowy Owls），冬天時，牠們會從南極的凍原飛往南方，但他們鮮少會飛到愛荷華，想看到牠們只有到明尼蘇達，而且是冬天的明尼蘇達。這些年來，我一直渴望看見雪鴞，但雪鴞不是此行的唯一目標。
我列出一張表，上面是一些我從未見過，希望此行到明尼蘇達能發現的鳥。在我列的這張表上，我最想看到的鳥是雲杉松雞（Spruce Grouse），牠是一種外型近似雞，棲息在遙遠北邊的針葉林中的鳥。和雪鴞不同的是，雲杉松雞不會隨季節而遷徙，大多數的雲杉松雞一生都棲息在同一個地方。即使有少數的雲杉松雞要旅行，最多也不會飛超過十哩。
這是一種你絕對不可能在你家後院發現牠們的鳥，你必須到牠們的棲息處才有機會看到牠。牠夏天時住在森林苔地，吃些白色果實、蕨類植物，偶而牠也吃點蜘蛛。冬天時，他們棲息在樹上，藉著吃一些雲杉針葉或毬果植物，補充熱能，抵禦嚴寒的氣候。
此次明尼蘇達之行，我們的運氣不錯。有看到一隻雪鴞，牠背對著我們佇立在一座電廠的塔頂。也許是因為塔頂沒有樹木，又有被雪覆蓋的景像，跟雪鴞的凍原故鄉很類似，所以牠才選擇棲息在此。對我而言，見到雪鴞的感覺，就像是親臨遙遠、不可及的南極洲。
這隻巨大的雪鴞，轉頭用牠半閉的黃色雙眼望著我們，看了大約二十秒，才把頭轉回去。
在明尼蘇達的第三天，除了我最渴望見到的雲杉松雞之外，我們幾乎看遍了所有想看的鳥。聽說在早晨九點以前，是最容易發現雲杉松雞的蹤影，剛好這也是遠離塞車的時刻。為此，我們必須一大清早離開Duluth的旅社，驅車前往加拿大邊境的森林。
但是這座森林有很多伐木工人，所以道路整天都被運木車佔據，原本狹窄、冰滑的道路就更顯壅塞。我們希望能夠在運木車出現之前發現雲杉松雞。我們所在的這些道路是看見牠們絕佳的地點，因為路上有許多小碎石頭。雲杉松雞就如同其他鳥類一般沒有牙齒，所以牠們會吃些小碎石，藉著這些存在牠們肚中砂囊的碎石，得以磨碎食物，幫助牠們消化吸收。
我們在松雞常出沒的地方來回開車繞了幾小時，就是沒發現牠們。將近正午時分，我們心理已經有可能看不到雲杉松雞的準備。但是突然，一隻公的松雞出現了，就在道路正中央。我們看著牠頭頂的亮紅雞冠，和牠烏黑油亮的胸部；想要更接近牠看仔細些。不巧，說時遲那時快，一輛巨大的運木車突然出現，朝那可憐的松雞衝過去。
『趕快飛呀！』我們齊聲叫喊著，但這隻松雞絲毫沒有察覺到卡車的存在，繼續悠哉地啄牠的石頭。其中一個隊員呻吟：『別這樣，我等一輩子的松雞就這樣沒了嗎？』我們都只能眼睜睜看著卡車朝松雞逼近，大家心知肚明松雞絕無生還的可能，因為卡車行駛得實在太快了。
一瞬間，奇蹟發生，雲杉松雞居然飛在半空中，在卡車正上方，牠的翅膀拍打樹林，黑色尾巴散開呈現扇形狀，上面還有一圈像緞帶般的羽毛；領隊說那是深栗色的羽毛，但是在早晨陽光的映照投射之下，我向各位保證，那絕對是一圈純金色的羽毛。
原文：
Spruce Grouse
A Tale of Winter Birding in Minnesota
I grew up in coastal Southern California, where frost on the grass was a novelty, and where for a winter treat people would drive to the mountains to see the snow. Kids would pack the white stuff onto the car’s hood and bumpers and hope to get back before it all melted so they could show their friends.
This sort of history stays with a person, and maybe it’s the reason that even though I now live in Iowa, I still think winter is fun, and the deeper the snow, the better.
So when I got a chance to join a group of Iowa birdwatchers who were going to Minnesota for four days of winter birding, I happily met them before dawn on a frozen morning and headed toward Duluth, beside myself with anticipation about finding the wonderful birds that can be seen only in the far north during winter.
Snowy Owls, for example, come south in winter from the Arctic tundra, the treeless land between the polar ice and the great boreal forest of Canada and Alaska. But Snowy Owls seldom get to Iowa. The closest place that an Iowan can count on seeing them is Minnesota, and even there only in winter. For years I had been longing to see a Snowy Owl. But that was not my only target. I’d made a list of potential ”life birds,” birds I’d never seen anywhere before but hoped to find in Minnesota.
Sometimes people ask me why I want to see a bird I’ve never seen before, if it’s an acquisitive impulse, or perhaps a competitive urge. I don’t think it’s quite like that. For me, each bird is the embodiment of the land in which it lives, an ambassador of its home and habitat. Seeing a bird that lives in a special place, I feel as if I’ve met the spirit of that place and made friends with it.
At the top of my Minnesota wish list was the Spruce Grouse, a chicken-like bird that lives in the remote coniferous forests of the far north. In contrast to Snowy Owls, Spruce Grouse do not migrate. Most of them stay in the same area all their lives. The few individuals who do travel move no more than ten miles from where they spend the winter to their summer home, and they cover that distance by walking! This is a bird that will never wander into your backyard. To see it, you have to go to its stronghold.
Spruce Grouse pass the summer on the forest’s mossy ground, eating snowberries, fern tips, and the occasional spider. In winter they stay up in the trees, where they fuel their body through the brutal winter exclusively by feeding on the needles of spruce and other conifers.
The Spruce Grouse is good to eat, and because it does not fear people, it does not thrive around human habitation. It is so trusting that hunters have been able to walk up to it and bag it with a stick.
None has ever been seen in Iowa.
We had good luck in Minnesota. We found a Snowy Owl perched with its back to us on a tower at a power plant. Maybe the unobstructed view of the treeless, snow-covered landscape reminded the owl of its tundra home. To me it seemed as if the bird had brought the inaccessible Arctic with it, just far enough south that we could meet it. The big white owl pivoted its head around toward us, looked at us through half-closed yellow eyes for 20 seconds, and then turned its gaze to something else. It was a moment of contact. It was enough.
By the third day we had found nearly all the birds that we’d come for, except for the Spruce Grouse. For that we had to leave the motel in Duluth long before daylight and drive almost to the Canadian border.
As dawn came up, I found a new use for a credit card, shaving my frozen breath from the van windows in little slivers and curls of ice. Peeking out through the ephemeral clear places on the glass, I had my first glimpses of the great, silent North Woods of Minnesota. Spruces, firs, and other evergreens thickly engulfed us. Great looping branches draped our views, and all were loaded with snow, drenched in white. It was a frozen Forest Primeval, and it made me feel as if I were moving in a Nordic myth.
We’d been advised that the best time to find the grouse was before 9 A.M. It’s also the only time to avoid the traffic. This forest is intensively logged, and throughout the day logging trucks dominate the narrow, icy roads. We hoped we would find the birds before the logging trucks were about.
These roads are an excellent place to see Spruce Grouse, because of the gravel. Lacking teeth, the grouse, like many other birds, eat small rocks, which lodge in their gizzard and grind around with the food to break it down. After each storm, when the roads are graded and sanded, the birds come for the grit.
For hours we drove slowly back and forth in the region that the grouse were known to frequent, but to no avail. Soon the trucks woke up and came screaming down on us, shaking everything. It would seem there was no room for them to pass, but somehow, without ever slowing down, they got by us. Life in a rifle barrel.
By mid morning the sun was shining at us sideways through every chink in the trees, and we were trying to get used to the idea that we might not find our grouse.
But suddenly, around a bend, there was a male Spruce Grouse, right in the middle of the road. We pulled over to the side to make sure everyone got a look. We could see the bright red comb above his eye, and the gleaming black breast. We planned to get out and try for a closer look on foot as soon as everyone had seen as much as we could from inside the van.
However, a logging truck came up from behind and roared, much too fast, toward the poor grouse. ”Fly away!” we were all shouting, but the bird pecked at the road unconcernedly as the truck bore down on it and concealed it from our view.
Someone groaned, ”Oh no, there goes my life Spruce Grouse!” We watched with fascinated horror until it was clear there was no longer any chance for the bird to escape-the truck was too close to it, moving too fast.
But in myths, impossible things happen, and somehow the bird was in the air above the truck, wings beating for the woods, tail spread in a beautiful black fan with a light band across the end like a ribbon. The field guides say this band is chestnut, but with the morning sun shining through it, I assure you, it was pure gold.
© 1998 by Diane Porter
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