Slipping out of our grasp

There is a real risk that we will lose thecapercaillie forever,

- Patrick Laurie

Something is stirring in the depths of the ancient pine forest. As spring creeps north, creatures are emerging from the trees to strut and prowl.

Capercaillie are substantial birds; the males can stand as tall as a traffic cone and it’s hard to imagine how they could ever be overlooked. The reality is that they are also shy and wildly secretive. They will see you long before you see them and they find it easy to sink down and hide in beds of blaeberry and heather.

But as April runs on towards May, this secrecy will fade. Cock birds meet in prearranged clearings to lek and display, and they make for a fine spectacle in the early morning light. Hooked beaks and heavy wings are deployed as weapons and the forest rings to the bizarre rattle and clatter of combat. Hen birds stand back and watch as the battle unfolds, dropping down now and again to remind the warriors what is at stake. They pout and shuffle, shivering their feathers like arrow points and spreading their tails into a broad fan.

As often happens during a lek, most of the mating will fall to one male capercaillie. No matter how many other males are present, the hens will usually be drawn to the master. The act itself is brief and is the last point of contact that a male bird will have with his offspring. The hen bird will lay her clutch of eggs nearby and she will be solely responsible for raising the chicks over the coming weeks. It’s chancy work for her, and her success will depend upon an obstacle course of predators, cold weather, and the relentless hunt for insects to feed the youngsters.

Myth