Rythms

In town, on weekend mornings I now hear the familiar accelerating pulse of lawnmowers keeping the neighborhood grass under control.

Out in the woods, chainsaws buzz with a similar pulse on Columbia Land Trust’s Little White Salmon Biodiversity Reserve. The Reserve contains a rare Oregon white oak and ponderosa pine forest, which is one of the most threatened habitat types in the northwest and on the continent. Without the natural forest fires, passive management will lead to decline in habitat values. Our work is done with great innovation and care to minimize negative impacts.

On a quiet walk in the woods on one of our cool, wet spring days, I hear another accelerating pulse from a very different source:  grouse staking out their territory. From books, I know that a male grouse braces his tail against a downed log and flaps his wings in a quickly accelerating rhythm. The result is a loud pulse that spreads through the forest, at once everywhere and yet impossible to pinpoint.

This particular day I decide to find this bird’s secret spot. Standing still to hear the next outburst will be chilly and wet; sometimes there is as much as 30 minutes between each eruption. But then I hear it, downhill and to the left. I sneak along as best I can, yet still snap twigs underfoot as I go. I find my next spot and listen. Twenty minutes later I hear it again, but now it sounds like it is from uphill and to the right! I hike up the hill, but after another 30 minutes I hear nothing.  It is wet and cold, so I finally call it off and retreat inside to warm up.

My next time out later that day, the rhythms come every five minutes, so I advance more quickly. The sound seems to be coming from a dense stand of young firs growing up around an old fallen log. This is just the sort of place that the bird book described. But as I stand on the edge of this copse, the sound doesn’t repeat for 45 minutes, and I see nothing. I retreat inside again. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll have to get up before dawn, stake out a spot, and stay completely still as light spreads to see the display!

The next morning, I slip out of my warm bed early, though it’s already light. I am prepared for another long stint of standing still in the cold rain. I walk down the hill, sneaking around to get to the place I’d staked out the day before. Halfway there I am suddenly aware of my pulse, a strong and steady yet accelerating beat. I put my hand to my chest. Is this what a heart attack feels like? When the beat accelerates to an impossibly fast rate I realize that the beat that I feel in my body is coming from outside me. And then I see it:  just 15 feet in front of me, the perfect profile of a grouse beating its wings atop a downed tree.

In the ensuing hour I circle this stand, lying in the wet grass, crouching behind a log, standing behind a tree. I catch many glimpses, but never the magnificent view of my first sighting.

Now, as I look through the forest stand, I am grateful that our forest management regimen calls for restoring multiple habitat conditions, including crowded stands like this, around old downed logs.

I will never know all of the astounding ways that bug and bird, forest and stream, rely on each other. But I am so glad to know that thousands of acres of these great places, including unremarkable little forest stands like the one with my grouse, are set aside forever, to let the percussive rhythms of nature play out. As members, this is one of the things that you have accomplished. Thank you.