The magnificent horse of the Strathspey woods

Spring seems to be here one day and gone the next.

The bird cherry in front of my house was on the verge of blossom when around seven inches of snow fell and crushed it. Those bits that survived are on hold as the weather remains cold.

Around the strath, the magnificent weather of March brought spring with warmth and delight. April, however, has reminded us that spring is tenuous in these northern climes and that winter can and will return at a whim.

Although the north wind may have returned, the seasonal change pushes on regardless as the sun climbs ever higher and the days lengthen.

The ospreys have returned to many of their regular nest sites and are already incubating their precious clutches. There is quite an annual frenzy up and down the strath as these magnificent raptors return from Africa, establishing themselves at Loch Garten and Loch Insh.

It does make me smile to think that these birds are an annual marker for communities like Kincraig; that we seem to breathe a collective sigh of relief when we hear or read of their return. They herald the demise of winter.

The woodlands are changing. Birches are beginning to leaf, the Blackthorn is in heady blossom as I write; buds on the rowans and geans, alder and willow are bursting.

I heard my first willow warbler on April 8 at the folk museum in Newtonmore and chiffchaffs have been heard also. The crossbills are more obvious now that they are coming to the end of their breeding year and family groups are beginning to move around looking for cone supplies.

IT IS deep into the pine forest that I want to take you, following the crossbills, to talk about a marvellous event that is taking place every morning at this time of year.

Imagine the scene. The first colouring of dawn draws some of the moisture from the deep heather and blaeberry so that a vague mist lends a primeval quality to the open pine forest in which we stand.

There are moss covered hummocks and tussocks dripping with cowberry, and fallen pine boughs litter the floor. The air is cool and crisp but the earthy smell from this ancient habitat is comforting.

There is movement and a strange noise as a bird flies down from a pine onto the forest floor, walks through some heather and up onto a fallen pine. This is a truly magnificent animal.

As we watch, it fans its tail feathers that are a dark grey; droops its wings, raises its glorious head of almost purple feathers, opens a huge ivory coloured beak and begins to emit the craziest collection of sounds you are ever likely to hear.

Croaks, burps, wheezes, hisses and a champagne-cork popping exclamation burst forth from this turkey-sized lord of the forest.

This male Capercaillie is not alone though. As we watch him strut his magnificence we become aware of more cork-popping coming through the forest from other directions.

Other males are also displaying in this forest. We are in the midst of a lek. A display ground where the territories of these birds come together and they vie for the attention of the females who, at the moment, are looking on from elsewhere.

Suddenly one male leaps into the air with a flutter of his huge wings, lands and starts popping with a bit more vigour. The excitement increases around us as the first females start to appear and drop to the forest floor.

This appearance by female birds can bring a frenzy of activity from the males and can lead to blows. The posturing all of a sudden explodes in a flurry of wings, beaks and claws.

The huge ivory-coloured beak so useful for cropping pine needles and munching on blaeberry, now becomes a hammer, an instrument of war to see off a rival, pulling feathers and drawing blood.

A female approaches the winner of the contest and postures in front of him encouraging him to mount her. His blood is up though and the displaying and belching intensifies again.

This in turn draws more females to him until quite a harem is arrayed before and around him. He is the conqueror; the lord of his domain.

Capercaillie are extraordinary birds and what I have described above, with a bit of poetic licence, is happening now in pine forests across the strath and beyond.

We are amazingly fortunate these birds still inhabit our forests and go through the same annual ritual that they have been doing for millennia.

Although the species probably became extinct in the late 18th Century, birds recolonized new and old forests from introductions in the 1850s.

Here, in our national park, around 85% of the country’s Capercaillie dwell, while we have 75% of those birds right here in the forests of Strathspey.

They are very easily disturbed at this crucial time of year.

It is only for a few days that the females will visit the lek and mate with the most dominant of the males. She will then head off and lay her eggs.

So visiting forests to actively look for a lek is not advisable. Disturbance of lekking birds is actually against the law.

The best option is to haul yourself out of bed, early in the morning and join in at the early morning Capercaillie watch that the RSPB offer in the Osprey hide at Loch Garten. Here you can look for displaying Capercaillie safe in the knowledge that you won’t be disturbing them.

The great "Horse of the Woods" has its national stronghold here in Strathspey. We should be, rightly, proud of that.

This Country Diary has been submitted by Duncan Macdonald, Highland Council countryside ranger for Badenoch and Strathspey South. Thanks to those who provided information, if you have any sightings you would like to report through the Country Diary, please get in touch with Nic Bullivant at (01479) 861703.

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