Off the Rails
by Berry Wijdeven
by Berry Wijdeven
I am standing in the middle of a wetland, water just below my knees, grass and reeds up to my waist. The wetland is surrounded by a fringe of Couler's willows which, in the gathering dusk, with their gnarly tortured trunks, look distinctly haunted. I’m here at the end of day because that’s when, according to the guidebooks, you have the best chance to see a Virginia Rail.
According to those guidebooks there are no Virginia Rails on Haida Gwaii, but after a reported sighting by some visiting birders, that may no longer be correct. Getting sightings of uncommon birds is not unusual on Haida Gwaii as there’s always the odd Mountain Bluebird which migrates through or Snowy Owl which gets blown off course during a storm. But the presence of a Virginia Rail is new, and there is always the exciting possibility that the bird was not just flying through, but has become a resident which nests here.
When I first heard of the sighting, I raced down to the wetland, pulled out my smart-phone and played a Rail call. Somewhat to my surprise, I got an immediate response with replies from multiple directions. There were multiple birds! I wandered around the bog, replaying the calls, trying to tease out where the birds were actually located. The Rails stopped responding whenever you got anywhere near them, but instead of flying away they’d hang tight or scurry off, remaining hidden in the tall grass.
After a half an hour or so I gave up and decided to gear up and return. Getting a photo of a Rail on Haida Gwaii would be pretty cool. And surely it couldn't be that tough getting a shot or two. I mean, the birds are right there! So here I am, again, in the wetland, equipped with a snazzy camera, wicked zoom lens and a positive attitude. Bring on the Rails!
For an hour or so I shuffle around the wetland, trying not to make a ruckus, trying to keep my feet dry. After a few initial playback calls, the birds have started calling spontaneously, every five minutes or so, like they’re checking in with each other. I try to get close enough to catch a glimpse, but the tall grass obscures all views.
Thinking that by get a higher vantage point I’d have a better angle, I waddle to the edge of the wetland and climb one of the willows. I play the call and immediately get three responses, one from within meters of where I just walked. The calls all seemingly come from within twenty meters of my tree location. I ready my camera and zoom in on one of the call locations. Nothing. Not a glimpse, not a shadow. Not a twitching blade of grass. The birds are moving around as their call locations change over time but with such a degree of stealth that I am flummoxed. And increasingly annoyed as the birds call each other from what should have been easily viewed distances.
A Google search later that evening reveals that the Rails are supremely adapted to their environment. They have developed a “laterally compressed” body (think long and narrow), strong forehead feathers to withstand pushing through the vegetation and an extremely high ratio of leg muscle to flight muscle. Meaning they don’t fly too good, but can run like hell.
As I lose the last of the daylight, the Rail calls, described in the literature as “grunts” start sounding more and more like cackling laughter and I get the distinct feeling the birds are mocking me. Gingerly, deflated, I climb down the tree and make my way out of the wetland, turning around at the edge to have one final look. As a bit of fog rolls in, the wetland with its misshapen willows looks spooky. And the calls of the Rails, like cackling witches in a Yorkshire moor, appear to delight in the futility of my venture. There are rails on Haida Gwaii, that much seems certain. Wanna see a photo of them? Yeah, me too.
According to those guidebooks there are no Virginia Rails on Haida Gwaii, but after a reported sighting by some visiting birders, that may no longer be correct. Getting sightings of uncommon birds is not unusual on Haida Gwaii as there’s always the odd Mountain Bluebird which migrates through or Snowy Owl which gets blown off course during a storm. But the presence of a Virginia Rail is new, and there is always the exciting possibility that the bird was not just flying through, but has become a resident which nests here.
When I first heard of the sighting, I raced down to the wetland, pulled out my smart-phone and played a Rail call. Somewhat to my surprise, I got an immediate response with replies from multiple directions. There were multiple birds! I wandered around the bog, replaying the calls, trying to tease out where the birds were actually located. The Rails stopped responding whenever you got anywhere near them, but instead of flying away they’d hang tight or scurry off, remaining hidden in the tall grass.
After a half an hour or so I gave up and decided to gear up and return. Getting a photo of a Rail on Haida Gwaii would be pretty cool. And surely it couldn't be that tough getting a shot or two. I mean, the birds are right there! So here I am, again, in the wetland, equipped with a snazzy camera, wicked zoom lens and a positive attitude. Bring on the Rails!
For an hour or so I shuffle around the wetland, trying not to make a ruckus, trying to keep my feet dry. After a few initial playback calls, the birds have started calling spontaneously, every five minutes or so, like they’re checking in with each other. I try to get close enough to catch a glimpse, but the tall grass obscures all views.
Thinking that by get a higher vantage point I’d have a better angle, I waddle to the edge of the wetland and climb one of the willows. I play the call and immediately get three responses, one from within meters of where I just walked. The calls all seemingly come from within twenty meters of my tree location. I ready my camera and zoom in on one of the call locations. Nothing. Not a glimpse, not a shadow. Not a twitching blade of grass. The birds are moving around as their call locations change over time but with such a degree of stealth that I am flummoxed. And increasingly annoyed as the birds call each other from what should have been easily viewed distances.
A Google search later that evening reveals that the Rails are supremely adapted to their environment. They have developed a “laterally compressed” body (think long and narrow), strong forehead feathers to withstand pushing through the vegetation and an extremely high ratio of leg muscle to flight muscle. Meaning they don’t fly too good, but can run like hell.
As I lose the last of the daylight, the Rail calls, described in the literature as “grunts” start sounding more and more like cackling laughter and I get the distinct feeling the birds are mocking me. Gingerly, deflated, I climb down the tree and make my way out of the wetland, turning around at the edge to have one final look. As a bit of fog rolls in, the wetland with its misshapen willows looks spooky. And the calls of the Rails, like cackling witches in a Yorkshire moor, appear to delight in the futility of my venture. There are rails on Haida Gwaii, that much seems certain. Wanna see a photo of them? Yeah, me too.