Mario Pineda

Dawn on the Prairie: Returning to the Wainwright Grouse Lek

There’s a magic that stirs in the early prairie light—something ancient, electric, and profoundly alive. For the second time in my life, I found myself bearing witness to it, skulking quietly in a blind somewhere on the grassland outside Wainwright, Alberta, watching the Sharp-tailed Grouse gather and ignite the land with their springtime ritual. The accounts of my first time attending this event are documented in here and here.

The Sharp-tailed Grouse watch is an annual event organized by the Wainwright Wildlife Society—is more than just a birding excursion—it’s an invitation into a world older than memory. Each spring, these prairie dancers return to their ancestral leks where the males perform a spectacle that defies description. To call it a “mating display” feels inadequate. It’s a full-bodied expression of wild instinct and evolution, refined by millennia of selection, played out with whirring wings, staccato foot-stomping, and those impossible, ballooning purple air sacs. This is one dance party where the boys do all the dancing—and the girls remain motionless, watch and judge.

This year, I returned with a birding friend—someone equally moved by the subtle drama of sunrise and feather. We arrived in the pre-dawn hush, guided to our blind while the stars still clung to the sky. In the twilight we could already discern the silhouettes and the rustle of the dancing feathered denizens of this grassland. Once we were settled in our hides and rigged up our cameras, the waiting began—the kind that heightens every sense, making you aware of each breath, each rustle. A number of early birds were already present in the field, idling about, perhaps scouting out the best dancing spot or just assessing their chances to get lucky.

*Front row seats to the dance performance of the year*

And then—they started dancing. At first, they were just shadows moving between the tussocks. But as the light lifted, so did the tempo. Soon the lek exploded into motion: tails fanned, wings held stiff, bodies vibrating with energy. The males faced off and danced with frenetic determination, each movement part performance, part territorial defiance. On this morning there were mainly males, probably 20ish, and only a few females making an appearance. Being mid-May, this was one of the last grouse watch excursion of the year and it’s possible that most of the females had already mated and were in a nesting phase.

While the Sharp-tailed Grouse lek might appear as a chaotic dance party, it is in fact a highly structured arena of sexual selection. Females visit the lek primarily to observe rather than participate, silently watching from the edges as males display in feverish competition. Research has shown that females are incredibly discerning—they typically choose just one male per season, selecting him based on a combination of traits: vigorous and frequent displays, dominance of central territories within the lek, symmetry and size of the combs over the eyes, and the prominence and coordination of air sac inflation and vocalizations. Mating success is heavily skewed—just a few top-performing males are responsible for the majority of copulations. Once a female has mated, she departs alone to nest in dense cover, incubate her eggs, and raise her brood without any help from the male. The entire spectacle, then, is not just a performance—it’s a life-or-death audition for the future of their lineage.

***Prairie Bachelor Seeking Spring Fling***

Looking for: One fabulous hen to impress with tail fanning, fast-foot stomping, and ridiculous balloon-neck flexing.

About Me: I coo, I strut, I puff. I’ve got fire-red eye combs and a lekking spot that screams “alpha.” No nest, no parenting, all passion. If you’re into commitment-free spring flings with maximum flair, I’m your bird.

Swipe right at dawn—I’ll be shaking it like evolution depends on it.

Watching this unique display again reminded me why I do this. Why I get up at 3:30 in the morning. Why I drive for hours through the dark morning hours while the rest of the world still sleeps. Why I carry back breaking heavy gear into the cold. It’s for these fleeting moments when time slips, and I feel plugged into something wild and real.

As I write this, I can still hear the low drumming of wings, still see the blur of feathers caught in the rising light—prairie grasses glowing gold as the first light spills across these ancestral land. For a fleeting moment, we were not just observes, but a thread in an ancient ritual woven into the fabric of the grasslands. The birds are still calling, and I’m still listening.

*A Western Meadowlark looks on with the calm indifference of someone who’s seen it all before.*

References

Gibson, R. M., & Bradbury, J. W. (1985). Sexual selection in lekking birds: Are female preferences consistent? The American Naturalist, 126(6), 881–895. https://www.jstor.org/stable/2461497

Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks. (2017). Sharp-tailed Grouse Reintroduction Plan. Montana State University. https://animalrange.montana.edu/documents/faculty/Sharp-tailed%20grouse%20Reintroduction%20Plan%20Final%20May%202017.pdf

Washington Department of Fish & Wildlife. (1995). Washington state status report for the Sharp-tailed Grouse. https://wdfw.wa.gov/sites/default/files/publications/00389/wdfw00389.pdf

Wikipedia contributors. (2024). Sharp-tailed grouse. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sharp-tailed_grouse

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

The Birds Are Still Calling

It’s been over three years since I last posted here.

Three years is enough time for a lot to change. Enough time to lose track of something you loved, and then—quietly, slowly, perhaps even serendipitously—find your way back to it.

And that’s what this post is about: I’m back. Back to the birds, back to the writing, back to this little corner of the internet I once treated as a field journal, a creative wellspring, and a place to share the quiet joys of being in nature.

In the time since I last wrote, a few things have happened. I’ve picked up photography much more seriously—especially wildlife and nature photography. With it came the natural side effect of spending more time outdoors: walking the woods before sunrise, crouching quietly near water’s edge, scanning the sky for that telltale flash of movement. Slowly, the birds have returned to my life. With them came the desire to document what I see, experience, and learn along the way.

This blog will be changing a little. It will still be a field journal at heart—but one shaped now by greater focus on photography, documenting travels and adventures, and a deeper commitment to explore and document the far reaches of the wild at the very edge of the world. Expect to find stories from the field, species profiles, reflections on gear and technique, visual essays, and of course, photographs. Lots of them. Not to impress, but to remember. Not to perform, but to witness.

I’m doing this first and foremost for myself—because the act of writing helps me pay attention, and the act of sharing makes it feel real. But if you find yourself here, reading along, welcome. I hope something in these pages gives you a spark of wonder, or a reason to lace up your boots and head out into the wild.

The birds are calling again. And this time, I’m listening with a camera in hand and my eyes wide open.

I am also sharing some of this journey over on Instagram, where the photos often land before the words do. If you’re curious, you can find me there at @mariopinedaphotography.

Let’s begin.

May the curiosity be with you.
– Mario

TL: Common Raven, Jasper National Park. Canon 6D, EF 400mm f/5.6L, 1/320, f/5.6, ISO 100

TR: Bighorn Sheep, Jasper National Park. Canon 6D, EF 400mm f/5.6L, 1/1000, f/5.6, ISO 1000

BL: American Beaver, Whitemud Creek, Edmonton. Canon 6D, EF 400mm f/5.6L, 1/1000, f/5.6, ISO 1000

BR: Northern Shoveler, Lois Hole Provincial Park. Canon 5D Mark IV, EF 400 f/5.6, 1/500, f/6.3, ISO 1250

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

Birding at sun dawn

For a second day in a row I was sitting in my car at the parking lot of the Whitemud Creek waiting for sun dawn. At -10 C it was a “mild” morning compared to the previous day when the temperature was a bone chilling -20 C. At this time of the year, the first rays of the sun break the forested horizon around 10 AM. I was set, however, on beating the crowds and score some early birds. Around 8:30 the pale twilight was sufficient, and as a faint pink glow was emerging along the tree distant tops, I headed out. I made sure I brought a spare camera battery and a set of Little Hotties hand warmers, both which had saved my bacon the previous day.

Just as expected, I had the trails all to myself. Despite the midwinter temperature the air was full of bird song and calls. As always, the Black-capped Chickadees were feisty and energetic and the Nuthatches were calling left and right. A half dozen cawing Ravens soared overhead. The previous day I had scored a Great Horned Owl and a flock of Pine Grosbeaks. Today the highlight were the three Pileated Woodpeckers that were making a racket dismantling snags with impressive efficiency. All in all it was a lovely morning, and by the time I made my way back to the parking lot the throngs of runners and dog walkers had started to arrive.

The king of the forest this morning was a Pileated Woodpecker that clearly knew he was the baddest bird in the forest

Black-capped Chickadee doing what they do best, just looking cute and fuzzy.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

So long 2020, and thanks for all the birds

The last birding outing of the year was to the same location as the first one 365 days ago, at the Whitemud Creek. As far as birding goes 2020 certainly did not break any personal records due to the severely curtailed travel. The furthest I ventured were to our local patch of the Rocky Mountains, which of-course never disappoints in their magnificent awesomeness.

During my last birding walk of the year I encountered the usual winter suspects in these neck of the woods. A curious White-breasted Nuthatch was posing for pictures an armlength away, or maybe it was just waiting to see if I would offer it a snack (I did not). In the same patch of trees a pair of female Pine Grosbeaks were nibbling on frozen berries and some sunflowers seeds someone left.

Curious White-breasted Nuthatch posing for pictures

Female Pine Grosbeak enjoying a fruit snack

After my walk, as I was getting into the car, I could hear the unmistakable call of a lone Pileated Woodpecker in the distance. It was almost as if it said good bye to me and to 2020. I paused and held out for a minute, just in case it would make an appearance, but I never saw it or heard it again. There is another day tomorrow and, following birding tradition, the first bird spotted on New Year’s Day is an omen for the year to come.

Edmonton--Whitemud Park, Edmonton, Alberta, CA
Dec 31, 2020 2:30 PM - 3:45 PM
Protocol: Traveling
3.231 kilometer(s)
6 species

Downy Woodpecker (Dryobates pubescens)  1     Lone female
Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus)  1     Calling in the forest. No visual.
Blue Jay (Cyanocitta cristata)  1
Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus)  10
White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis)  4
Pine Grosbeak (Pinicola enucleator)  2

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

The Longest Night

Yesterday was winter solstice which means that in our Northern Hemisphere it was our shortest day (7 hrs 27 min 41 sec) of the year and last night was the longest night of the year (16 hrs 32 min 19 sec). Today the day was already a modest 6 seconds longer than yesterday. It is curious that although the tide has turned and the light is returning, yesterday was actually the first day of winter. Now we have four months ahead of us of a winter wonderland with every day being ever so slightly longer until the sun greets us on the first day of spring on March 20.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

Anniversary Pine Grosbeaks

After a long birding hiatus the indoor isolation of these crazy times finally caught up with me. On a whim, I took a few hours off in the afternoon and headed down to the Whitemud Creek, for the first time in seven months.

3 km leisurely stroll along the Whitemud Creek looking for its winter inhabitants.

The usual suspects greeted me along the trail – Black-capped Chickadees, Nuthatches, Magpies and Red Squirrels. But as luck would have it there was something else in store on this day. Further along the trail, high up in a tree, I was able to discern three plump shadow hoping around on the bare branches. With the bright sky as backdrop it was tricky to make out any identifying characteristics, but it was soon evident that this was a new one. While I was ogling the suspects two other birders arrived. They too were stumped by the unidentified flying objects. I always though it would take more than a wee bit of courage for birders to admit to each other that they have no clue what bird they are looking at. But here we were, the three of us staring at these three plump silhouettes and all we were able to agree on was what it could not be. To small for waxwings or robins, too large and plump to be red polls or any other common finch. After going back and forth one of us managed to find a possible match using Merlin…, Pine Grosbeaks. It immediately dawn on me – here I am birding for the first time in seven months and I spot a lifer. More specifically #167. Later on as I was looking at my stats in eBird I realized that the previous lifer was on December 15 (one year and one day ago) at the same spot, along Whitemud Creek (a Black-backed Woodpecker).

Pine Grosbeak munching on sunflower seeds along the trail.

Perhaps by coincident or perhaps through some sort of subconscious decision today, December 16, also turned out to be the two year anniversary of me starting birding. Exactly two years ago I brought my newly acquired Nikon Monarchs to my first birdingouting to the Beaver Hills Bird Observatory. It was a snowy and cold day, just like today. That was 185 checklists and 167 species ago. That day I racked up my first eight lifers.

Was the Pine Grosbeak’s auspicious timing a sign that it is time to pickup the binocular and camera again and head back into the green? Is it a sign that the time is ripe to get back to this blog. Maybe. The world has changed in the past seven months. I used to always looked forward to and plan grand trips to far-off destination, binoculars and camera in hand, hunting for new birds. These days, working from home and limiting even local outing, travel is out of the question and all these plans and dreams seem out of reach. The first big trip I did as a birder was to Chile and Argentina. The birds of southern South America blew me away (and this part of the continent is not even know for its bird diversity) and before I even returned to Canadian soil, the next trip to South America was already confirmed. We would have arrived in Chile this week…, of-course none of that happened and who knows when we can dare to dream about trips like that again.

I leave you with a snapshot from a rainy and grey day in Southern Chile. Its the day we managed to finally track down the glorious Torrent Duck. Yes, it was rainy, grey, one of us was suffering from Montezuma’s Revenge and the Torrent Ducks were tiny specks in the far distance…, yet it was one of the birding highlights of the trip. I can wait returning to the land of the Torrent Duck.

Spotting Torrent Ducks in the distance on December 29, 2018 on an overpass on the local highway in the Araucania Region in Southern Chile

Project 366 – Post No. 366 – So long and thanks for all the birds

What is Project 366? Read more here.

Its seems surreal that I actually have reached post 366, that it has been a whole year and that this project has now been completed. So much has happened during this year, I am one year older, my teen is different person altogether and the world has changed profoundly. I was anticipating and expecting some of these changes, others I could not have imagined in even my wildest dreams. All of this in a blink of eye. This post comes in an age of upheaval and pain with an uncertain future where the world is changing at an unprecedented rate and in unpredictable directions. The last year’s development shows the limitations of foresight we humans are capable of. So much for trying to be well-informed and staying ahead of the curve.

I will be scaling back my blogging and quite likely the nature of the posts will change as well. Stay tuned for my reappearance here or somewhere else on the interwebs. I have plans that are forming, but not yet ready to see the light of day. Rest assure, however, that my focus will be creating something beautiful and timeless like a sliver of light dispelling the darkness, even if only momentarily, that has enveloped the world.

So long and thanks for all the birds.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

Project 366 – Post No. 365 – A burglar at the bird feeder

What is Project 366? Read more here.

Along a long straight stretch of the trail I noticed a squirrel run across the trail in the distance. Of course a squirrel crossing the trail is not anything particularly remarkable in these neck of the woods, so I did not pay much attention to it. I kept on walking. A few minutes later, the squirrel crossed the trail in the opposite direction (I assumed it was the same squirrel). I kept on walking getting closer to the spot where it had crossed,… when it ran across the trail again. I was almost upon it when it,… crossed again. Once I arrived at the location along the trail where the squirrel had been crossing it the reason for its behavior became abundantly clear. I a bush, right of the trail there was a single bird feeder that had had its roof knocked off, leaving it wide open for anyone to help themselves to the sunflower seeds. As I was watching the odd chickadee and nuthatch swoop in for a seed the squirrel came back. It quickly climbed the bush and without hesitating dove right into the feeder to grab a mouthful of sunflowers. Like a smooth and stealthy burglar it was gone it a flash, crossing the trail and disappearing into the forest, presumably to its secret lair to stay its loot. Two minutes later it came back, scampering through the forest, crossing the trail, climbing up to the bird feeder and back in it went.Its industriousness was quite impressive. It had clearly found the mother lode of the day and was hellbent on hoarding as much as possible before any competitor would discover the gold mine.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

Project 366 – Post No. 364 – Downy Woodpecker

What is Project 366? Read more here.

The female Downy Woodpecker had made a pencil sized hole through the bark and was intent on thoroughly investigating what lied inside. I wonder how she decided to make the hole where she did it. Experience? Can she sense that there is something hiding under the bark? Or perhaps it’s was a random spot.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.

Project 366 – Post No. 363 – Red-breasted Nuthatch striking a pose

What is Project 366? Read more here.

Today’s picture captures the iconic pose of the Red-breasted Nuthatch – clinging to a tree trunk, upside down and with its head cocked checking out its surrounding. Nuthatches are curious yet cautious. Yesterday, as we were walking along the Whitemud Ravine south of the Snow valley trail head looking for a reported Black-backed Woodpecker, all of a sudden a scrawny-looking Red-breasted Nuthatch landed on a branch right in front of my face, no more than two feet away. It was almost as if it was demanding an offering before it would let me pass b. A nuthatch hold up. Except I did not have any food with me. I hesitantly reaches out towards it, fully expecting it to take off. Instead it eagerly jumped onto my hand and started hopping around looking for something to eat. It started to energetically pecking at my thumb. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, another Red-breasted Nuthatch swooped it, tackles the scrawny nuthatch on my hand and took its place. Once it had determined that I did not have anything edible, it took off. I was quite perplexed by the behaviour of these nuthatches. I have had plenty of chickadees eagerly landing and pecking on my hand hoping for a hand out, but this was the first time nuthatches had shown this behaviour. I am not sure if these two individuals were just more habituated to humans and from getting handouts, or if they were just more desperate to find food. The first nuthatch did look quick scrawny and skinny. In the end we never found the Black-backed Woodpecker, but thanks to these two nuthatches we nevertheless were left with an unforgettable experience.

May the curiosity be with you. This is from “The Birds are Calling” blog (www.thebirdsarecalling.com). Copyright Mario Pineda.