More Sandhills Grouse

I’m quite serious when I say that heaven must look a lot like the Nebraska Sandhills.

 

These 20,000 square miles (!!) of vegetated sand dunes, crossed by pristine rivers and dotted with grassy marshes, are the last great stronghold of the prairie grouse, and as I have written elsewhere, the ranchers and townspeople of Hooker County are justifiably proud of their distinguished avian neighbors.

After a very good supper at the Rustic in Mullen, we rose early Tuesday morning to visit a Sharp-tailed Grouse lek just northeast of town. Mitch drove us out past the Middle Loup to a pasture that seemed as vast as the starry sky, and we took our seats in the big yellow blind; we were glad, for the first time the entire trip, to have brought winter clothes, and the thermos of coffee Mitch had brought along was as welcome a sight as the rising sun.

I love prairie-chickens, but for sheer weirdness, nothing beats the dance of Sharp-tailed Grouse. The bizarre cackling and low moans started well before light, and when the sun finally rose, we found the lek occupied by at least 8 males; there may have been a single female, too. Soon the dancing started, the birds opening their wings, stretching their necks, and sticking their absurdly small tails into the air.

Like demonic wind-up toys, the males turn tight circles, rattling the quills of their tail feathers and stomping loudly with their feathered feet. The confrontations between rivals end with a staring contest, each bird crouched, wings sometimes spread, each holding as still as possible.

And then it’s on to the next dance, chasing the next rival from the favored position on the lek.

They’re maniacs on the floor, and I wouldn’t miss this show for the world.