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Something had drawn a crowd of assembled spectators to a snowy spot just off the main road through Ontario. Algonquin Provincial Park.
Nearly a dozen people dressed in ski hats, woolen scarves, and gloves—and huge necklaces of heavy telephoto-lens cameras—seemed to be waiting. I crammed our family’s van into the last open parking lot to join them. We might have been anxious viewers of Punxsutawney Phil, holding our breaths waiting to see if he could spot the shadow of the famous Pennsylvania marmot. Except we’re in the boreal forest of Ontario, 200 miles north of the US border. And the crowd was staring intently at the branches of the balsam firs at the edge of the parking lot.
A few soft whistles rose from behind those trees, a few smiles rippled through the crowd, and then a pair of Canadian jays – fluffy medium-sized birds that themselves seemed to be huddled together in charcoal-gray jackets – glided into a snowdrift just meters away. far. The audience flew into the air with joy. The jays were showered with bird seed and bread as if they were gods.
My family of four immediately took action. After walking around the back of the van, my two teenagers were throwing bits of a mixture of bread and traces at the black-hatted nightingales who were attending the banquet shortly after – and I was amazed at the change in my sons. Just hours earlier, after crossing the border from New York to Canada and losing cell phone service in the northern woods, they were grumpy teenagers fighting over whose leg got into whose territory in a van backseat battle.
Now, magically, it was kids giggling again.
“This is so cool. This bird is actually coming to see me,” said 13-year-old Henrik as he was tearing bread for the jays.
Even the older, more cynical young Anders was converted: “Can I have more trail mix? This nightingale has not yet taken.”
In winter, Algonquin is a place where such transformations take place: Here the birds break the fourth wall between us and the wild. And just as my wife and I hoped, a weekend with the birds could puncture the sullen exteriors of adolescents who have hardened from school life.
We made the trip in January 2020, just before the pandemic shut down North America. But now the US-Canada border has reopened, and Algonquin State Park again offers a snowy winter wonderland but is actually very accessible, with a well-maintained street (Ontario Highway 60) running from the park’s east gate to its west gate. We arrived at Algonquin on freeways and two-lane roads a little over three hours from the border, passing north of Fort Drum in New York. It’s about a three hour ride east from Toronto on good roads.
And to see curiosity reignited in a teenager, the trip was well worth it.
“It’s so nice to feel it fall into your hand,” said Henrik as a Canadian jay plucked breadcrumbs from his palm. It had been years since one of my sons thought a bird was cool. Somewhere after elementary school, my father’s birdwatching habit definitely became nerdy. But now that innocent smile was back.
“Oh please do not do that feed them white bread,” said a voice behind us. I turned to see a woman walking toward us with a patch of Algonquin State Park in her ski hat, offering handfuls of peanuts, sunflower seeds, and dried fruit in her shell.
Posting the photo on Instagram was Emily Fikkert, the organizer of a day trip of bird photographers from Toronto. She started coming to Algonquin a few years ago, she originally started taking deer photos. Then she met a man who fed Canadian jays “a handful of cranberries, bread, and cheese,” and a new wildlife obsession was born, she said.
Ms. Fikkert gave me an extra handful of seeds and nuts for later. She told people she met at the park that she often offers a free upgrade to bird food. “If many people are going to feed the birds, I think it has to be nutritional value for the birds.”
Fikkert says he would never feed another wildlife, but he makes an exception for the already “socialized” birds in the Algonquin.
“A tiny creature that shows confidence,” he said. “I love it because as a birdwatcher it lets me feel the weight, feel its tiny feet, and see incredibly beautiful details up close.”
Soon, more carloads pulled up and parked on the side of the road. Ms. Fikkert placed the birch log sprinkled with sunflower seeds in a sunny spot where everyone could see it. A frenzy of crows, chicks, and red-breasted nuthatches ensued, and newcomers rushed with camera lenses at arm’s length slung over their shoulders.
We decided to disperse the crowd by walking down a snowy path away from the parking lot. Within a few hundred meters, two curious Canadian crows approached us – perched on tree branches above the path and looking up curiously. My wife, Amy, dug in her jacket pockets for the handful of seeds Miss Fikkert gave us, and then extended both arms—the jays landed on each hand.
“Okay, now I feel like a bird whisperer,” Amy laughed.
Two jays turned into three, then five.
“It’s great because you learn that birds have personalities,” Henrik said as another jay lingered on his wrist, weeding out the mix of tracks from his palm. “Someone will come and get cold in your hands for a while. Some are really picky and pick out the different pieces of food you have to get what they want.”
How did Canadian jays become so friendly?
Scientists are investigating what happens to Canadian jays that dare approach humans for food, as part of a decades-long study on the jay population in Algonquin State Park. Research by scientists at the University of Guelph showed that Canadian jay pairs who regularly visit park tourists to distribute food in the park are more successful at breeding and tend to have larger, healthier offspring than birds that avoid humans.
But University of Guelph professor Ryan Norris, who is currently leading the jay population study, said any benefit from the dietary supplement was not sufficient to counter the long-term downward trend of Canadian jays throughout the park. Since 1977, the number of Canadian jays surveyed in the Algonquin has decreased by more than 70 percent. Climate change is thought to be a cause of non-seasonal temperatures that degrade birds’ food sources. (After taking seeds and bread from our hands, jays would often retreat into the forest, where they hid food for later consumption.)
While the Toronto Instagram group was making their way down the trails to join us and our birds, we decided to take a break and head to the visitor centre. In the main lobby was an interpretive exhibit with a photo on the wall of a smiling young woman holding a Canadian jay. We warmed up in the cafeteria with hot chocolate and coffee, chicken soup, and rotten cheeseburger—food that tasted good after hours in the cold. Amy and I walked to the window to look at the bird feeders and saw a stunning swarm of black-and-yellow evening grosbeaks (as well as oversized goldfinches). The kids found WiFi access and continued texting with their friends when they got home.
After lunch, I wandered around the park to chat with the interpreter at the information desk. Birds along the road in the Algonquin are “habitual” to the people who feed them. Another couple overheard our conversation and began to tell the interpreter that Canadian jays were eating from their hands in the Spruce Bog Boardwalk parking lot.
It’s not cool anymore
Soon we returned to bird land. In a place of black spruce trees, we were surrounded by priests; The flapping of wings tickled my ears as they buzzed near my head. An outstretched hand with sunflower seeds drew five or six nightingales at a time.
A little off the road, the birds were shy. A few jumped on the floor to get the morsels closer to our feet. A Canadian jay picked up a peanut and, with a few wingbeats, was soon on a branch just inches from my head; I could see my own reflection in the bird’s black marble eyes.
For a while, on the way south to New York, the children reviewed their observations and hypotheses about the different personalities of the birds. Then we re-entered the cellular service space and they were teenagers at TikTok again.
But a week later, I looked at Anders’ Instagram feed and saw that he had shared a few photos of his favorite Canadian jays – something that was definitely not pleasant prior to our visit to Algonquin.
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