THE DRUMMING OF THE RUFFED GROUSE 
TO ALL WHO LOVE THE WOODS THE DEEP MYSTERIOUS SOUND ADDS JUST 
THE TOUCH OF VITAL, VIBRANT NATURE THAT MAKES THE WORLD KIN 
By FREDERICK K. VREELAND 
E VERY one who knows and loves the 
big woods has heard coming through 
the cool silence, a resonant “Boom 
— Boom — BOOM — Boom-Boom-Boom 
— Boo - Boo - B - B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom,’' 
which tells him that somewhere, in a 
shady nook, an old cock grouse, is «• 
standing on a mossy log and showing 
off. Instinctively one stops to listen, 
as the throbbing pulses strike one’s 
ear with a vibrant thrill that seems to 
come from nowhere in particular, but 
permeates the fragrant air like an un¬ 
seen presence—a sort of audible will- 
o’-th’-wisp that lures one irresistibly 
into the forest depths, to follow the 
sound and try to stalk the drummer. 
If one creeps very quietly sometimes 
one can catch a glimpse of an elusive 
drab shadow, slipping away into a 
thicket; but usually that is all—the 
drummer and his drum remain a 
mystery. 
A great variety of explanations have 
been given as to the method by which the 
drumming is produced. It is made by the 
wings, and the observations of ornitholo¬ 
gists have established the fact that the 
sound is caused by the outspread wings of 
the bird rapidly beating the air without 
striking the bird’s body or any other ob¬ 
ject. The belief that the resonance of the 
sound is caused in part because, while 
drumming, the bird stands on a hollow 
log, was long ago abandoned. 
There has been much discussion as 
to how the grouse makes the sound, 
and the disputants can generally be 
divided into two schools; first, those 
who assert that the bird beats his 
breast like a gorilla, and second, those 
who maintain that he strikes his wings 
together behind his back. 
I cannot help wondering whether 
those of the former class have ever 
stopped to think how a grouse is put 
together. Any one who has tasted the 
delight of broiled grouse knows that 
the bird’s breast is not constructed 
like a gorilla’s, with a relatively thin 
resonant sounding board covering the 
lungs. The stout, keeled breastbone of the 
grouse, with the powerful wing muscles 
attached, forms the only massive part of 
the bird’s body, and it is inconceivable to 
The grouse sleepily regarded the camera 
me how such a mass of rigid bone and 
soft flesh could act as a drum. The bird’s 
back, on the other hand, is simply a thin 
bony arch, forming a hollow box for the 
bird’s inflated lungs and vital organs, and 
on this box the wings are pivoted. Is 
it not natural to assume that such an 
inflated box will resonate when the 
Suddenly there came a look of alarm 
wings are struck together very rapidly? 
So fnuch for theory. But when one tries 
to put the theory to the test of actual 
observation, difficulties arise. How¬ 
ever vain an old drummer may be in 
displaying himself before the ladies 
of his own set, he seems to resent in¬ 
trusion, and is very reluctant to per¬ 
form before a human audience. Many 
times have I tried to stalk the wily 
old birds, and many times I have 
failed. But this fall I had the oppor¬ 
tunity of a lifetime. An old cock 
grouse walked right into camp, made 
himself a member of the family and 
performed by the hour on his favor¬ 
ite drumming log while I kept my 
camera busy. The accompanying il¬ 
lustrations are the result of my activity. 
I T was a bleak October day in the 
lake region of western Quebec, 
with a fine powder of snow sifting 
through the tree tops. Night caught 
us on the long portage between Ostabon- 
ing Lake and Poitier Lake, and as the 
next day was Sunday we decided to camp 
on the trail and make ourselves com¬ 
fortable. This accident brought us our 
good fortune. 
My companion was National Scout Com¬ 
missioner Dan Beard, and his tent was 
pitched just opposite mine with a fire 
between. The next morning the Com¬ 
missioner woke early, as usual, and 
when the rest of us had rubbed our 
eyes he announced that a large bird, 
which he supposed was a grouse, had 
brushed against his tent as it flew by. 
This did not surprise us much, for 
the Commissioner is always seeing and 
hearing unusual things, but we had 
scarcely finished breakfast when we 
heard the “Boom— Boom —BOOM!” 
of a drummer within a stone’s throw 
of camp. We peered carefully through 
the bushes and there, not thirty feet 
behind my tent, stood the old fellow 
on a beautiful mossgrown log, his 
neck stretched, his ruff spread, his tail 
flattened against the log and his wings 
By arrangement with the American Game Protective Association 
Contents Copyright, 1918, by Forest and Stream Publishing Company 
