Moray gamekeeper from near Elgin recalls raising a clutch of Capercaillie chicks
John Allan is passionate about helping to preserve and protect the dwindling population of Scotland’s iconic bird the Capercaillie.
Now aged 72 and living at Barmuckity on the outskirts of Elgin, he worked as a gamekeeper for most of his adult life. Here he casts his mind back to 1968 when, as a 16-year-old apprentice, he helped rear a brood of capercaillie chicks.
In rural Perthshire, the very heart of Scotland, lies Urrard Estate, situated near and round the village of Killiecrankie and encompassing the very site of the 1689 battle of that same name. During my time working there we regularly saw capercaillie in the wood because, then, the whole Atholl area was well populated with the bird.
We often joined neighbouring estates to help with fox drives in the mature forests. Those working on them would see ‘capers’ flying, like huge bombers, in and out of the Scots pine trees.
A capercaillie, often referred to as ‘the turkey of the woods,’ is a sizeable bird. So watching one weave a way through without somehow crashing into the branches was a fascinating site.
The capers on the estate seemed to be thriving so any idea of rearing the birds did not even enter our imagination. In any case, no-one had researched, let alone written a book on the subject.
That situation soon changed when we were handed a clutch of eggs!
One spring day, the estate forester arrived carefully carrying a bag of eight eggs he had rescued from a caper nest in imminent danger of damage from an unsafe tree earmarked for felling. He thought we could “do something” with them.
Gordon, the head gamekeeper, had never reared a capercaillie, nor did he know of any keeper who had. But we would give it a go.
The first major challenge was how to incubate the eggs. This was before modern game bird rearing systems were the norm.
Our solution was a yearly supply of broody bantam hens. They resided in comfortable nesting boxes situated in an enclosure referred to as ‘ The Rearing Field.’
That is where we carried that precious clutch of eggs to a potential mother bantam sitting in readiness on a couple of china eggs. Immediately, she sat down tight on the caper eggs , keeping them warm just as their own mother would have done in the wild. Would the eggs still be viable?
Gordon hoped the incubation period would give time to search out information to help us rear any chicks that might hatch. In pre-computer days this was a tall order, although we networked to the best of our ability it was to no avail.
Grain-based pheasant food was, in our opinion, unsuitable. We knew that, in the wild, a hen caper would feed her small chicks on a diet of heather tips, blaeberries and similar vegetation foraged from the forest floor nearby.
Gordon had already had some success rearing partridge chicks so all he could think of was to prepare a similar concoction to feed any caper fledglings. It consisted of mashed-up boiled eggs mixed with special high-protein chick rearing crumbs.
The clutch had already been partially incubated by their natural mother. We could only wait and hope that our plan might work out.
Meanwhile, in eager anticipation, we set to work building a large coop which would provide the bantam mother security and space to look after the chicks should any hatch.
The hen sat tight and we waited. Ten days later all eight eggs hatched. Great news, this was a good start. Now it was up to the bantam to bring them up as their surrogate mother. It would be more natural for the chicks. The less human contact, the better.
The bantam certainly relished the special diet of egg and meal. The chicks appeared to be eating it too. So now it was another waiting game. Would they survive?
The bantam was a great mother and scrapped around her coop showing the chicks insects and worms with they gladly ate. I believe that this helped them get through the early stages. She was, in fact, teaching them to forage just as their own caper mother would have done.
We were very pleased when the brood reached four weeks old and were growing well. Fortunately, by this time, Gordon had contacted someone who had experience of rearing capers.
His advice was to build larger pen in a quiet location because the birds are extremely shy and nervous of human contact.
Gordon decided that the best spot was in the garden of the ‘Big House’. We rolled up our sleeves to build a sizeable pen, thirty feet square in a secluded area, careful to include Scots pine branches essential for food and cover for the chicks as they matured into adulthood.
That evening, after the bantam and her chicks had settled down for the night in their cosy nest coop, we slid a wooden board over the front of the coop to close the ‘door’ to keep them inside. We also managed to slide another board carefully under the coop enabling us to lift and carry their cosy home to the new larger pen.
We left the front ‘door’ closed overnight allowing them to settle. Early the following morning we let them out to enjoy a welcoming feed in their new home. They seemed to thrive in the quiet location, growing extremely well and looking good.
Our young caper family consisted of one cock and seven hen birds, however, at this point I would like to point out one practical consideration – size! No one can realise just how large an adult caper can be until you stand up close to one. They are large.
So with this in mind we made plans to enlarge the enclosure with as little fuss to the birds as possible. .
A Monday start was agreed but, unfortunately, that very weekend, we were dealt a cruel blow.
It happened that a lady travelling up the A9, carrying seven or eight dogs in her car, decided to stop to have a break and exercise her canine passengers, which in itself, is a good idea.
The problem began when she stopped at the bottom of the big house drive and proceeded to walk up into the gardens with her ‘pack’ of terriers. Eventually they arrived outside the precious caper pen, whereupon the dogs went into hunting pack mode, running round the enclosure yapping and barking at the birds inside.
Hearing the dreadful racket, I dashed over to the house to see the dogs running and jumping at the pen netting, while the distressed birds flapped in terror into the netting sides and up to the roof.
The dog owner was quite unconcerned, quietly watching was quietly watching her dogs ‘having fun.’ I shouted to please take the dogs away. Ignoring my repeated requests she appeared in no hurry to comply because she didn’t think her babies were causing any harm. Her couldn’t care attitude was obvious.
In desperation, I ran towards the pen in an effort to get the dogs away.
What I saw made me very angry. There were only four birds still alive, four hens were lying dead. All had died of heart failure caused by sheer fright.
To emphasise the seriousness of the situation I threatened to get my gun and shoot the dogs if she did not call them off which invited a rather unpleasant verbal retort, immediately silenced when she became aware of the carnage that her ‘babies’ had caused.
Without more ado she turned on her heel, hurrying away, shouting for her dogs as she went.
I left the remaining living birds to settle down. Later I came with some food and quietly lifted out their dead sisters.
The following morning, I went to the pen in trepidation. Would they all have survived? What a relief to find the other four chicks remained steadfast with their bantam mum.
Now there was no need to extend the enclosure for there was plenty room for them as it was.
The birds remained there for two years. To replicate their wild eating preferences and wild habitat we continued to replace the branches of Scots pine.
They grew into lovely birds, three hens and one magnificent cock. To see such a cock caper so close in wonderful condition was marvellous. He was an enormous bird but knew his place.
For some reason, I suppose to give them confidence and stability, we left them with their bantam mother. During the day the caper cock would strut his stuff, that was, until feeding time, when his bantam mother, fifty times smaller, would come running across the pen to get into the food first.
If, by any chance, the cock had started feeding before she got there he would jump back =, then stand and watch her take her fill, not daring to go closer until she was finished. I’ve heard of the pecking order but one peck from his monster of a beak would have killed her. Inferiority complex or what!
That second spring we decided it was time to let them go because the birds were by now familiar with their surroundings, and the mature Scots pines in the garden would be perfect for them.
We picked a lovely morning, then slowly rolled back the netting from the roof. We walked away to watch from behind a bush.
The birds looked up above them for about five minutes as if they sensed something was different. Then, all of a sudden, the siblings took off as, flying up, over the pines and out of sight.
We walked away sure that they would be back around the pen later, but we never saw those birds again.
We were obviously upset and never know why they did not return, but one thing is for sure, we were all proud and pleased we had succeeded in rearing these magnificent adult Capercaillie from egg to flight.
When John’s initial apprenticeship at Urrard came to an end he moved on to Keir and Cawdor Estates, where he was employed for two years working with pheasants and partridges.
Following a three year stint in the army in Belfast, he returned to work at Panmure Estate in Arbroath where they specialise in pheasants and wild partridges.
Then, his dream job arrived at Abercairney Estate near Crieff where John worked with grouse and also began deer management. He stayed there until 1981, when an opportunity presented itself to work with Fountain Forestry on deer management in and around Cromdale, and so his family moved to live in Mary Park near Aberlour.
John, who has recently come to live at Barmuckity, near Elgin, now works as a self-employed deer manager.
Most of all, though, he is passionate about helping to preserve and protect the dwindling populations of Scotland’s iconic bird, the Capercaillie.
