A week of camping in northern New Brunswick has reminded me of this basic truth. Given half a chance, wild animals relax around people. We all live in the same world. We know what they are. They know what we are.
Sackville, New Brunswick, is home to an awesome waterfowl park, located smack-dab in the middle of town. The 55-acre park contains more than two miles of trails, much of it along boardwalks built over the marsh.
It’s a popular place to stroll, walk dogs, and jog. Yet, despite all that human activity, waterfowl in the marsh have lost their fear of people.
Wild ducks are quick to realize that people can’t leave the boardwalk. Ever. Barking dogs, chatty groups, and crying babies don’t raise an eyebrow. That is, if ducks had eyebrows. Instinctively, they know they are safe and have no qualms about feeding within arm’s reach.
People do the same thing. At the zoo, it’s perfectly safe to stand within 6 feet of a man-eating tiger, provided there are bars and glass between you.
What’s most impressive about this waterfowl park is its role as an important stopover for migrating ducks. Every species of waterfowl in eastern North America passes through Sackville, and they are viewable at close range.
New arrivals learn the rules very quickly. People and dogs stay on the boardwalk, and ducks may do whatever they please.
In fact, there’s another benefit. Predators avoid the crowds of people, so the boardwalk is about as safe for ducks as the natural world gets.
For years, I’ve watched something similar happen in Maine, particularly in Aroostook County. Many towns contain marshes and mill ponds that become hot spots for migrating ducks and geese in autumn, seemingly aware that they can’t be hunted there.
My first morning at Kouchibouguac National Park in New Brunswick reinforced the lesson. I had barely crawled out of bed when a ruffed grouse sauntered into the campsite.
It was not a chance encounter. He knew I was there, and deliberately strolled over to where I was sitting. He began clucking quietly, as if talking to me.
There were two possibilities for this behavior. Either this was his territory, and he was politely asking me to leave. Or he was so comfortable around people that he considered me a guest. He didn’t seem to be begging for food. Feeding wildlife in the park is prohibited, but I didn’t have anything to offer that a grouse would eat anyway.
He showed zero aggression, and didn’t flinch when I moved about. In fact, he followed me around the campsite rather cordially, so close I could have touched him. I concluded he was just being neighborly.
That shouldn’t be a surprise. There are many tales of people being “adopted” by a grouse, especially along the forested edge of neighborhoods. If grouse don’t feel threatened, they can behave much like chickens.
More importantly, this was a popular national park campground. This grouse was routinely surrounded by people, in a place where harassment of wildlife is prohibited. Snowshoe hares were also bounding through the campsites, nearly oblivious to the people there.
Many animals are content to coexist, if not threatened.
To a lesser extent, the same thing happens in backyards. Chickadees and nuthatches get used to people around the bird feeders, and comfortably grab seeds even when a lawnmower is roaring nearby. So do the woodpeckers.
Some birds nest on porches. Robins and phoebes often do it. House finches and house wrens do it. The comings and goings of people barely merit their concern.
I’m convinced birds can read body language. Wild turkeys often ignore hikers and birders. But the moment they detect furtive human movements, they suspect a hunter and vanish.
Right now, Maine’s working forests are filled with grouse hunters. That’s not the case in the timberlands over the border. On the drive home, I was struck by how many logging roads on Irving land in New Brunswick are gated.
Maine’s tradition of public access to private land is unusual. The tradition stems from centuries-old English Common Law that allowed fishing and fowling across undeveloped private land. That tradition followed British colonists to Massachusetts, which encompassed all of Maine until 1820. Few other states and provinces share such a tradition of permissive use.
It doesn’t have to be that way. It could change. I never miss a chance to say thank you to private landowners for their support, or at least tolerance, of this unique tradition. Thank you.
