Capercaillie Quest – Photographing a Giant of the Grouse Family

I'm always on the lookout for new photographic projects, and while my fascination with our native grouse runs deep, there's one bird that tops the list: the capercaillie.

The capercaillie is the heavyweight champion of the grouse family—almost turkey-sized—and found in the Caledonian forests of the Scottish Cairngorms. Sadly, it's teetering on the edge of extinction in the UK. The Lek it Be campaign urges people not to disturb this bird, especially during the lek—the annual mating display. There are thought to be only around 500 individuals left, and ironically, interest in photographing this elusive species could be hastening its decline.

Since 1981 it's been illegal to photograph lekking capercaillie in the UK without a license. These are rarely issued, and only for sound scientific research.

But in Scandinavia, the story is quite different. The capercaillie is not endangered there—in some countries it's not even protected, and is still hunted for sport.

So, I decided to head north to photograph the bird in a place where it’s thriving. Initially, I had my sights set on Norway. But after hearing tales from an experienced wildlife photographer and YouTuber Mike Lane and from a client of mine—both of whom had tough experiences—I changed tack.

They reported poor-quality hides and minimal sightings. One managed only a single glimpse of the bird after three nights, and described the hide as deeply uncomfortable.

Capercaillie arrive at their lekking sites in the early evening, sometimes giving a brief display before roosting nearby. Lekking resumes around dusk and continues until about 8am. That means photographers must be in place by 6pm—and remain silent and still for 14 hours. (Yes, sorry for the maths lesson—but 14 hours is a long time in a cramped hide. Comfort is not a luxury; it's essential.)

I own the same type of hide used in the Mike Lane’s trip. It’s manageable with modifications—for a few hours. But for an overnight stay? Not a chance.

After some digging, I found a company in Finland offering capercaillie photography in what looked like properly built hides. Wanting to maximise my chances, I booked six nights with Kuusamo Nature Photography.

Their hides are deep in the boreal forests of northern Finland, inside the Arctic Circle and just 20 miles from the Russian border. I figured there might still be snow, despite planning my trip for mid-May. I deliberately chose that time: while there’s less snow, it increases the chances of seeing capercaillie hens and possibly witnessing mating.

Travelling Light(ish)

I packed for cold weather and kept my gear minimal. I loathe the stress of airport security at the best of times—especially with heavy camera bags—so I kept things streamlined:

Nikon Z9 with 500mm f/5.6 PF
Nikon Z8
70-200mm f/2.8
1.4x teleconverter
Batteries, chargers, cables, memory cards, gimbal head, Gitzo mini traveller
Laptop and backup drives.

Everything fitted neatly into an F-Stop insert, packed in a wheeled suitcase. The laptop travelled separately in a ThinkTank bag.

Into the Forest

I landed at Kuusamo on a quiet Saturday evening, picked up a modest hire car, and drove to my self-catering accommodation just two miles from the airport. The place was eerily quiet—no traffic, no people. At breakfast the following morning, the huge dining hall sat nearly empty—just me and three others.

That evening I met Mikko, our guide from Kuusamo Nature Photography, along with four Spanish photographers. We followed him into the forest by car, parked up, and met a sixth photographer—an Englishman on his second night.

There was still deep snow on the ground, and sleds had been left nearby to help us drag our kit into the woods. The hides were about a 15-minute walk from the track, in two groups of three at either end of a crescent-shaped ridge.

I was assigned a hide on the southern end. Mikko gave a quiet farewell and promised to return at 8am. Silence was now the rule.

By 6pm we were all settled in. The hides had excellent one-way visibility, cloth-covered lens ports, and internal shelves with tripod mounts facing front and to the sides. There was even a low-level port for eye-level shots should the birds come close.

Around 7:30pm, a male capercaillie appeared and spent most of the evening pottering about and occasionally displaying. I managed a bit of sleep and woke at 3:45am. It was never fully dark—just a long, Arctic twilight.

The windows were frozen with condensation. It was -5°C inside the hide. I lit two small candles and a gel burner, which to my amazement, cleared the condensation and warmed the space slightly. (Also: long live the pee bottle.)

The bird wandered off around 6:20am, and I was glad to see Mikko at 8am. Unfortunately, I learned that matings had mostly happened two weeks earlier, making further sightings of females unlikely. The English photographer had seen a hen on his first night, and another had glimpsed a rival male below the ridge.

An Arctic Routine

Temperatures climbed to 15°C by day, and that second evening, I was alone. I returned to the hides via the snow tracks and took the left-hand hide, hoping for better side views. I was in regular touch with Mikko via WhatsApp.

That night was something else. The dominant male displayed, and a second bird emerged from the left. They snorted and postured before the intruder backed down. It was a thrilling encounter.

On Tuesday, three Spaniards returned along with two Polish photographers—one with a disability. Mikko brought him to the hide by skidoo. I offered to give up my preferred hide, but no one took me up on it.

Wednesday was the highlight of the trip. One of the Polish photographers returned, so I took the centre hide and let him use the left-hand one. So, just the two of us.

I turned in at 9pm. Around 11pm, I woke with a jolt—there was a burst of activity outside. The distinctive flutter-jumps and rapid movement was the same as I had experienced when a hen was present. I hoped a female was nearby. I scrambled into position (banging my head twice) and fired up the Z9. Although it was still dim outside, the viewfinder showed her clearly.

The first shots were near-black: 1/125 sec at ISO 25,000. I gradually dropped to 1/10 sec to get sharp images. I watched for five minutes, witnessed a mating, and then she was gone.

Why was she there? Mikko later said she may have lost a first clutch of eggs to predation and returned to try again. The male, clearly on a high, continued displaying all night. Meanwhile, my Polish neighbour snored rhythmically, blissfully unaware of what had taken place. I never told him!

Wrapping Up

The final two nights passed without further female visits, though I refined my technique. The snow thawed rapidly and by the end, was almost gone.

On the last morning, Mikko arrived and shook my hand. Apparently, no one had ever stayed so long in one of his hides—over 84 hours!

Kuusamo Nature Photography delivered everything I’d hoped for and more. They put to rest the concerns raised by Mike Lane and my client. I'd recommend them without hesitation.

I returned home with nearly 12,000 thousand images. Now for the post-processing!

Back on Night Duty!