The Man Who Plucked the Gorbey: A Maine Woods Legend

Abstract

HE Canada Jay labors under the official name of perisoreus canadensis canadensis but it is more commonly called gorbey, moose-bird, meat-bird, greasebird, Whiskey Jack, Whiskey John, Hudson Bay bird, caribou bird, venison hawk, grey jay, woodsman's friend, or camp robber.1 Maine woodsmen usually call it either gorbey or moose-bird. It is native of the northern coniferous forests, which means that it is found all through Canada but only in the northernmost areas of the northernmost states of the Union. In the Northeast, it is found in northern Maine and over most of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Ernest Thompson Seton said it looked like a magnified chickadee: it is little larger than robin and has thick, grey furry feathers over most of its body save for white throat and forehead and black cap. It will eat absolutely anything. It will peck at deer carcass, steal bait out of traps, make off with soap and candles that have been left around camp, and the Indians claim it will even eat moccasins and fur caps. It is great hoarder and has stomach that is bottomless. One story tells of camp cook who threw out some stale doughnuts, only to see gorbey fly down, put his left foot through one doughnut, his right foot through another, grab yet another with his beak, and thus make off to nearby tree with three doughnuts. Over and over I have had woodsmen tell me how these birds would appear around lunch-ground deep in the woods. There would only be couple the first day, but more and more would gather as time went on, and they got so tame that they would sit on your knee or shoulder, eat out of your hand, or, if you were not careful, steal food right off your plate. There are numerous stories about the gorbey. A ballad, Tom Cray, local to northern Maine, celebrates the demise of woodsman who worked on log landing: He started for the landing, one morning quite late,/ But little did he think of his terrible fate,/ When down came two bluejays, garbey and took/ The poor little landing-man on Beaver Brook. And it warns us all as follows: Now it's young folks take warning, of the fowls be aware,/ Of the bluejays and the garbies that fly in the air;/ When you go out-a-walking, be armed and keep look/ For the bluejays and garbies upon Beaver Brook. 2 Often in Maine I have heard the story that these little birds are the souls of dead woodsmen. While most informants have not wished to go this far, they have told me again and again that no woodsman will harm gorbey in any way. Another belief is, as one informant told me, Anything that you do to garbie happens to you.... An exasperated woodsman kicked at one which was stealing his lunch and broke its leg; day or so after that, the man got his foot caught in the trace-chain of scoot and suffered fractured leg. Another man threw stick at one, broke its wing, and that afternoon he broke his arm. It is with special version of this