Every year, at just about this time, I start searching the skies above my yard for tree swallows. Their appearance is yet another hopeful sign that winter is beginning to loosen her grip on our northern world and make way for spring to exert herself. Many years see the arrival of Eastern phoebes on the exact same day as the swallows. Both populations probably wait for just the right weather patterns so that they can surf the various weather fronts like ocean waves heading for the beach.
At the same time, another species of bird can slip in under the radar. In fact, this species is already here, but it can be such a stealthy bird that it remains unobtrusive. The bird I am speaking of today is the American woodcock (Scolopax minor), and it is one of those species that is only “out in the open” for a short time in the spring. Be that as it may, the bird is detectable if you know what you are listening for.
Unfortunately, despite the fact that I know exactly what to listen for, I still can’t seem to hear it. I am now approaching 60 years of age, and my past has caught up with me. I was a child in the 1970s and 1980s and I did a lot of work outdoors. Mowing, garden tilling and chainsawing — all without ear protection — have conspired to result in some hearing loss at very particular frequencies. Add to that the dreaded tinnitus, and there seems to be a narrow range of frequencies that I can’t hear because I hear them all the time. As a result, certain sounds no longer register with my brain too well.
This is a tremendous disappointment because the “song” of the American Woodcock appears to fall in this range of sounds. Two decades ago, I could step out onto my deck and hear woodcocks displaying in my meadow. Now, there is nothing. It is as though the species has disappeared, and it has led to a bit of sadness at the loss of a “friend.” However, there has been a major breakthrough this year, and it has everything to do with my podcast.
In the hopes of being able to target specific bird songs in the warmer parts of the year, I purchased a parabolic microphone. It is an extremely inexpensive model that I acquired as a test of the general idea behind the technology. The dish is about the size of a small dinner plate, and the handle would best be described as a pistol grip. I can aim the microphone at the bird of my choice, pull the power trigger and listen on a set of earphones.
On one of those warm evenings that we had at the end of March, I took my new microphone out onto my deck, pointed it in the general direction of my meadow and pulled the trigger. I heard American robins and song sparrows, but no woodcocks. I tried again the next night and, joy of joys, I heard the sound I was searching for. Off to the southeast, where some of the grasses were a little shorter, there was a woodcock singing.
The sound is impossible to mistake and instantly recognizable once you hear it. A male woodcock will find a spot that he likes and then begin calling out a buzzing, nasal “peent” again and again. This is intended to attract attention in his direction so that he has an audience for his main performance. After “peenting” for a while, the male will launch himself into the air and then begin flying in circles as he gains altitude over his display area. As he climbs, the circles get smaller and smaller. Imagine Tinker Bell flying upward as she applies garland to a Christmas tree and you have the right idea.
When the male reaches the apex of his flight, he switches gears and begin a fluttering descent back to Earth while he sings a twittering song in notes that I actually can hear. He will generally land in the same spot from which he initially launched, and then he starts the whole display all over again. This will continue from dusk until dark, and the enterprising naturalist can take advantage of this knowledge to get quite close to the bird. Listen for the “peenting” and then wait for the bird to take to the air. Then run in the direction of the “peenting” while the male is otherwise occupied with his display. If you’re lucky, then you will catch sight of a little silhouette fluttering back to Earth and you may be quite close to the male for his next performance. This behavior has led to a particularly adorable nickname for the woodcock: the timberdoodle.
Females find this display irresistible and mating commences. Then, the females will go about the rest of reproduction by themselves. Nests are formed on the ground, where the female lays up to five pinkish eggs decorated with dark-brown splotches. The nest is typically within 100 yards of the male’s display area, but he does help her in any way. Incubation takes about three weeks, and the little woodcock chicks are able to fly in about two weeks.
So I know that I have at least one male displaying in my back yard, which means there will likely be females around and, eventually, some adorable little woodcock chicks. Even in August, I’ve seen woodcocks probing the soft ground on the grassy trail that leads to my thinking chair. I know they are around, though I have yet to see any sign of the little ones. This, I expect, is the result of evolution by natural selection. Since some humans hunt these birds for sport, those that birds that allow themselves to be seen might not live very long. At least the males continue to do their courtship dances, which everyone can enjoy in the springtime.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.