American Woodcocks

The following is a story I wrote before I had started my blog. This experience happened in the early spring of 2017.

Determined to see the woodcock’s bizarre and spectacular courtship display, I ventured up to The Ridges one evening after class.  I had read about these bird’s peenting call and “sky dance” and heard stories from other birders, but never imagined I might get the chance to witness this spectacle myself.  In my mind’s eye, the woodcock’s display was evocative of the great birds of paradise, an exotic and magical performance.  

The day was perfect for hiking, unusually warm for February, with a gentle breeze that wafted the sweet smell of grass across my face.  The cardinals and song sparrows sat at their regular perches, twittering joyously.  It was around 5:45 and the sun was already beginning to set, casting a calm, golden-orange glow over the tops of the trees.  The “golden hour” has always been my favorite time of day.  For a few short minutes in the early morning and late evening, the low angle of sunlight light emblazons the landscape with a soft, warm light.  In these moments, I cannot help but stop and stair, taking in the beauty and stillness of the woods and meadows.  

I reached OU's compost facility around ten after six.  Stars were beginning to peek through the darkening sky, and a great saucer of a moon loomed overhead.  I walked slowly up and down the gravel road, surveying the surrounding fields for movement, straining my ears for a sound.  I had no idea what to expect.  I knew the strange buzzing call of the woodcock, but couldn't be sure where or if one would start calling.  I stood breathlessly for several moments, impatient for something to happen.  The final rays of sunlight disappeared behind the tree-line, leaving a red glow along the horizon.  Suddenly, as my watch clicked the half hour mark, a loud, nasally bzeeb, sounded directly to my left.

American Woodcocks are bizarre, woodland relatives of the sandpiper, and look more like cartoon characters than real birds.  They have plump bodies, chubby, neckless heads, and ridiculously elongate, narrow bills.  Their large, nebulous eyes are positioned toward the top of the head, giving these birds a curious, almost rabbit-like face.  Woodcocks winter in the southern United States, and travel back north in order to breed.  They are common in young deciduous forests interspersed with agricultural fields.  During the day, their mottled coloration camouflages perfectly with the leaf litter as they probe for earthworms with their peculiar snouts.  At dusk, the woodcock’s cryptic behavior transforms completely.  

Males leave the recesses of woods and step out into the open edges of fields where they begin to call amorously for females.  The single-noted buzzes are spaced several seconds apart, giving the impression that males are conversing with one another.  After a few moments, the males launch into a spiraling flight, reaching heights of 300 feet or more.  As they fly, special feathers produce a distinct twittering sound.  As the twittering peters off, the birds begin a rapid, zigzagging descent, before plopping back down close to where the display began.  If a female likes what she sees, the two will mate.  If no female presents herself, the male will repeat his display flight all over again.

Now that I was certain woodcocks were in the area, I crept in the direction of the sound, the gravel beneath my feet crunching painfully with each step.  The bzeebing was coming from just within the woods.  As I walked, listening intently, a rapid, twittering whizzed by my ear.  I spun around as a dark object flew erratically away.  “Woodcock,” I thought excitedly.  As the creature zipped over me again, I realized this nighttime dancer, wasn't a bird at all.  It was, of course, a bat; the first of the year I had seen.  Realizing my mistake, I continued to scan the expanses of flowing grass for movement.  

The woodcock's mottled coloration allows it to disappear among the leaf litter 

By this time, three other woodcocks had taken up calling in the fields all around me.  I had neglected to bring a flashlight, and could only see a short distance in each direction.  Except for the general outline of the trees against the night sky, I was orienting myself by sound alone.  

I stepped into the ankle-high grass, leaving behind the comfort of the trail.  The calling woodcock was directly downhill from me.  I crouched low to the ground, awkwardly attempting to hide my outline.  Suddenly, a flash of heat lightning illuminated the sky, drawing long, jagged shadows across the grass.  My heart did a summersault in my throat.  My solitary birding adventure suddenly felt much more foolish; I was miles from campus without any cover.  I swallowed nervously and decided to continue searching for the birds.

Finally, I was close enough that I could see a faint blob squatting at the edge of the tree-line.  It wobbled with each bzeeb, then suddenly sprang into the air and whinnied past me.  It was much larger than the bat had been, and shaped like a flying barrel.  I caught a clear glimpse of its long proboscis, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.  It climbed higher and higher until the night obscured my view completely.  I was speechless with wonder.  My eyes darted across the night sky, trying to pick out the flying speck.  Before I could spot it, however, another woodcock flew past me up to the dirt trail I had been walking on minutes ago.  

For the next half hour I chased dark, aerial shadows up and down the field.  A few times I was able to creep within a few feet of the calling birds before they flew.  Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the woodcocks stopped calling, stopped flying, and disappeared.  I stood alone in the night, perplexed by the phenomena I had just experienced, and equally baffled by how quickly the woodcocks had gone.  The air was still, except for the occasional twittering of the bats.  I listened for a final, solitary bzeeb, but none came.  Slowly, I found my way back to the trail and stared down into the darkness.  I had been so engrossed by the experience that I hadn't even been able to get a photo. I took the above photos months later while birding on the board walk at Magee Marsh. It had been a strange and magical experience.