An American Woodcock at Dusk

Until two days ago, I had never (really) seen an American woodcock. Timberdoodle. I knew they sometimes rested at nearby Green-Wood Cemetery, whose quiet grounds and hundreds of trees create the safe shelter they need during migration. A few years ago I accidentally flushed one, there, but it rocketed off so fast that all I saw was a blur of brown. 

These shy birds do not roost in trees, but in leaf litter or underbrush, making them very vulnerable to the local urban pastime of letting dogs roam off-leash, which is what happnes in the wooded areas of city parks (remember the birding incident in Central Park?). 

But no dogs are are allowed at Green-Wood and only infrequently passing humans disturb these brown balls of feathers from the grass and leaves where they rest.

A few days ago a local bird photographer posted her timberdoodle pictures to Instagram. I took a very close looks at the leaf litter, the surrounding plants, and the trees under which the sweet, round, dead leaf-coloured birds were sitting. And then we went for a walk.

Plant identification might be a hidden superpower. "Those are the right species," I said to the Frenchman, looking at two trees, as we walked slowly over. Within minutes two woodcock took off ahead of us, and we felt awful for having disturbed them. We tip-toed on. Later, we spotted another one, and the Frenchman with his telephoto took pictures in the setting sun. 

Digging madly for dinner

Yesterday, I returned alone with my own lens, and much, much more carefully. Sure enough, there was a woodcock, where we'd seen them before. And for another forty minutes, as dusk descended and I lost light, I lay flat on the grass, or sat cross-legged ten feet away from this funny, bobbing bird, who relaxed and went about their business of hunting for worms and insects with that rapier-long bill. Nearby voices on the tarred road didn't phase the bird, but when someone stepped on leaves nearby, they froze and crouched again. No one discovered us.

Ma, Ma, I have a worm (look closely)!

It was wonderful to see the woodcock hunting in undisturbed peace for dinner, and even better to know that in this intensely inhospitable city, there is green refuge for them (the birds, not the dinner). But I also follow accounts like the Wild Bird Fund, whose work revolves around rescuing and rehabilitating injured and ill birds migrating through or living in the city. Woodcocks, like so many other birds, collide with building windows. If they are not killed, they lie stunned until someone rescues them. 

You can see a video of a recent release of their woodcock-patient gang here.

I think of my late friend, the naturalist David Burg, who first told me about woodcocks migrating via the city and coming out into the open only in spring, when they strut and display at Floyd Bennett Field, the abandoned aerodrome on Jamaica Bay. We sat at a cold picnic table one early April at the campgrounds there and ate smoked salmon sandwiches as he described the city as it once might have been, before the concrete arrived. 

I am not sure how long the woodcocks will stay, but I hope that they manage to stay alive, and to thrive. What are the odds?

From Sibley Birds East: 

"American woodcock, Scolopax minor: Uncommon and secretive on damp ground under dense cover in woods, where it is rarely seen except when flushed at close range. Displaying birds emerge ont open grassy fields at dusk in spring. Round body, long bill,, large head, and unifrom buffy underparts distinctive. Wings produce a high twittering on tae off and when making sharp turns in in flight...wlaks slowly with constant rocking and bobbing motion of body."

And a last wing-stretch, before I had to leave to catch the gates as they closed. 

Goodnight, woodcock. Wishing you many earthworms and a safe passage: no dogs, no cats, no guns, (can you believe they are hunted?), no windows.