Brown Creeper.
The other day I got to thinking how I’d never photographed an adult American woodcock—and probably never would. Woodcocks are primarily nocturnal, for one thing, and they’re skittish, and they hang out in wet, inaccessible tangles. Nearly every time I’ve seen an adult in daylight, I’ve flushed them in the woods and they’ve fluttered swiftly away on whistling wings. I did once catch a glimpse of a woodcock lurking under a bush. And one time I snuck up on a calling bird in dark twilight. A couple years ago, I was lucky enough to stumble on a clutch of new woodcock chicks and got their photograph—but an mature bird? Not likely.
Well, today I had my chance. And I blew it.
Camouflage.
The whole idea would’ve seemed implausible, had I given it any thought. Instead, I’d been wondering—on this overcast, breezy Easter late-afternoon, with light in-and-out drizzle—if I’d see a single or hear a single bird. Jack and I had hiked half-way up the hill, and not one sighting. Then, around a turn in the trail, there it was: a plump woodcock, standing there. We stopped. But the woodcock didn’t take wing. It began to hurry up the muddy track in front of us. I readied my camera, swung Jack around behind me, and began following it slowly as it turned the next curve. I could see it up ahead through the bare branches of brush. It wasn’t moving overly fast. I figured I could get a shot as we rounded the turn, but it chose that moment to venture off the trail and down through a leaf-strewn slope. As I got there, I could still see it plainly. About twenty feet down, it stopped on a bright green lump of moss and looked up at us, sidelong. A perfect pose. I raised my camera.
Damn auto-focus. The first attempt latched onto some twigs between the bird and me. The second attempt also, and the third. Then the bird took off again and ran around a clump of undergrowth.
Had that first focus took, I could’ve dashed off at least a dozen photos. But no.
After a moment’s consideration, I decided to leave the trail and pursue the bird. Took two steps down—and it flushed. I saw it wing around some sumac and down again maybe sixty feet distant. Screw it.
I barely remember the rest of our hike up. I was lost in my head, cursing silently, lamenting, regretting. We did flush a robin. I remember that. And we ran into a little family up at Beech Nut (which kind of surprised me, considering the weather). I heard, then saw, a phoebe. Heard gulls and crows. No kestrels today.
But never mind all that, I couldn’t shake my disappointment. “Damn it,” I thought. “That was a perfect woodcock photo. Now I’ll never get one.”
I knew I’d get over it eventually, but not this day. In fact, as we headed down the lower wooded trail, I realized I hadn’t taken a single decent photo today. When Jack stopped to take a dump, I snapped off a couple boring photos of the brown, dim woods. Fitting.
Nearing the parking lot, I heard some chickadees and stopped to find them in the trees. There they were. Chickadees. Boring. And I heard something else—a brown creeper. And there was the creeper. And another one. A pair of creepers. And I saw movement beyond the creepers: another phoebe, flicking its tail. And then I heard the low thump-thump-thumpthumpthump of a booming grouse. First booming grouse of the year.
It was a nice moment. A pick-me-up.
Still I wish I’d gotten that woodcock photo.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American woodcock
2. Black-capped chickadee
3. American robin
4. Eastern phoebe
5. American crow (voice)
6. Herring gull (voice)
7. Brown creeper
8. Ruffed grouse (booming)
Elsewhere
9. Northern cardinal
10. Song sparrow
11. House finch
12. House sparrow
13. Mallard
14. Mourning dove
Tags: American crow, American robin, American woodcock, black-capped chickadee, brown creeper, eastern phoebe, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mallard, mourning dove, northern cardinal, ruffed grouse, song sparrow
