Earlier this week I’d gone to the barn to ride. The facility is surrounded by rolling hayfields bordered by patches of forest: very peaceful and picturesque.
It was about 20 minutes past sunset as I ambled down the long, winding driveway on my horse. The evening was warm and filled with the scent of fresh green spring. The moon, which looked to be a bit past one-quarter full, gleamed in the softly glowing sky. Robins chortled and sing-songed; and, far off in the fields, the unmistakable sound of a woodcock floated in on the still air. The sound of the horse’s hooves was the only other noise to be heard, outside of a few half-hearted spring peepers calling from the small wetland at the bottom of the hill.
I smiled at the strident ”peent, peent” call, which the woodcock utters as it perches on the ground within its territory. I continued to hear it at intervals from within the barn as I put my horse up for the night. As I left the stable I heard its flight song as it executed its “sky dance.” A series of melodious chirps twinkled down from above as the bird circled at speed through the dimming light; I could also hear a rhythmic twittering sound, which is generated by the air as it passes between three short, fine primary feathers on the tip of each of the woodcock’s wings.
The next day at work I shared this experience with Dave Duguay, a coworker and friend of mine. Although he hunts game birds he has an appreciation for them that extends beyond the utilitarian, and he knows more about their biology and life history than I can recall off the top of my head. Weeks ago, he was out at dusk and before dawn enjoying their calls and seeing their flight displays. This caused him to think the birds keep it up all night long.
I replied that if memory served me correctly, the birds only displayed after dark if the night happened to be particularly bright. After double-checking “The Birds of North America” species account, I confirmed this. But it also brought to mind the most memorable woodcock display I’ve ever experienced.
Several years ago, I was staying at South Branch Pond campground in Baxter State Park over Memorial Day weekend. The night was brilliant with a full moon rising over the pond, turning the water into liquid pewter, and a barred owl hooted from within the forest.
As I walked down to the floating dock, I heard at least three woodcock peenting from various locations around the campground, and was delighted to hear their flight songs as they took to the air in a delirious rush of whirring wings.
I sat on the dock for awhile and enjoyed the magical spring night, which was miraculously free of mosquitoes. Eventually the chill drove me to head back to the lean-to. As I walked through the campground, the effect of the bright moonlight and shadows beneath the trees was dazzling. Unbeknownst to me, a woodcock had alighted on the path ahead of me. They’re sneaky in this regard. After they complete their flight display they go silent as they fall back to earth.
So I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard the strange, in-drawn grunting whistle from the ground not 20 feet ahead of me.
I had never heard such a sound before and had no idea what was causing it. I was ready to take flight myself, until I heard the sudden loud PEEENT from the same location, which actually did make me jump before I relaxed and almost laughed out loud.
As the woodcock continued to call, I heard the strange little whistle at the start of each vocalization. I realized I had never been close enough to hear it before, as it is very low in pitch. The BNA refers to it as the “tuko” call, which the male utters in conjunction with the peent call or alone in response to a strange sound, among other reasons.
I’ve had numerous occasions to listen to and observe woodcock courtship displays, but none have been as remarkable as this.