Spring is for Lovers (of the Timberdoodle)
I crave spring for so many reasons, but at the top of my list is the magical and mysterious denizen of the Cape May Peninsula, the American Woodcock. Anytime between December and May, American Woodcock can be found displaying in our area, typically once the evening temperature reaches 50 degrees or above, and the wind is light. Even into late May, after many of the winter visitors have migrated away, you can still experience the nuptial antics of those who chose to breed here in Cape May.
The whimsical American Woodcock (colloquially known as the Timberdoodle) does indeed doodle in the understory of the forest, usually adjacent to open marsh or wet fields. The rotund little bird in the Snipe family rocks its whole body in a little bebop shuffle that is both comical and fascinating to behold. A tactile feeder, the American Woodcock forages by probing the ground for worms and other invertebrates, which also provides some insight into why we see so many of them overwintering in the Cape May Peninsula: the birds that breed north of here find warm enough ground in our region to eke out a living through our coldest months before heading back north for the summer.
The most interesting bit of behavior of the species, though, is the male’s spectacular courtship display, which kicks off just after sunset, and may involve one to many birds in close proximity. Given that the Delaware Bayshore is one of the most important stopover sites for migrant American Woodcock in the Eastern U.S., you’re almost guaranteed a front-row seat if you find the right habitat. The key to a Woodcock encounter is simple: First find some marsh with nearby woods. A great place to start is the parking lot on Sunset Boulevard of The Nature Conservancy’s South Cape May Meadows Preserve, or its Garrett Preserve off Wilson Avenue, or where the road exits the woods and enters the marsh at Jake’s Landing up on Route 47 North (but really any wet woods or marsh-edged woods between here and Cumberland County will do). American Woodcock spends the day in the woods and flies out into the open areas for their displays after sunset, so once you’ve staked out your spot, watch for them to fly by on their way to their favorite stage.
Once they land in the open, they will begin to dance—doing their moves on flattened grass in the marsh, or open areas of bare ground. You may not be able to see them at first but listen for their distinctive raspy “PEENT!” call. They will continue to call as they dance until they take flight for the main event: a series of twitters and chips made both vocally and using their feathers as instruments, strafing the air as they rise into a spiral flight display; up, up, up, high above the ground they go! At some point, which only the woodcock knows, they stop rising and turn their attention back to earth, nearly free-falling and then gliding downward while rapidly increasing their wing whirring and chitter-chipping until the very last second when they hit the ground on both feet and momentarily go silent. It’s a silence that lasts only a second or two but feels like a minute and you hold your breath and wonder if the bird has just vaporized into the marsh; but then you hear it: “PEENT!” You exhale quietly, and the whole process starts again. And on your face, you smile, and in your mind, you say: WHAT. JUST. HAPPENED!?
As I watch the site where the woodcock landed, I wait for it to again take flight. Once it does, I scurry over closer to its apparent favorite location, and I hunker down to be as inconspicuous as possible. The ground is wet, and my boots are sucked down a bit into the saturated field as I settle in. I can hear him high above me, whirring and spinning, his chirping getting fainter as he gains altitude. He is up and behind me somewhere, but I sit focused on his abandoned dance floor. I now hear him descending; his chirping becoming more rapid and increasing in volume as he gets closer. I tighten into a silent ball, still as a stone, and wait for him to land.
I don’t see where he comes from until I feel the wind off his wings on the right side of my face; “Woah! That was close!” I think, and there he is—just 20 feet from me and still visible in the fading light. He bobs his tail and swings his whole body without missing a beat, then pauses, and issues a “PEENT!” so loud it rings my ears, and so close and I’m nearly startled. I don’t move, but I can register nuances of this call that I have never heard before, like an under-the-breath guttural intro right before the explosive single syllable call. It’s damp and chilly now, but in this very moment this Timberdoodle raised my ambient temperature by at least 10 degrees and gave me the taste of spring I needed. I wait, enthralled, until the next time he takes flight to display, and I make my way out of his domain as I had made it in—quietly and respectfully.
How fortunate are we to have Timberdoodles in our midst each spring.
