Most visitors who come to the Biggest Week in American Birding expect their time in northwestern Ohio to be about one thing and one thing only: warblers. While warblers are the centerpiece of the week, there is one very charismatic underdog that steals the show for many participants. Perhaps nowhere else is the American Woodcock as omnipresent and easy to see and hear, day or night, as it is here in the Great Black Swamp. Along the boardwalk at Magee Marsh, they can be seen foraging in broad daylight, bobbing along the forest floor and digging for earthworms mere feet from your feet, sometimes with tiny egg-sized chicks in tow. They even nest right in the middle of the parking lots, sitting tightly while they incubate their eggs among the grasses in all of their camouflaged glory as onlookers stand slack-jawed at the edge of caution-tape barriers to gawk and photograph them. Getting to see this species well, with its large high-set eyes, rich buffy flanks, and long pencil-like bill is a thrill for any birder.
I don’t recall when, but it was many years ago that I learned that the American Woodcock is the proud owner of several colloquial names that have been ascribed to it throughout the years. I chuckled at the sound of this bird having been referred to as the “bog sucker.” Images swirled in my brain of a woodcock using its long bill as a straw to gather nutrients from the earth in the same way I do with a tall glass of iced tea after a long, hot day of birding.
But from the first moment I heard the word “timberdoodle,” I knew I would never be the same, or rather, that this bird would never be the same to me. I often joke that I would like to petition the AOU to officially change the name of American Woodcock to “Timberdoodle,” since timberdoodle is just so fun to say. Until then, I’m doing my part to start an underground movement to refer to this species strictly by the latter name.
When I found out I was going to co-lead an evening “Woodcock Walk” with my friend and colleague Raymond VanBuskirk, I knew something had to give. I couldn’t in good conscience go through with it and let the participants think we were watching woodcocks when we were actually watching timberdoodles display on high. And so, the schmoodle was born.
With great anticipation, Raymond and I rocketed over to the Black Swamp Bird Observatory Headquarters a little before 8:00pm to await the arrival of our trip participants. As folks filed in, we occupied them with scope-views of a roosting gray-phase Eastern Screech-Owl until everyone had assembled.
Once all were present, Raymond and I called the gathering to order. Our first piece of business was to introduce ourselves and notify the trip participants that though they thought they signed up for a “Woodcock Walk” they had been mistaken. After a moment of experiencing blank stares, we ensured everyone that the newly dubbed “Timberdoodle Schmoodle” was pretty much the same thing, except with a better name. There were chuckles and excitement all around, and several people were eager enough to ask if we thought we would actually be lucky enough to see a woodcock, er… timberdoodle displaying. The evening was clear and calm, so Raymond and I felt our chances were good.
We spent a few minutes talking about the vocalizations and other sounds we would hear if a timberdoodle were to display near us, and what we expected to see in this case. Additionally, we wanted the participants to understand a bit of the natural history of the species and the purpose and timing of the display. Once we felt we were ready, off we went to get in position and wait.
Sometimes birding takes patience. This was one of those times. But finally. After I had checked my watch a million times. There it was. A “peent” in the fading daylight. Raymond and I pointed it out to the participants and waited to point it out again. But then there was nothing. Then there was more watch checking. Then there was more waiting. And after our heartbeats had all returned to normal. Just then, there was another peent. Then the light faded more. And the peents became more regular. And we heard not one bird, not two birds, but three birds. Alternating. Peenting. Preparing. And I checked my watch again. Then checked it again. Then it happened.
The bird nearest us took flight. It flew right over us as it ascended in a wide spiral and twittered seemingly with glee, or perhaps that was us. Raymond on one end of the group and I on the other followed the bird and worked to help all of the trip participants follow the bird’s trajectory. Up. Up. Up. Twittering. Twittering. Twittering. Spiraling. More. And then he began his descent with erratic whistles intermixed with twitters. He dropped and dropped and dropped to the ground very near to us but disappeared in the dimness of dusk.
We spent the next twenty or so minutes following the spiraling displays of the nearby male timberdoodles as they schmoodled to their heart’s content. Until it was too dark to see anything but the moon, the stars, and the planets in the cool, clear Ohio evening and all we could hear were the peents and the twitters and the whistles. All of the participants who were present were treated to a gift that cannot be enjoyed just anywhere. For that evening, the warblers at the Biggest Week in American Birding took a backseat to the timberdoodles.
As I tried to eke out one last view of the spiraling bird in the night my heart twittered right alongside with that displaying male.
And that, my friends, is how you rock a Timberdoodle Schmoodle.
Oooooo, sexy!
And it was a blast. My daughter and I enjoyed watching the “schmoodle”.
You guys were great group leaders too. Your excitement was contagious.
Thank you Kim! Ashli and I had a blast with you all as well. Hope to see you at the Biggest Week next year! Cheers and good birding!
~ Raymond