Timberdoodle

I still remember the first American Woodcock I ever saw. My dad and I were birding along a wooded path on Manitoulin Island in Canada. It was raining -- not hard, just a misty drizzle -- and condensing drops caught in the pine needles and pattered down onto the jewel-bright moss that carpeted the forest beside the trail. We were walking along, dripping in our olive-green ponchos, when suddenly a fat rock detached itself from the side of the path and wobbled its way into the forest ahead of us. What camouflage! We watched in delight as it prodded and probed the verdant forest floor, slurping earthworms out of the soft soil. A shared memory, still treasured some 40 years later.

A Timberdoodle (aka American Woodcock) pauses beside a busy Cape May road. It was feeding in one of the few places where the snow had melted enough that it could reach the ground.