Bird of the Week: American Woodcock

by Doctor Science

In our Passover service last Monday night, we quoted from the Song of Songs 2:11-12:

See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.

One of the characteristic harbingers of spring in these parts is not quite so sweet-voiced:
 
Direct YouTube link.

That’s the melodious American Woodcock (formally known as Scopolax minor, very informally known as the Timberdoodle or even Mudbat).

The other evening I went out to look for Woodcock doing their courtship display. I went to a spot where they’ve occurred in the past, an area with very young (less than 30 years old) second growth, on the wet side and with lots of fallen leaves, and with some open areas for the males to make their flight display after they “peeent”, as in the video.

The sun was down but there was still plenty of light in the sky as I walked slowly and quietly down the path. I heard a rustling in the dead leaves alongside, sounding very like a mammal — a rodent or maybe opossum. But there, walking in the leaves and poking under them with its bill, was a Woodcock — no more than 3 meters from me. I stopped and watched it for a while: by far the best look I’ve ever had at one. Its plump, mammal-like behavior makes the Woodcock seem really cute For instance, here’s a video of a Woodcock crossing the road, “boogieing” — doing a kind of stompy dance to try to detect earthworms in the ground.

After I had followed my Woodcock for a little bit, he noticed me and flew away — I say “he” because he began calling soon after, as the light failed almost completely. I stayed out for a while to listen to him and to a rival a few hundred meters south of us, then went back as the stars were brightening.

In addition to its breeding display and the fact that it’s good to eat, the Woodcock is also famous for having eyes in the back of its head.

That is, the Woodcock’s eyes are set so far back on its skull that it has 360° of vision, and the 2 eyes’ visual fields overlap *more* behind its head than in front:

Ever since seeing this image as a child, I’ve wondered what a Woodcock’s subjective experience of vision is like. What would the world seem like, if I wasn’t looking out of the front of my head, but all the way around and maybe better toward the back? I’ve never been able to stretch my mind around it, and I keep hoping some 1st-rate SF writer will take up the challenge.

While putting together this post, I looked up what John James Audubon had to say about “The American Woodcock, or Bogsucker” in Birds of North America.

the Woodcock, although a prober of the mire, frequently alights in the interior of extensive forests, where little moisture can be seen, for the purpose of turning up the dead leaves with its bill, in search of food beneath them, in the manner of the Passenger Pigeon, various Grakles[sic], and other birds.

In the manner of the Passenger Pigeon. It gives me a chill to know that Audubon found Woodcock reminded him of the very common Passenger Pigeons, and so left me a hint now of what seeing that bird might have been like, a distant echo of its behavior, now silent forever.

Or maybe not. Googling for Passenger Pigeon images, I came across the Great Comeback Project at The Long Now Foundation. They are just beginning to work on one of my lifelong fantasies: de-extinction of the Passenger Pigeon.

The first project to revive an extinct animal using its museum-specimen DNA starts here. Once it succeeds, the techniques will be applicable to hundreds of other extinct species.

The passenger pigeon was selected for its iconic status and its relative practicality.
Its DNA has already been sequenced. Some of its fans among scientists have the technical capability to begin the miracle of resurrection.

The work will proceed by stages over the coming months.

Months — not years, not decades. I assume they’re hoping to have something to announce on September 1, 2014 — the 100th anniversary of the death of Martha, the last of her species. But maybe not forever — maybe the cooing of these doves will once more be heard in the land.