Of Woodcock and worms
It felt like a different world. Imagine being out across fields in an Ulster night of faint monochrome light. The wind comes in a cold sweep accompanied by on-off rain that defines the ambience. In the distance a few lights twinkle from farmhouse windows. Rural roads are silent and the only sound is the squelch from Wellingtons sucked into muck. Like a cinema-goer accustomed to a world of dark, my eyes tuned into the formless shadows. I occasionally flicked on a head torch to check the terrain in front of me — a tangled ditch or turf so heavily poached by hooves that it could be swamp. Getting stuck in cow-dung was an unexpected hazard.
There are three of us. I keep glancing behind to keep an eye on Bruce Mactavish, my Canadian buddy, who thought that armour-plated safety boots would be suitable. Instead, he is labouring under the weight of concrete shoes. Always ahead, James O’Neill is our young and sprightly leader. We follow and periodically pause as he illuminates the greensward with a spotlight. He is hoping to catch the sparkle of eye-shine from a Woodcock probing for worms. By day, Woodcock melt among dank undergrowth. Their plumage is cryptic. For hours, the phantom presses itself flat. Feathers blend among mouldering leaves, twigs and bits of bark. Woodcock are masters of mimicking the environment. Observers remarked that the bird does not even blink, lest the action might shatter the illusion of a mottled, inanimate object.
‘There’. James did not have to say more. The lump resembled a cow-pat but reflected like a cats-eye. It was in the far corner of a field. I could barely see it, even with binoculars. James turned the light off. He is conducting research on Ireland’s Woodcocks. Like other ground-nesting shorebirds, such as Curlews and Lapwings, the breeding population has collapsed but the much commoner wintering population, because it consists of European and Russian immigrants, flatters to deceive. Woodcocks are hunted relentlessly throughout Europe and the numbers are staggering. In France and Italy more than one million are shot each year and even in the UK the annual bag is 150,000 (Lutz & Jensen 2005).
Bruce and I were invited guests. We hung back and waited in silence as James stalked. When he got closer he threw a beam of light onto the Woodcock. It seemed unperturbed. Sometimes it took a few roly-poly strides, waddling like a clockwork hedgehog. In a sea of green grass, it had no need of camouflage. This was feeding time, not sleepy time. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. In the past I had watched the dusk display of a ‘roding’ male skimming over woodland and croaking to attract a mate. Such activity takes place in spring. The view is of a silhouette against the evening sky. Other encounters involved startling a wintering bird from its daytime lair in shrubbery, often from ferns. The fugitive explodes with a flurry of mothy wings, surprising you with an ability to zigzag at high speed through a thicket of trunks and branches. Woodcock, therefore, live on a hair trigger. Sometimes James’ quarry gave him the slip by pinging into flight at the last moment. I was astonished at the bird’s dexterity. Without warning the humpty-dumpty bolted — springing vertically like a Teal. It was as though it had been sitting in an ejector seat.
Like a patient fisherman, James eventually had a reward. A live Woodcock cradled in his hands was a revelation — even for someone like me that was familiar with the species. The captive was still and dignified. Its eye was enormous, a radar screen designed to scan the world like a Dalek. As James turned the bird to ring it, you could see how the eye was located to look behind as well as in front, providing the spirit of the woods with 360 degree vision from a static position. The plumage was mesmerising. Suites of feathers integrated in rows of bars and chequers but here and there the effect broke down in whorls of a different colour or pattern. This was deliberate. Evolution went for disruptive camouflage. Prominent marks went against the grain — such as an oddly-angled sooty stripe between the eye and the bill — or random patches of colour dabbed on a uniform background, as though the bird had been playing with make-up.
Sophistication did not stop at feathers. James explained that, probably uniquely for a bird, Woodcock’s ears are not hidden behind each eye but are positioned between the eye and the bill. This enables the listener to point the bill directly at a hidden sound, rather than pinpoint it by taking a bead from two directions — which is why Blackbirds cock the head in order to home in on what they hear. Worms are what Woodcock want. Probes are made with a bill tip packed with sensitive nerve endings. The species knows more about how a worm feels, rather than looks. For the most part, food is tapped, sucked from the ground and swallowed without being seen.
Rather than heaping praise exclusively on Woodcock, let’s applaud the humble earthworm. Charles Darwin calculated that earthworms can move huge amounts of soil from lower strata to the surface — and also carry organic matter down into deeper layers. Because a large proportion of soil passes through the guts of earthworms, it is estimated that a healthy population can turn over the top 15 cm of soil in 10 to 20 years. Earthworms consume organic matter (such as the detritus left in crop stubble) and mineral particles; they excrete the worked material in the form of casts, which in turn become part of the soil. Although earthworms derive their nutrition from micro-organisms, many more micro-organisms are present in their casts than in the organic matter that they consume. All this microbial activity facilitates the recycling of nutrients from organic matter and its conversion into forms taken up by plants. Earthworms also promote good drainage — because some species live at depth in vertical burrows that allow water to infiltrate the ground. Although the creatures are a blessing for farmers, a lot of ‘modern’ farm practices are destructive. You would think that cherishing earthworms would be a no-brainer.
A recent (Saturday 9th March 2019) Farming Today programme on BBC Radio 4 was devoted to the topic. And a right-minded farmer extolled earthworms. Not surprisingly, feeding Woodcock are commonest on worm-rich pastures.
James is one of a growing number of people smitten by Woodcock. Another absorbing aspect of the bird’s life history is migration. For those that come to Ireland from abroad, St Patrick’s Day is a signal to think about packing bags and heading home. Nowadays, tracking devices are making ringing obsolete. In terms of documenting insights, the results are truly ‘fly on the wall’. Because novelty is revelatory, it tends to be regarded as extraordinary. The story of one Scottish-ringed Woodcock — named Askaig — is fantastic but it is probably a cameo of Woodcock migration in general.
To read the full story, go to: www.roydennis.org/animals/other-bird-2/woodcock/satellitetracking. In the left-hand dropdown menu, click through ‘Woodcock’ to ‘satellite tracking 2009’.
Askaig, a female Woodcock, was ringed on the Scottish island of Islay on 26th February 2009. On 22nd March she was off. Three days later she paused in Humberside, 400 km southeast of Islay. Three days after that she was in Lubeck, Germany. On 4th April she swung northeast to the island of Oland, off the east coast of Sweden, before crossing the Baltic to Latvia and then northern Estonia, where she rested for a week. On 25th April she was off again. This time she flew over the Gulf of Finland, heading towards Russia. By now, she had flown nearly 2,500 km. Three days and 500 km later, she was east of St Petersburg. Signals tabbed a fairly fixed position in woodland on several dates up to 8th May. It looked as though she had made it back to breeding heaven. That is what the researchers thought. But they were wrong. On 11th May a new signal came from 250 km east of Arkangel in sub-arctic Russia. Finally, on 27th May, Askaig revealed her true home — Siberia. She reached an area of birch forest and meadows near the River Pechora; Dr Zhivago country. In total, she travelled 4,110 km from Scotland. She saw out the long days of summer. Her pulse was strong and she may well have bred. Then, in early September, transmissions came from a single location. Between 2nd and 5th, the device recorded no movement. Either it had dislodged or Askaig was dead. We will never know. Sometimes vicarious marvelling at bird migration takes you to a remote place and then leaves you there — on your own.
Acknowledgement
A ton of thanks to James O’Neill for providing an unforgettable experience.
Reference
Lutz, M. & Jensen, F. P. 2005. European Union management plan for Woodcock, 2006–09. European Union, Strasbourg.
