"The woodcock may be found by those who seek him and know his haunts, but it is only for a short time during the breeding season, that he comes out into the open and makes himself conspicuous."

- From Life Histories of North American Shore Birds Part l by Arthur Cleveland Bent

If I hadn't seen the Huntington Audubon's newsletter announcing a woodcock watch, I probably wouldn't have experienced a difficult and rewarding kind of birding. The woodcock is a chunky no-neck 11-inch bird, AKA timberdoodle that starts to attract a mate in early March. The time to see them is at dusk when this elusive bird appears and courtship behavior begins.

One evening at Wicks Farm on Pulaski Road in Huntington, I met a friend, an excellent birder, where we walked a trail in descending twilight to a small clearing. About 10 minutes into our watch, the silhouette of a chunky bird flew 10 to 15 feet overhead. Its tail was tapered and its fast flapping wings carried it quickly into the darkness. My friend told me that it was indeed a woodcock and explained why. Beginners luck, I thought.

A few evenings later he and I joined a small group of experienced birders and veteran woodcock watchers on nearby West Rogues Path. We listened to a recording of the woodcock's call and then walked, talking barely above a whisper, into a farm area under a gray and pastel sky. On the darkened ground was a rabbit and overhead two Canada geese flew across the vanishing sunset. I hear two clearly distinct Z sounds. The woodcock is supposed to make a "peent" sound but I'll take what I hear.

As we are walking back, the first woodcock flew across the remnants of light in the sky. The second flew straight across my field of vision with fast, and then faster flapping wings and disappeared. Then sight and sound merged as one again flew across my field of vision and I heard the Z sounds as the bird disappeared from view. I left that night starting to get a feel for watching these birds.

Now even reading about the bird, which included a photostat handout from the prior night with pictures of the woodcock, nothing could have prepared me for the third night. With a small group of serious birders I saw 20 to 25 woodcocks; but it wasn't the number it was the quality. The cloudy light enabled us to see more than silhouettes. At first we only heard them. Then they came fast, sometimes one on the heels of another and left fast leaving me literally spinning. One came across the clearing we were standing in with wings beating fast, made a change of direction toward a barn and disappeared into the overcast white sky. Another flew over some scrub with its head down and for the first time I could see the bill, which was long and very thick at the base. Then there was a lull.

The ghost of a moon shone in the sky. Looking at tall trees, which were partially shrouded in mist, I felt as if we were waiting for an apparition. But we were waiting for woodcocks and it felt like more would come - it was that kind of a night. And more did come; so many that I lost count.

One lands on the ground showing us its long bill, as it stands illuminated by the beam of a flashlight. As the bill opens, it appears to be split as straight and as fine as a chopstick. The bill's tip almost appears to bend as it opens because the upper mandible is flexible. The woodcock feeds on earthworms and it is thought that the bill's very sensitive tip is used to feel for them in the soil.

Another lands on the ground. To my utter surprise the bird looks into a flashlight beam. The woodcock's eyes are somewhat off to the side of its head just like a picture had shown. Later, on the tape recorder that I used to take notes, I could hear the excitement in my voice upon seeing the bird's eye. "Look at that eye, it is big, it is off to the side [of the bird's head], it is brown, it is big!" Another gave us a profile of its plump no-neck body, thick chest and belly. Perhaps because the encroaching darkness obscured them, none seemed to take off like other birds. One simply disappeared into the twilight; another appeared to just rise up and yet another seemed to leap. The male is supposed to perform a spectacular courtship flight, which I didn't see but didn't bemoan it either. By the time the last one had vanished, I was sated.

If birding is theater, the last night had quite a stage setting. With the sun waning in the sky a large cooper's hawk flapped its wings near some tall trees and disappeared over them. The sky now turned a darker blue and a light colored orange moon appeared low on the horizon. As we watched it rise over some scrub we wondered aloud whether it was a full moon. A voice said it was full enough. I looked around at the hardy group looking at it and no matter how much or little would be seen that night, I felt that this scene alone was worth coming out for.

To find out about other trips and activities organized by the Huntington Audubon Society check their website, www.huntingtonaudubon.org.