While mildly alarming, this somewhat dubious spectacle had a perfectly logical, reasonable, and in fact professional explanation. My normal June routine involves waking at 4 a.m., rolling out of my tent (ideally after getting dressed), hiking to my first survey station, and hoping that I’m awake enough to distinguish a Swainson’s Thrush from a White-throated Sparrow as I conduct point counts for Mountain Birdwatch. This particular morning, however, I had agreed to help some colleagues net Bicknell’s Thrush on Mt. Mansfield, and we had camped out for the night at a restaurant near the top of the peak.
After a few grumbles of “Just five more minutes!” and “Oh goody, wet socks!” we were efficiently opening nets and listening to the songs and chatter of awakening birds. Since it was so late in the season, we encountered little activity, giving my colleagues time to prepare much-anticipated cups of coffee in a recently acquired and wholly adored JetBoil Stove. Despite the wet clothing from a violent and soaking rain the night before, our net checks turned up a few birds, but the morning started out relaxed.
Following several checks of empty nets, I stole through a thick swath of vegetation directly under the towering cliff of the Mt. Mansfield Nose. Somewhat sleep-deprived, the phrase “I’m doing this RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE!” played as a loop in my mind, seemingly hilarious each time. I pushed through a final set of stunted balsam and the first net emerged: empty. Pushing through another thicket towards the next net, I spotted a ripple and bulge in the netting. Finally! The moment of anticipation when you realize there’s a bird in the net is exhilarating- what will it be? How hard will it be to get out? Nearing the net, I trotted over to see piercing black eyes, a long black bill, and the tell-tale splash of red on the head. A woodpecker is an exciting catch at any time, but a potential challenge in the net.
Now let’s talk a little bit about woodpeckers. Your average woodpecker spends a fair bit of time each day drilling holes in trees, using its head and beak as miniature yet powerful jackhammers to create holes, find insects, and communicate with others. Imagine holding an angrily self-righteous woodpecker in your hand. Imagine how this woodpecker might fight to escape from your grasp. As you might guess, as I patiently worked to untangle the feet, tail, wings, and head of this beautiful bird, this feisty fighter freely used his best defense- pecking maniacally at my fingers. I’ve always figured that this evens the score a bit- I had clearly disrupted his day, and a few bloody fingers is a small price to pay.
The woodpecker was tightly wrapped in the net, and I concentrated fiercely as I untangled his trembling body. Extracting birds from a mist-net is a three-dimensional puzzle; if I unwrap that toe will it loosen the wing? Once one wing is free, can I slip the other wing out? Pulling on a single thread can be illuminating or disastrous, and I took great care to act gently and quietly as I manipulated the bird’s body. Sweat dripped down my face as I focused entirely on the woodpecker and the net.
Holding tightly to the untangled feet, at long last I slipped the left wing free of its final constraints. With great relief, I said under my breath, “OK, buddy bird, we’re almost there.” The bird didn’t respond to this casual reassurance, but from directly behind me issued a loud hissing, shaking tumult. This being the in-woods equivalent of having someone grab your shoulder and scream “Boo!”, I turned slowly, my heart pounding. Three feet from my boots stood a giant porcupine, quills fully erect, body trembling and feinting in my direction. I stared at the spiky, shaking animal for a moment as we both assessed the situation. With one hand on the woodpecker and a long net between me and escape, my options were limited. The porcupine, in full defensive display, continued to shake and thrust, a threat that under any other circumstance I would have heeded with great haste. Slowly, slowly, I turned back to the net, and at that moment the porcupine sprinted (OK, toddled) in the opposite direction at top speed.
Freeing the woodpecker, I rushed back to the car to identify and display my catch. The juvenile Hairy Woodpecker was confused yet spirited, pecking everything in sight but disoriented enough to perch briefly on my colleague’s head before flying back into the forest- and happily avoiding our nets for the rest of the morning.
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