The Best Wildlife Moment I Never Photographed
The other week I returned home from a work trip to Port Hope along the north shore of Lake Ontario. Despite taking the time to carefully pack my telephoto lens and camera in the limited remaining space of my duffle bag, I unfortunately didn’t end up having the chance to get out with it to take any photos while I was there.
Well… there was one free morning when I could have gone birding… but it was a pretty dark and rainy morning and I opted to go for a run to move my body instead (thinking that I wouldn’t see much for birds with the bad weather and it being still a little early in the season).
Of course, on that run I came face to face with the most extroverted Belted Kingfisher I’ve ever seen. I’ve been keen to get a close up shot of this bird for the last couple of years but every time I see one they dart off to a distance tree as soon as they’ve caught the slightest wind of me. For whatever reason on this particular morning, on multiple occasions, this resident Ganaraska River Kingfisher flew onto the branches right near me, perfectly at eye level, as if it was taunting me - laughing at me for not bringing my camera.
I did enjoy watching him from an annoyingly close distance but I can’t lie, I felt a little defeated to have missed the opportunity to take a photo of him right then and there…
I finished my run and carried on with the day. Work kept me occupied until late in the evening after the sun had already gone down so unfortunately there was no chance to go look for this bold Kingfisher again with my camera. To wrap up the night, my colleagues and I decided to head to the Ganaraska brewery for a beer. While exiting our hotel, I suddenly interrupted my two coworkers mid conversation with an urgency they’ve both probably never witnessed from me;
“OH MY GOD A WOODCOCK!” I shouted from an action ready stance.
Baffled, they both stared at me wide eyed in utter confusion as both my arms were stretched out, holding both of them back from walking further forward as I stared off completely focused on the pitch black night beyond the hotel parking lot. While we all stood paused, a few seconds of awkward silence passed and then;
“…MEEP!…”
There it was again. The absolutely ICONIC sound of the American Woodcock. I was stoked. Up until this point, this was my favourite bird that I had never seen but only heard a few times in my life. I tried to point out the sound to my coworkers and explain to them how cool this bird was, but they were much less impressed. The rest of the way to the brewery I was completely fired up and also perplexed as to how someone couldn’t be as excited by hearing the “meep” of a Woodcock.
It had me reflecting on how not long ago, that was me.
Circa 2010. My dad trying to ID a bird in the pre-iNaturalist and fancy telephoto camera days.
My dad was into birds long before I ever bought my camera. When my sister and I were both kids, my parents bought our family cabin an hour and a half north of Ottawa. Even back then, I remember my dad standing around in the woods, head cocked back looking up into the treetops with his binoculars, trying to identify whatever little bird there was flying around way up there in the tops of the red pines around the cottage. We used to all tease him. He’d do his best to ID whatever he saw with the “Birds of North America” book that still lives on the bookshelf up there beside the woodstove.
It’s impressive that he was able to identify anything at all. Without my camera and using the zoomed in photos afterwards in programs like iNaturalist, I don’t think I would have ever been able to learn as many birds as I have - it probably would have all just seemed too overwhelming for me to stick with it in the beginning. I know that after all the years of trying to ID birds through a pair of binoculars, my dad definitely appreciates having the photos from my camera now. It’s easier to take time to study and examine the birds we saw during our outings in much more detail. It’s something nice that we can do together that connects us as well.
I used to think it was cool how mesmerized my dad was by the birds, but as a younger me, I can honestly say that I was a little indifferent to birds myself. I always loved nature and wildlife - but I hadn’t yet found that connection to these creatures specifically. I remember my dad saying things like “I saw some kind of warbler” or “maybe that was a type of vireo” but at the time that all didn’t mean much to me. How does anyone get to a point where you can look at a bird and even know what the difference is between a warbler or a vireo?? I think the prospect of learning more about birds seemed daunting to me, and maybe this is what can sometimes act as a barrier for so many people to appreciate how amazing birds are. There truly is a steep learning curve to birding, where the new found passion is often hidden just over the initial hump out of sight. I think that photography was the key ingredient to help get me over that hump.
Despite all this, even at a young age and knowing absolutely nothing about birds, there was always one bird that stood out to me and that I have fond memories of hearing my dad talk about long before I ever got into birds myself.
The American Woodcock.
Maybe it has to do with the name (I mean what little kid isn’t going to laugh at that name), but I think it has to do with how my dad would light up talking about them and how he’d say that they were his favourite bird. In the early spring before moving up to the cottage for the summer, my mom and dad would go on their walks in the Gatineau Park and hear the Woodcocks making their “meep” call and would even sometimes see them doing their incredible mating ritual of flying up into the air and then dropping like a rock.
I had no idea what a Woodcock looked like, but I remember my parents telling me about those walks on the phone when I lived across the country and in turn, I too developed a soft spot for this mysterious bird. Even if I couldn’t imagine the bird, I could sense the love my parents had for it - and that was enough. When I eventually moved back to Gatineau in my later 20s, I remember sometimes hearing the “meeps” of woodcocks in the fields of the Plateau area where I was living at the time - only to find those same fields converted a few months later into more sprawling condo buildings with no more “meeps” to be heard. I remember my dad saying how they were vulnerable being ground birds who exclusively nest on the ground. I remember feeling sad about how these sweet little brown birds often pay the price of our “progress” as humans.
Fast forward a few more years, and I now find myself dreaming about photographing one. It still hasn’t happened, but recently after a few hints on eBird, my dad and I headed out to the Mer Bleue Bog just outside of Ottawa to look for them. We enjoyed a misty evening walk through the foreign landscape of the bog, only 20 minutes away from home. We were treated to some Golden-crowned Kinglets for a few brief moments along the boardwalk but otherwise it was fairly quiet.
Mer Bleue Bog boardwalk.
We tried a few different spots, still without much luck. Approaching dark, we found ourselves walking down a final stretch of trail where we scouted out a clearing on Google Satellite maps. There was still no signs of woodcocks and the light was fading as fast as my hopes of seeing one.
Then suddenly, as if all at once, the forests and fields started to come alive with the sound of woodcocks. Meep!….Meep!…..Meep! We were stoked. We tried walking towards whichever “meep” sounded closest to us. I was so excited. At this point it would be too dark to take photos, but I was imagining in my head the possibility of seeing them do their spiraling mating flight. I convinced myself that it was probably unlikely and wouldn’t happen.
Eventually, we were at the edge of a clearing where a couple of woodcocks sounded as if they were within 10 metres from us. We just stood there and enjoyed being in their presence. Camera down and ears open. After countless “meeps”, I heard something different and higher pitched - it sounded as if it was building up in frequency as well and rising up above my head. “Could this be part of the woodcock’s mating flight dance?” I thought to myself… looking up into the dark blue sky. Then, the noise I was hearing built up to a high frequency… and stopped…there were a few seconds of silence, and then out of nowhere I saw the silhouette of a woodcock swirling back down to the earth as if it was dropped from a cloud. This repeated countless times in the same field right in front of us. We could also see woodcocks flying across the sky in the faint light. I was shocked at how fast they were and the funny shape of their bodies.
I was mesmerized. Thinking the moment couldn’t possibly get any cooler, we then were left speechless hearing the howls and calls of what we believed to be coyotes amongst the “meeps” of the woodcocks.
What an epic night. We couldn’t help but leave with smiles on our faces. I’ve mentioned on my blog now a few times about how photography has helped me to slow down and be present in the moment. It has forced me to be patient, focus on small details and notice the often overlooked. But the woodcocks reminded me that sometimes you don’t even need to click the shutter at all. You don’t always need to capture every incredible experience you witness in a photo. Some moments can be shared just amongst yourself, the animals you connect with in the forest, and the loved ones you find yourself with.
I think the Kingfisher in Port Hope was trying to tell me this. It wasn’t taunting me for not having my camera, it was trying to teach me that I didn’t need my camera. It wasn’t until I finally took the time not just to hear the woodcocks, but to truly listen to them, that I learned this lesson.
…I’d still love to get a photo of one though!
