1 



THE NESTING WOODCOCK. 



Once during my boyhood days, while 

 I was busy in a clearing picking up 

 chunks, I met with a startling surprise. 

 One chunk, which looked for all the 

 world like the others, suddenly projected 

 itself through the air as if hurled upward 

 by some unseen hand. In another mo- 

 ment, however, I recognized the whir- 

 ring sound of a woodcock in flight, and 

 on looking at the spot from which the 

 bird had arisen, saw the nest, a shallow 

 depression containing four rather large 

 mottled, sharp-pointed eggs. 



It was a favorable place to observe 

 the bird on the nest. There were no 

 bushes to obscure the view from any 

 direction, no twigs to crack startlingly 

 beneath the tread, and few leaves to rustle. 

 So I carefully noted the location and re- 

 tired from the place. Afterward, on dif- 

 ferent occasions I would drift over to the 

 vicinity of the nest and busy myself with 

 picking chunks so as not to excite the 

 suspicion of the bird, and watch her 

 while I worked. Upon approaching the 

 place I would fix my eye on the spot 

 where I knew the nest to be located, and 

 would always see what at first sight ap- 

 peared to be a brown piece of half-de- 

 cayed wood. It was only after some mo- 

 ments of constant gazing that the object 

 took definite shape and the different fea- 

 tures, consisting of one watchful eye 

 and a few stripes of brown, became dis- 

 tinguishable. If, during the process of 

 watching the bird, I took my eyes away 

 for only a moment, a glance in its direc- 

 tion showed only an ordinary chunk, 

 which must once more be scrutinized into 

 definite form. 



There was always a sense of keen 

 pleasure in that process. In the first 

 place, there is the sensation of capturing 

 the elusive; for a clear, distinct picture 

 of the bird sitting on the nest is one of 

 the most tantalizingly fugitive things 

 imaginable. It is indeed this sensation of 



striving after the subtle and ever-escap- 

 ing impressions that is the joy and in- 

 spiration of every art. It has embodied 

 itself in the tale of Pan's mad chase after 

 Syrinx "men and gods, we are all delud- 

 ed thus," and the secret of the sweetness 

 of the melodies that lie just beyond the 

 edge of hearing. Then there is again 

 the sensation of a triumph over Nature 

 in discerning what she has so long and 

 effectively attempted to conceal. It is 

 winning a game of hide-and-seek against 

 a creature that is its own hiding-place. 

 It is like watching a miracle again and 

 again to see the bit of wood transfigured 

 into a bird, and it is to taste, without any 

 sense of shrinking or fear, the feeling of 

 wonder that Moses must have felt when 

 he saw his rod become a serpent. 



The position of the bird on the nest is 

 as interesting and significant as her color 

 markings are. There seems to be an in- 

 stinctive attempt on her part to blot her- 

 self out of sight by an assumption of the 

 most inconspicuous attitudes possible, and 

 yet to let nothing come within her range 

 of vision without being «een. The long 

 bill is hidden beneath the feathers ; the 

 head is cuddled down close and laid on 

 one side ; one alert sleepless eye seems to 

 be the center of the bird and the whole 

 horizon, and scans the different avenues 

 of approach. 



I made the experiment of working 

 around the bird in a small circle, watch- 

 ing her motions at the same time. By 

 a noiseless and almost imperceptible 

 movement of the head the eye followed 

 me throughout the complete circle of my 

 movements. There was no craning of the 

 neck, no painful twisting of the head 

 nor any sign of discomfort or uneasi- 

 ness, but by simply rocking the head over 

 to the other side and bringing the eye 

 that had been hidden into play her view 

 commanded the latter half of my circuit. 

 H. Walton Clark. 



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