October, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
575 
country and are then often found in unreas¬ 
onable places—even on the pine needles of 
some pine thicket—for now is the season of 
moult and old Timber doodle is really not 
himself. By September they are back again 
in the dense thickets of wooded uplands 
and live, up to the time of migration, a life 
of wormy opulence and comfort. And then 
silently at night, spurred on by the first Oc¬ 
tober frosts, they drift southward to softer 
boring territory. 
The coming together in September of 
the birds which have been mysteriously 
hidden away, no one knows where, is often 
loosely spoken of as “the first flight”—in 
other words, is regarded as the beginning 
of the southward migration. It is, how¬ 
ever, says Dr. Grinnell, nothing more than 
a collecting in favorite food localities of 
the home-bred birds—those which have 
spent the summer, or been reared, in the 
neighborhood. 
The first true migratory movement of 
the woodcock usually follows a sharp frost 
early in October. The birds are not gre¬ 
garious, and for the most part qiove sin¬ 
gly; though two, three and even four have 
been seen flying together, and sometimes 
six or eight may be started in quick suc¬ 
cession from a single small piece of cover. 
The migration is performed during the 
night, though in dull, cloudy weather there 
is some movement in the daytime. Their 
flight is low over the fields. This low 
flight is swift, and the birds are often 
Their migratory flights are usually at 
killed by flying against telegraph wires, 
and sometimes dash themselves against 
buildings. 
In New York and New Jersey the wood¬ 
cock may almost be considered as resident, 
for in mild winters a few birds are to be 
found late in December and early in Feb¬ 
ruary. The bird does not seem especially 
to dread the cold, but the freezing up of 
the ground cuts off the supply of food, 
and so obliges it to move southward. Often, 
however, in the coldest weather, an old fat 
bird may be found about some warm spring 
hole, where the ground never freezes; and 
here, if undisturbed, it may remain all 
through the winter. 
D URING the flight period the gunner if 
fortunate to be on the ground enjoys 
the perfection of upland shooting. 
At times this may cover a period of several 
days, the female, which is the larger, going 
first, followed by the little male bird. On a 
nippy October morning this male bird shoot¬ 
ing will test the skill of the best of men; 
for the usual wabbly uncertain flight is here 
lacking and this brown long billed traveler 
jumps with a twisting, darting flight to the 
alder tops and is gone. At such times they 
often make long flights and are not readily 
found the second time. I have watched 
them swiftly winging their way as far as the 
eye could see them. What uncanny instinct 
it is that aids them in the selection of a 
stopping place, I never could tell. Acres 
night and as the shades of evening fall 
of cover—all apparently the same as to 
growth and ground plan—will only hold 
woodcock in perhaps one particular corner a 
few yards square. One fall I killed on five 
successive mornings a woodcock each morn¬ 
ing within ten feet of a “No Trespass” sign 
—and never found another in the locality! 
I know some woodcock covers in New Eng¬ 
land that make a circuit of perhaps five 
miles. During the flight a good man will 
pick up eighteen or twenty birds on this 
round, but one not knowing the covers 
might not find a bird. The greatest flight 
of these birds I ever saw was some twenty 
years ago. An old friend and myself were 
ending a very satisfactory day among the 
woodcock covers of Connecticut. We were 
driving slowly along the road bordering a 
pond. The day was so nearly at an end 
that only against the sky could we see a 
bird, a big woodcock flapping along against 
the sky, and his sudden pitching to light 
toward the edge of the pond first attracted 
our attention. It was too dark to shoot, yet 
the temptation was great to try as bird after 
bird crossed the road showing far an in¬ 
stant against the sky as it pitched to cover. 
We got out and walked about a bit,wood¬ 
cock constantly rising under our feet. They 
were there by the score and you can im¬ 
agine our feeling as we grudgingly left 
them behind for the night; needless to say, 
early the following morning we were on the 
ground, but the travelers were then on their 
way—nothing but the chalk sign which cov¬ 
ered the ground left behind. I believe we 
they may be seen flitting about the covert 
