On the last day of January, I remembered a mental note I made on the first day of January. It was a resolution of sorts, seemingly simple but bound to take time: find a pileated woodpecker’s nesting cavity.
So there I was in the woods of mid-winter, a mild day in early February. The temperature hovered at melting point as sunshine took aim through bare trees on the settling snow covering—not by much—the leaves.
Bare ground was still in hiding, but it was making its bid in all the usual places—on the south side of tree trunks, under evergreens, in wind-swept fields, and where deer had worn paths. A lone crow flew over the woods and landed in the field, where corn stubble poked through the thin white cover, like pegs on a cribbage board.
The crow’s flight cued me back to the pileated pursuit at hand. I have watched pileated woodpeckers in this woodlot while gathering firewood and hunting. I have marveled at the large bird’s deep vertical excavations in dead trees where carpenter ants intended to ride out the winter sheltered. From my tree stand, I once heard a pileated’s wings whooshing as it passed eye-opening close in undulating flight on a two-foot span.
On this day, I would see no pileated woodpeckers nor large holes that would be nesting candidates. What I did see were two downy woodpeckers chasing each other up and down and across tree trunks and branches. They would spar, wings flailing, then pause to stare at each other, only to pick up the silent skirmish once again, sometimes only a few yards above me. They paid no mind to me.
At first, I thought it was an early mating ritual. But as they came closer and lower in the tree, I could see they were both females (no red head patch). It was a mystery, this aggressive behavior by the downies, until I researched the nesting habits of these small woodpeckers I so often watch at the suet feeder.
Downy woodpeckers claim suitable nesting cavities in February and March, their quest for the best territory often pitting males against males, and females against females. And, it’s the females who have final say on the nesting site, explaining their intensity I was witnessing.
Female downies are said to feed, and thus spar for nesting rights, in branches lower than the males. Sure enough, as I watched the females not far above me, a male downy was pecking at bark higher in the next tree, seemingly oblivious to the females carrying on below.
I watched this territorial quarrel for several minutes, long enough to burn my neck muscles as I pointed the camera upward. The two birds would circle the trunk like young squirrels, at times flapping and fanning their wings in combative postures. At one point the fight took flight, the birds coming within inches of my head as they swooped downward, somewhat out of control. So it seemed.
The mild winter’s day indeed had the feel of a new nesting season. I had not heard or seen the largest of woodpeckers—the mustached pileated. But I had observed the smallest of woodpeckers—the six-inch downies—carrying on, preparing to move on to their next calling.
Note: My book, “Soul of the Outdoors,” is available through me, at bookstores, and from online sellers. For a personally-signed book, email davegreschner@icloud.com or text or call me at 715-651-1638. The book is available at bookstores in Rice Lake (Old Bookshop), Eau Claire (Dotters), Menomonie (Dragon Tail), Hudson (Chapter2Books), Spooner (Northwinds), Three Lakes (Mind Chimes), and Bayfield (Honest Dog), and in Duluth, Minn., at The Bookstore at Fitger’s.
