Our Peckerheads

There is no bird quite like the woodpecker. Its clownish actions, odd call, rapid hollow-limb drumming, hole drilling, and garish coloring make it unique. We have three species of woodpecker around here: pileated, red-bellied, and downy. Unless you consulted a bird field guide, it’s easy to get confused about the names of these birds. Just those species with red in their names can be perplexing: red-headed, red-naped, red-bellied, and red-cockaded.

The pileated woodpecker is the biggest of them all—up to a foot and a half long. It is the joker of the pack; the Woody Woodpecker cartoon is a caricature of the pileated. It has a laugh that spreads throughout the woods—making it sound derisive and superior. It’s a beautiful bird; seizing your attention when it flies, white wing patches flashing. The male and female look identical. The male delights in finding hollow limbs and filling the woods with his loud drumming—in the style of a gorilla defiantly pounding his chest.

I’ve watched two pileated woodpeckers chase each other around a tree trunk—feet clinging to the bark, feinting and dodging, trying to intimidate each other… sort of playing chicken, until one gives up and flies away. I once watched two hawks attack a pileated woodpecker, tearing loose a few feathers, and then fly off when they spotted me.

The middle-size resident woodpecker is the red-bellied; about half the size of the pileated. In my mind, this one ought to be named red-headed, but maybe that name had already been assigned—to one whose entire head is crimson, not just a red patch on top. The red-bellied loves our feeder. His eating habit is fascinating to watch: he grabs a sunflower seed, jams it in a crack in the feeder, bangs it hard a couple of times, and fishes the nut out with his long tongue. He also loves our cherry and mulberry trees and chastises me when I come to pick his fruit.

All woodpeckers—other than the pileated—have what is called an undulating flight. They noisily and fiercely pump their wings a few times and then coast for an equal period. This undulation saves flight energy and prevents lactose from building up in their muscles, when they momentarily relax their wings.

Last and least of our woodpeckers is the downy—it’s only the size of a bluebird. It has the tiniest red spot (only the male) on the back of its head. It’s a black-and-white checkerboard bird. The downy also loves the feeder, but grabs a seed and flies to a nearby tree, where he jams the seed in a crack in the bark and hammers away. I’ve watched one use the same crack for a dozen consecutive seeds.

A pileated woodpecker may look clownish, but I’d not want to have any part of my anatomy fall under the aim of that big bill. I’ve seen one excavate a four-inch hole in a dead tree trunk, in less than a minute. How can they do this without brain damage? They have a fluid sack surrounding their brain, which absorbs the shock of their blows. Otherwise they’d soon slide into the mental state of punch-drunk boxer.