Melodious Drummer

I was sitting in the outdoor tub, enveloped by the quiet night, waiting to listen to the next interesting sound that sauntered my way. Dusk was descending. I was not able to see much detail anymore, but still able to hear numerous aural particulars. I was drifting along with the flow of mundane events.

A sound came to me: the drumming of a woodpecker. But this one was no pedestrian drummer. He was a virtuoso. A woodpecker’s usual drumming sound is loud and repetitive—emanating from a hollow tree branch that he has claimed as his very own. It rings out through the forest, as if the bird has proudly discovered a wonderful new drum to beat on; sending his exuberant message to all, but especially to any receptive female woodpeckers who may be within hearing distance.

Woodpeckers come in several flavors around here: downy, hairy, red-bellied, and pileated—from small to large. In addition to being garish drummers, they are also garish in their appearance. They flaunt their contrasting black and white apparel, like a teenage boy dressed up for the prom. Their woodpecker tuxedo is often set off with a brilliant red patch on either their head or shoulders.

A woodpecker’s bill is long and chisel-shaped; it is backed by strong neck muscles, that allow them to bash into tree bark, seeking hidden bugs beneath. To keep them from becoming addled by brain damage as they bang away, their brain is encased in a fluid shock absorber.

Their vocal calls are of three types: expressing alarm, attracting a mate, or declaring territory. Their drumming calls are primarily for similar communication—either to attract a mate or to proclaim their domain. When they excavate for bugs, they slowly, much more quietly and erratically bang away on a tree branch; but when mate-seeking drumming, their rate is far more rapid—sounding like a toy machine gun.

It’s not easy to discern which species is drumming, when I listen to them—but the big pileated woodpecker sounds big, while the little downy raps much more demurely. Although I couldn’t see the drummer on this night, I was guessing that he was a medium sized hairy woodpecker.

The usual woodpecker drumming sound is a loud rapping of 10-15 beats, way off in the woods, where the bird has found himself an echoey, hollow branch. That beat will get repeated, with the same resonant tapping, every minute or so. You can admire him as you listen, proudly announcing that he’s found himself a great percussion instrument to rap on and show off his skills.

The drumming of this guy, however, was not always repeated the same way. Although his rapping rate was quite constant, he’d bash away just once or twice, and then he’d fall silent for a bit. When he started up again, the tone of his drumming would quite different… not at all repetitive. He’d tap for a few times on what sounded like a hard spot on the limb. Then he’d switch to a dry-sounding spot, sort of like a dead wood area. Then he’d drum with a hollow, resonant sound that rang out, almost bell-like. I listened to him moving back and forth between these three locations, as if he was seeking the best sound to woo the ladies with.

I pictured in my mind a jazz drummer or an orchestral percussionist—tapping on one surface after another, making fascinating, melodic sounds, seeking just the right tonal quality. It was as if this bird was experimenting—exploring for the location that pleased him (or her) the most. I enjoyed his musical concert. I liked the variation in sounds, although I suspected that the hollow-limb sound traveled farther in the woods, and thus was more likely to reach a listening lady woodpecker. I wondered if she was enjoying the concert as much as I was, picking up on the different intonations. Maybe she was just a tone-deaf lady woodpecker, but still receptive enough to respond to his artistic drumming.

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.