The Upper Meadow slopes from a row of young pines down toward the cattails at the edge of our pond. An overgrown field dotted with pines, birches, apple trees and alder clumps, the Upper Meadow attracts all of the usual and many of the unusual suspects of New Hampshire wildlife.

Deer and moose follow my trails through the goldenrod and meadowsweet, while snowshoe hare traipse along their lower-level network through the brambles and brush that protect them from hawks and coyotes. In the winter, a weasel or a fisher may drop in, meandering in and out of the thickets and hedges in search of a mouse or a vole.

In the spring, toads and tree frogs approach the pond, their trilling a bit louder and more concentrated for several days until they finally reach the water for a day or two of wild partying. In late June, spring peepers and lightning bugs stage their sound and light show, tiny fireworks sparkling over the meadow accompanied by the continuous chorus of the frogs.

For most visitors, the Upper Meadow offers a pleasant place to spend a few minutes, whether looking for tracks in the snow or spotting dragon flies hunting along the trails. However, for those in the know, the Upper Meadow demands a visit in early spring when the woodcock return.

Our neighbors were definitely in the know. Immediately after introducing themselves on the day we moved in, they interrogated us concerning our intentions for the field. Satisfying themselves that we liked the goldenrod and the asters and were not about to subdivide or construct any monstrous outbuildings, they confessed they had feared we would interfere with the woodcock mating ritual. This comment sounded rather bizarre to a pair of urban dwellers, but we simply assumed (not incorrectly) that we had fallen in among some eccentric nature lovers. Still among the uninitiated, we didn’t comprehend the allure of the woodcock.

The following spring, during maple-sugaring season, tiny pine trees finally emerged from the melting snow, and flattened openings appeared here and there across the meadow. Unbeknownst to us, this battered, drab, damp landscape represented romance­a veritable Waikiki Beach­to the lonely woodcock.

One evening, just at dusk, our neighbors stopped by, all excited.

“Have you heard the woodcock?”

“No,” I answered, betraying my total ignorance by adding “What do they sound like?”

“What! You’ve never heard them? You must come out right now!”

So we did. And we heard the calls: “Peeent... Peeent...Peeent.” The woodcock males, possibly deranged by their long migration, apparently thought this monotonous, atonal, unmistakable call-far closer to a door buzzer than to Frank Sinatra-would somehow entrance the loveliest and most feminine of their species.

But perhaps this call really was like a doorbell, while the romantic appeal was in the woodcock’s bursting out of the clearing, flying out low over the tree line, then circling ever higher over the meadow, emitting a mysterious and plausibly romantic whinny, audible as it circled and eventually fluttered back to the initial clearing.

The hopeful male repeated this intriguing display again and again, for more than an hour. Finally we returned to the house, at last understanding our neighbors’ concerns about preserving the field we had eventually christened the Upper Meadow.

Since that first spring, we eagerly await the return of the woodcock. The mating ritual begins as soon as there is some bare ground in late March or early April, and it may continue into May.

It is easy to observe the display; if you stand motionless, you don’t disrupt the romance. Since the males tend to flutter back to almost the same spot, you can move up to a bush or young pine and get within 20 feet of the bird, close enough to hear the soft “coos” between his “peeents,” and close enough to see him turn, walk a step or two, and send his plaintive call out in a different direction.

I have often observed the display, usually staying until it is too dark to see anything. I have counted the “peents,” sometimes fewer than 10 and sometimes more than 40 before the male takes off. In late summer, I have also seen many a happy family of woodcocks, so I know some sort of mating eventually does occur. However, I remain puzzled by the effort the allegedly lovelorn males expend in these elaborate, endlessly repeated displays. While wildlife biologists assure me that well-hidden female woodcock observe the ritual, presumably with great interest, I have only ever seen the males.
While the charade may continue past midnight, no guests ever show up, the party never starts, and-in my experience-they never get their girl.

By Carl D. Martland, Coverts Cooperator