Pileated Woodpeckers possess great power. You can hear it in their wingbeats, their bills striking wood. It resides in their wild laughter and pugnacious nature, which animate the forest and our imaginations.
Humans have been fascinated by woodpeckers for thousands of years.
"…the woodpecker of the wild American woods was as potent a symbol of the forest primeval as Plutarch's Black Woodpecker nearly 2,000 years earlier, which he declared as savage as the wolf. To those lamenting the closing of the frontier, the Pileated Woodpecker was a bird from the heroic past, black and strong, with a big voice and a temper; his eyes flash, and his blows echo and cause ruin where they fall. He suggests an older age than this of steam sawmills and wasting forests." Rick Wright
"European settlers called the bird logcock in an attempt to render it a harmless fowl of the forest. But, you cannot diminish the power of such a bird so easily. This name changed over time as forests were cleared and lord god bird was applied to Pileated and Ivory-billed woodpeckers. The most telling nickname of all came from an expression of awe, an exclamation uttered by those who suddenly caught sight of an arrow-like form ripping through the highest leaves … At such moments, sometimes all a dumbstruck witness could say was, ‘Lord God, what a bird!’" Phillip Hoose
Native Americans lived more closely with the great woodpecker, had a more profound and intuitive sense of its inherent qualities, and sought to emulate the bird. They adorned themselves with red crests. A small selection of indigenous names for the great black woodpecker includes May-may, memo, wa-shine-ga pa, and thedè-dill.
Native Americans had ceremonial uses for Ivory-billed and Pileated Woodpeckers. They were traded across great distances. They invoked avian powers by adorning themselves in their feathers and mummified heads. The Pileated Woodpecker adorned peace pipes, where its bill was turned backward and laid over the head, holding the crest down. This symbolized restraint and the desire for peaceful conversation.
We think of the pileated as a big woodpecker, but they are small compared to Imperial and Ivory-billed woodpeckers. Those two species are extinct; they fell victim to our greed, hunger, and short-sightedness. Can you imagine seeing an Imperial Woodpecker flying by? They were as big as a Raven and had a jaunty, recurved crest.
Victor Emanuel, the famous bird guide, John Rowlet, and George Plimpton searched for Imperial Woodpeckers in the 1970s. They visited a high mountain community in Mexico surrounded by pine forests and spoke with the locals about the regal woodpecker. They told him "the birds used to be abundant, but that they flee, they are flee-ers." Over the next week, they were led on a series of wild pitoreal (royal woodpecker) chases, but they never saw the Imperial Woodpecker. The story of that trip is beautifully rendered by George Plimpton in his story "Un Gran Pedazo de Carne" or "A Great Piece of Meat."
Alexander Wilson was an early ornithologist who followed the day's custom and shot birds to study them. He winged an Ivory-billed Woodpecker near Wilmington, North Carolina, and took it back to his hotel room. He rode his horse into town with the woodpecker crying like a bereft child. Women in the streets were mortified.
He left the injured woodpecker in his room and set out to find food for him. When he returned, the woodpecker had hammered a hole through the wall and was close to escaping. Alexander describes what he did next.
"I now tied a string around his leg and fastened it to the table again. I left him… In search of suitable food for him. As I re-ascended the stairs, I heard him again, hard at work, and on entering, had the mortification to perceive that he had almost entirely ruined the mahogany table, to which he was fastened, and on which he had reaked his whole vengeance. While, engaged in making a drawing, he cut me severely in several places, and, on the whole, he displayed such a noble and unconquerable spirit, that I was frequently tempted to restore him to his native woods. He lived with me nearly 3 days, but refused all sustenance, and I witnessed his death with regret."
I usually see Pileated Woodpeckers off in the distance, but I recently had a close encounter. I saw a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers perched on opposite sides of an oak tree trunk. They were 150 yards away. I watched them circling the trunk about 4 feet off of the ground. They flew toward me and landed on a black walnut 50 yards away. This was unusual, as they are normally quite wary. They took flight again and perched on a black walnut tree 20 yards away.
At this point, I realized they were completely preoccupied with each other. For the next 10 minutes, I observed the two animated birds sparring as they circled the trunk. Somehow, they mirrored each other's posture, even when out of sight.
Once or twice every go-round, the adult and juvenile male woodpeckers would rapidly rub their bills together. This happened so quickly that it was hard to see. They were completely engrossed with each other. I took 2 to 3 slow steps toward them, paused, and observed. They did not pay attention to me and let me get within 15 yards.
Pileated woodpeckers are aloof, secretive, and conspicuous at the same time. I am grateful that they have adapted to us and can persist in our presence. They connect us with their larger, wild relatives that have gone extinct.
We could learn from the pileated woodpecker. How can we embrace wildness in ourselves and fit into a sustainable human culture? Where are the rituals that guide this transformation? What does being a powerful and responsible citizen of the more-than-human world look like?
It is common for people to talk about spark birds, which refers to birds that spark our curiosity. We should be asking who our totem birds are. The birds we admire, the birds that possess great spiritual significance, that we seek to embody.
I dreamed that I showed up dressed as a red-headed woodpecker at one of our Grand Prairie Bird Alliance walks. I wore a black and white suit with a flaming red hood. No one took notice. More birds pulled up in their cars. Soon, I was standing between eagle and loon.
We started our bird walk with a bow, sweeping the ground with our wings, raising our bills to the sky, and filling the air with our wild laughter. We were birders embodying birds. We set out merry and bright.
I took this dream as a sign that I should look for tangible ways to connect to my place, to become more indigenous and of the place. Less virtual and unreal. We are lost in a mental maze, hemmed in by social media and brutal capitalism. Both forces that overwhelm us. The woodpeckers know how to get out. Hammer your way through the walls and fly toward the light. There will be damage, things will be broken. In a good way. Some things need to be broken, torn to shreds by an ivory bill.
We need a version of the ivory-bill. A tangible connection to wildness that also connects us with our own inner nature.
Native Americans have shown us what it's like to embody a bird. How small our modern connection seems in comparison. We focus on naming, listing, and photographing but rarely being with them, emulating them, and appreciating their unique essence. This embodiment and intimacy with a bird is where the treasure lies.
On the day the poppies
Burst their tight green fists,
And the geum and the geranium
Bloomed all bloody red
And ruby, so the pileated
Woodpecker returned
He ricocheted off the pine trunk,
Then picking among the yellow bugs
Sped quickly to the pea vines.
Fat-breasted, he drilled his name,
Let it drip and trill around the forest,
Down his throat.
Landlord of the mountain,
Mafioso in a tweed vest,
Red-crested whale of the sky,
He announced the summer solstice.
We ran to the window knowing
At last snow would melt on the Bitteroots
To flood our fields, knowing
It was time for aurora borealis,
Heaven's beast, her tentacles
Flicking like jellyfish
On the shortest
Night of the year.
We did the dance of the woodpecker
The fat flicker, the pagan priest,
When clover bloomed, salsify
And wild roses, and we knew
That winter was over, we did the dance of the smart, hard-headed,
Flash creatures of the world.
After all, in summer when blood
Is thick and dark as the flicker's crest,
When we might all fatten on berries
And weeds alone, isn't there room
For each of us, even the greedy ones?
After all, have you never wanted
To drive at top speed,
To slam into a tree or dive
For a ledge or catch fire
Or slit your writs
And let the fluids geyser?
Not suicide, but its burning,
Not rage directed at humankind - no,
The heart remains a sweet berry and ripe.
Bur red drives the stickleback
Wild, red small spots among the green,
Among the brown rocks.
And so on the long day of the summer solstice
When the world spins
Silly with light, we do
The dance of the woodpecker,
Twirling our skirts
And mustaches, tapping
Our resonant branches,
Our underwear flashing white,
As we shake the irregular flags
Of our body into
Undulant, raw flight.
“Woodpecker” by Sandra Alcosser
Bill, your pileated photographs are scenes taken from a bird lover’s dream.
We gush over, go back and look a third and fourth time, zoom in for more detail. We are envious and in awe. Mostly we are honored and thrilled that you, a kindred spirit of watchers, was there to share it with us.
So sad about the specimen bird that died. It tried so hard to escape but he was determined that that would not happen. Sigh…. And exquisite photos. We have nothing like that in Australia. A fascinating story. Thanks so much.