A Life-Altering Glimpse of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker

A stately bird passes by, but its impact remains

By Melanie Driscoll

I was sitting in a folding chair on a muddy spit of vegetation in the middle of the swamp. I had put chunks of dead wood under the chair legs to help spread the weight over a larger area and slow the sinking-- sort of like snowshoes for a folding chair. My camera lay ready on my pack in the mud next to me, my binoculars were around my neck. I was ready for a long, quiet wait alone in a swamp, for the sight of a bird I was certain I would not see, that most people thought no longer existed. Even if the ghost flew by, the likelihood that I would see it in time to identify it seemed minuscule.

To stay alert and focused, I swiveled my head slowly left to right and back, noting movements, counting and identifying birds. Otherwise, I tried to keep my entire body, and even my breath, as still and quiet as possible.

At a few minutes past 10:00, as I once again rotated my head slowly toward the east, I saw a large black-and-white bird fly from the tupelos to the north, about 100 meters from me. Even before I had raised my binoculars to my eyes, I gasped, "Oh my God, that's it."

Through 10x Swarovski binoculars I saw approximately three wingbeats. On each upstroke, I saw a flash of white out to the trailing edge of the wing. On each downstroke, I also saw the large patch of white out to the trailing edge of the near wing--unlike the black upper wing of the Pileated Woodpecker. I also saw a flash of red on the crest of a triangular head. The bird flew straight across the open area, with powerful wingbeats, flying about 4 to 5 meters above the water.

What mostly drew and held my eyes was white against the glossy black wings. I did not notice any details of the bill or the tail. Overall, the bird was larger than a Pileated Woodpecker and seemed to move in a more stately way, without the bouncing flight style. I also noticed the white running down the extended neck and crossing the body to merge with the white on the wings.

So I quickly began writing--every detail, every description. After describing what I saw in my field notes, I wrote, "I am shaking and feel like I could cry. Every pileated I have seen that I have watched carefully for any extra hint of white has felt like I was reaching, searching. This felt like the bird shouted its ID at me."

I also worried. Who am I to see an Ivory-billed Woodpecker? I don't have 5,000 birds on my life list. I haven't devoted my life and spent my savings searching for an ivory-bill. I'm not an expert on endangered woodpeckers.

I guessed it was too late to decide that I wasn't qualified to see an Ivory-billed Woodpecker. So I sat, trying to breathe again, trying to be calm. I traded my binoculars for my camera, mentally kicking myself. At that distance, in those few seconds, could I have gotten a photo? Had I actually done any good? We had visual documentation; what we really needed was photo documentation.

Melanie Driscoll saw an Ivory-billed Woodpecker fly past, a flash of red on its crest.

Photo by Mickey Scilingo

I sat for many hours, riding a storm of thoughts and emotions. Exalting in those few historical, life altering seconds. Dreading the grilling about my sighting I knew would come. Frustrated that I had not had my camera ready. Concerned that, without photo or video documentation, my career could go the way of other Elvis-sighters. Amazed, petrified, incredulous, blessed.

Exhausted. After a huge adrenaline rush and hours alone thinking, I felt drained. I imagined what might happen when Ron paddled back in the canoe to pick me up--maybe I'd yawn and mumble, "I saw the bird--can we go home now?" But I need not have worried. As soon as Ron's canoe rounded the bend, I began shaking all over again and feeling as if I would cry. Ron knew before he even reached me that something had happened.

In some way, the lives of those of us who have been touched briefly by the Ivory-billed Woodpecker will never be the same again.

Melanie Driscoll is a research biologist for the Lab of Ornithology's House Finch Disease Survey.

For permission to reprint all or part of this article, please contact Laura Erickson, editor, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 159 Sapsucker Woods Rd., Ithaca, NY, 14850. Phone: (607) 254-1114. email: lle24@cornell.edu