The Black Woodpecker
Whilst walking in our local cemetery, I came across a black woodpecker’s nest. Its head was poking out, as if on lookout.
The nest itself was a deep hole inside a large, older beech tree — I think. The entrance hole stood roughly sixteen feet, maybe higher, off the ground.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a black woodpecker, and luckily I had my camera. In my excitement, I crept closer and closer — all I cared about was trying to get a good photograph to post online.
I neglected to think about the bird itself, and the fact it was spring — possibly sitting on a clutch of eggs or with its young. As I moved closer, I must have tripped or shifted in a way that disturbed the woodpecker away from its nest. As it flew off, I heard the sound of chicks calling from the hollow.
As I watched the woodpecker disappear, it occurred to me what I had possibly done. A wave of guilt washed over me. In the pursuit of a photograph, I had disturbed a nesting bird — with the very real possibility of the chicks being abandoned.
I waited awhile, hanging back, anticipating the woodpecker’s return, but nothing. That evening, I sat at my computer and researched black woodpeckers to see if I could find any information about their habits that would put my mind at rest. I found out a little about their nesting behaviour and that the species is well distributed throughout Scandinavia.
I also discovered that in the past a black woodpecker could be a sign of bad luck and impending doom.
The next day I went back early to try and catch a glimpse, but nothing. I decided I would go back every day for a week. Each morning I cycled to the cemetery and waited from a distance to see if the woodpecker returned to feed its young.
As I started to lose hope, I reflected on the whole experience. Although slightly obsessive and neurotic, searching for the woodpecker had made me more aware of the act of looking and the role of distance — whether that is the distance between the wild and the civilized, or between a physical and online reality, where images are flattened and commodified.
Bird photography is a lot like hunting or collecting — a taxonomy (see Carl Linnaeus) not only to make sense of the world but to measure it, whether for personal achievement or scientific research. There is no right or wrong here; in fact, birdwatching and bird photography are moments of recording and image capture that create archival data.
The whole experience made me realise how little I know about my environment. As I leave my computer screen and go outside to photograph new birds — and, in turn, meet new people — I start to respect my surroundings more. And I think that is the point.
It’s not about who sees the first or rarest bird, or who gets the best image. It’s about gaining understanding and respect for nature, which is changing and disappearing rapidly.
Speaking of which — as I stand navel-gazing, thinking about how I can squeeze all this into a Facebook post, I see a flash of black. A wave of relief… it’s back!
Notes & Sources
- Species: Black Woodpecker (Dryocopus martius), widely distributed across Northern Europe and Scandinavia.
- Behaviour: Excavates large nest holes in mature beech, pine, or spruce trees; typically raises 3–5 chicks per brood.
- Reference: Observational notes from Umeå, northern Sweden, spring 2025.