The Call That Wouldn’t Stop
For the past two weeks, there has been a bird in the garden that I could not ignore.
It stayed just out of reach, moving from tree to tree, disappearing the moment it landed. But the sound... A loud, piercing, rapidly repeated series of notes: 'kuein-kuein-kuein-kuein'.
Over and over again. From morning till evening.
At first, I’ll admit, it was curious, but when he started doing it, day after day after day, I started to get a bit annoyed by it. It's the kind of call that cuts through everything else. Insistent and almost mechanical in its repetition.
I spent days trying to catch a glimpse of the bird itself, but every time I got close, it vanished into bark and branches as if it had dissolved into the tree itself. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, swallowed up by the tree (or so it seemed).
But this morning, I finally managed to get a photograph! It won't win any nature-photography competition, but it is good enough to identify the species. And with that, the whole thing changed.
Jynx torquilla, the Eurasian wryneck.
Once you know what you’re listening to, the sound changes. Not physically, of course. The call is exactly the same, but the irritation disappears. Because now it’s no longer just noise but it’s a message.
This is most likely a male, calling from what he believes is a good nesting site, advertising his presence and waiting for a female to answer. He has been doing it for two weeks now, repeating the same call over and over again, into what, so far, seems to be just silence.
There is something a bit melancholic about that and I feel for him. All that effort, all that sound, and no response...
The Invisible Woodpecker
The wryneck is a strange bird in many ways.
He belongs to the woodpecker family, but if you expect drumming on tree trunks or the sharp tapping of a beak on wood, you’ll be disappointed.
Jynx torquilla doesn’t drill into trees and he doesn’t carve out its own nest cavities. Instead, he relies on holes that already exist, like old woodpecker nests, cracks in trees, or other natural cavities.
Its main food isn’t hidden in wood either. He likes to eat ants. Lots and lots of them. With a long, sticky tongue, he probes into ant nests and pulls them out one by one. A very different lifestyle from its more famous relatives.
The reason I kept losing sight of it becomes obvious once you get a proper look (pictures below are from Wikimedia Commons).
The plumage is almost entirely made up of fine, intricate patterns in shades of brown, grey, and buff. It looks less like feathers and more like bark.
When the bird freezes against a branch, it becomes incredibly difficult to see. It doesn’t rely on flight to escape detection. It relies on not being seen at all.
The Name
The name 'wryneck' comes from one of its more unusual behaviors.
When threatened, it can twist its head in a slow, snake-like motion, often accompanied by a soft hissing sound, which, I imagine is quite an unsettling display for a potential predator, especially if he didn’t expect it. A bird pretending, just for a moment, to be something else.
A Rare Visitor
I have only seen this species once before, last autumn, also here in the garden. Apart from that, it’s a bird that easily goes unnoticed. Not because it is extremely rare everywhere, but because it is so good at staying hidden.
Unless it calls of course. When it calls, it makes sure you hear it.
It’s funny how quickly perception shifts. Two days ago, this was starting to become an annoying, repetitive noise somewhere in the trees. But now, I hear it as a bird, calling longingly and persistently, trying to attract a mate that may or may not ever arrive.
The same sound, but a completely different experience.
As I’m sitting outside, writing this, I still hear the call. There is still time. Spring has only just started.
'kuein-kuein-kuein…'
Steady. Uninterrupted.
He’s still advertising the same spot. Still convinced it’s worth defending. Still waiting.
Maybe tomorrow there will be an answer.
