At this very moment, thousands of neotropical migratory birds are flying north, and those that have already arrived are beginning their breeding season with vigor. The familiar robin and the little known American woodcock are two examples of early migrants busy in breeding behavior. Now is the perfect time to observe these two species.

Having arrived in mid-March, American robins waste no time in establishing a territory, and by the end of the month, singing has begun. By this time of year, some robins have started nest building. Their first nest is usually in an evergreen or some kind of early budding shrub such as a honeysuckle. This is a good time to observe a nest being built, since the leaves of other plants are not out yet, and robins are easy to see moving through the thickets.

I locate a nest by looking for a female with nesting material and watching where she takes it. I’m always successful with this method. A robin with mud on its feathers is most likely a female that’s in the process of building a nest; you can often follow her back to such a nest. Another method is to look for a robin that frequents the same part of the yard and see if it becomes nervous when you approach.

This time of year, I also go looking for the American woodcock, a peculiar little ground-dwelling bird that arrives early in March from the southern states. Last year, I organized a spring bird walk for a few enthusiastic friends, and we went out into a wet meadow to witness the woodcock’s courtship flight.

It was just before the fall of dusk, and we had worked our way quietly into a wet meadow to search for the woodcock. We could hear a few spring peepers off in the distance and detected the faint smell of thawing earth. Like kids, we were all caught up in the magic of the spring air. We could feel the excitement of knowing that soon it would be dark and enjoyed the pure mystical quality of the evening. Perhaps that’s why we eagerly ventured through the meadow, walking ever farther into the shadows instead of retreating.

We waited patiently as the light faded, and then we heard it. At first, it was soft and distant but then grew louder and more distinct. The group fell silent, ready for the show. At exactly 6:45, the bird flew in from some distant thicket. The entertainment was about to begin. An electric-sounding overture similar to the call of the nighthawk began to fill the advancing darkness.

We all recognized this call, so we watched the horizon for the woodcock’s abrupt ascent; at such times, the bird can be spotted and readily observed. We could see it spiraling higher and higher over the meadow before suddenly, after singing for a few brief moments above us, it fell in a flurry of ruffled feathers. It looked as if it had been shot, but just before impact it spread its wings and landed safely. We watched this again and again until the darkness was too black to see; the bird fell silent.

I plan to repeat the woodcock adventure sometime soon because in a few weeks their “skydance” will end, and the leaves will emerge, hiding the robins’ nests. So be sure to get out and enjoy the emerging vernal splendor.

Robert Tougias lives in Colchester. You can ask him questions at rtougias@snet.net.