One More Woodpecker in Prescott

Nothing reminds me that I've arrived in Prescott more than the piercing squawks of acorn woodpeckers. A month ago I noticed another of their vocalizations - scratchy wheezes - ensuing from high in a ponderosa pine tree in my front yard. But there were no birds in sight, only holes drilled in the trunk, the emanating sounds a sure sign that a nest was inside.

Shortly after I started paying attention, the woodpeckers frantically chased away a squirrel that was investigating that section of the tree. One day I even caught a shot of a small woodpecker face hidden in the shadows behind the opening. Finally, ten days ago, I spotted the juvenile - judging from the wide span of its red cap, it was a male - poking its head curiously outside the hole. It was official: I had a new neighbor.

Acorns aren't the only woodpeckers in my Prescott neighborhood. Ladder-backed are common, as are hairy. In addition, northern flickers are resident. But these large birds are so much bigger than the other three woodpecker species that I often don't think of them as even part of the local woodpecker family. The flickers look quite different also, colored mostly in hues of beige versus black and white. What more, they are not regular imbibers of the suet that I leave out for all the forest birds in my yard. When the flickers do grab a snack, they are much more furtive in their visits, easily spooked off when I merely peer at them let alone try to take a photograph.

As a result, I consider the acorn, hairy, and ladder-backed to be the three woodpeckers that share the little corner of the great outdoors that nestles my Prescott home. However, I have spotted red-naped sapsuckers in my yard, too. It was in October and November, when I'm hardly ever in the area, so it's possible that the woodpecker population changes as winter approaches.

Two years ago, I enjoyed photographing a juvenile male acorn woodpecker visiting my deck's suet feeder. Over the course of a few weeks in July, right about this time of year, I watched him stop by with an adult female and beg for food from her. He eventually started snatching some himself, even arriving alone to nibble. I observed his orange crown feathers redden and his dark eyes whiten as he matured into an adult. While I know I wasn't coming close to parenting, for a short while I felt lucky to be ever so slightly involved in, or at least humbly watching, a wild animal's upbringing.

I checked the hole in my front yard's pine tree a couple of times last week, and didn't hear any wheezes or see any tenants. Adults haven't been congregating on the surrounding tree branches either. And no immature acorn woodpeckers have stopped at my feeder so far this summer.

Meanwhile quite a few ladder-backed are frequenting the site; a devoted pair of males are making stops, along with a lone female who pays visits separately. A female hairy is a regular caller too. Both of these species like to peep their presence, the speed of their vocal metronome seemingly reflecting their anxiety. Of course, garrulous adult acorns swoop in when not gathering in small groups atop the highest trees. I wonder if this year's juvenile male is among them, strong enough to fly but not yet so brave, or more likely hungry, to be my guest.