The Pileated Woodpecker Feeds on Berries
The Pileated Woodpecker Feeds on Berries
It was the 19th of September, 1927. The day was drawing to a close, and already long shadows were reaching out into the valley from the great south wall when we passed Camp Curry. Suddenly the quiet of late afternoon was broken by the loudly shouted, high-pitched notes of the Pileated Woodpecker (Phloeotomua pileatus picinus). For years a lonely Pileated has roamed the Yosemite Valley and his startling notes have thrilled us time and again. Sometimes we look up to see him winging his steady way up or down the valley. Sometimes we have found him whacking off great chunks of bark in search of food. Today we had a new experience when we saw this great woodpecker, a bird as large as a crow, behaving like a chickadee. We were surprised, too, to learn that he had a taste for fruit.
Beside the road, with branches overhanging it, stands a group of mountain dogwoods (Cornus nuttalli). These trees bore this year a heavy crop of fruit. At the end of each flower stalk was a bunched cluster of ripe berries. The Pileated Woodpecker was here today to collect his toll of fruit. The fruit being at the ends of slender branches we thoueht the heavv-bodied bird would be out of luck. How could the big fellow reach the fruit? He was apparently not just sure himself. At first he tried walking out the heavier branches; but always as he approached the tip-ends they bent under his weight and threw the berries beyond reach. By working out on a cedar branch that intermingled with the dogwood branches he did manage to get a taste of fruit, just enough to tease his appetite. He was not to be cheated, however; for his next move was to flutter clumsily up to a branch containing berries, clutch the branch firmly with his strong feet, and then drop to swing like a great pendulum. He now had the system. Swinging head down he would pick the berries one by one, loosen his hold, swing into flight and then repeat the performance on another branch.
All this took place at the side of a much traveled road, with automobiles passing every few minutes. Occasionally he took to flight when a machine passed, but most often he held his ground. Twice a car passed directly below him while he hung to out-reaching branches.
Charles W. Michael
Yosemite, California, November 6, 1927
