Pileated and It Feels So Good!

Our latest birding adventure, featuring a reclusive woodpecker and the Bathroom of Desire.

Jun 19, 2023

Sara says, “This is a male Pileated Woodpecker. Males have red foreheads and mustaches, and females have black. They are 17" long, about the size of an American Crow. ‘Pileatus,’ Latin for ‘capped.’ He looks like a character from a Commedia dell’Arte play.” (All bird — and bathroom — photos by Sara.)

“We’re going to Heart’s Desire Beach to find a Pileated Woodpecker, and we’re getting up early!” my wife, Sara, said.

There was a lot going on in that sentence, and it got my heart racing. Sara had been telling me about this amazing bird (said to be the inspiration for the Woody Woodpecker cartoon character), which is quite rare in these parts. She really, really wanted to see one, and I wanted to see it with her. I also knew that the main impediment to us seeing this bird was … me. There’s that saying about the early bird getting the worm, but there should also be a saying about the early birder getting the bird (though not to eat, of course!). The problem is, I’m not a morning person. (What’s kind of curious is that as I’ve gotten older I’ve stopped being a late-night person as well — plus, I tend to want to nap in the afternoons. Which makes me an early-evening person, I guess.) I can get myself out of bed and relatively alert at 5 a.m. or so with a big, strong cup of black coffee. The main issue is … how do I put this? … my need to pre-poo before heading out into Nature. I have a phobia about number-two-ing in not-excellent bathrooms — like the kind one often encounters in state-park-type places, with a flimsy seat over a hole that leads to unspeakable horrors below. And then maybe there’s no toilet paper? Plus, when there’s only one of these johns in the vicinity, perhaps there will be other people waiting to use it — and don’t they understand that I need to get some reading done as well?

So the successful pre-poo is key. And on this morning, it just wasn’t happening. Not even after a dose of my beloved Metamucil.

So it was with a dangerously rumbly tummy that I piled into Sara’s car for the ride to Heart’s Desire Beach, which sounds like the setting for a romance novel that may possibly involve pirates. On top of my bathroom concerns, I was worried about my back: especially since I recently put on a lot of weight, I’ve been getting some pretty strong sciatic pain during car or plane rides that last longer than an hour or so. I briefly considered suggesting to Sara that she bring me back home and do the trip herself. But then it hit me: I really, really wanted to go with her to seek out a Pileated Woodpecker. And I didn’t want this to become the time in my life when I began letting minor (and, okay, possibly neurotic) concerns cause me to shy away from experiencing the wonders of the great outdoors — especially as I only recently started to experience those wonders. Don’t be a coward! I told myself, in a stern internal tone of voice. As we swung down the entrance ramp to the freeway, I prepared for whatever adventures the day might bring, bodily functions be damned.

After about an hour and a half, we arrived at Heart’s Desire Beach. To me, the first hopeful sign was, well, the sign. They’d gone to the trouble of putting the apostrophe in “Heart’s”! To a recovering copy editor like me, seeing proper punctuation out in the wild is my own heart’s desire.

And then — this is probably important, too — it was incredibly beautiful there! The air was glorious to breathe in. The water was sparkling. A few Double-crested Cormorants were clustered on a floating wooden platform — and I allowed myself a moment of smugness for being able to identify them.

As we approached the trailhead, we saw a park ranger, who was doing some brush-clearing. I immediately got a vibe from him that he was shy: he kind of kept his head down as we walked past him. But then he looked up and smiled and asked how we were doing. Sara excitedly told him that we were hoping to see a Pileated Woodpecker — and it immediately became clear that this ranger was a passionate bird-lover himself. “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “They’re amazing! I’ve heard of a few sightings around here.” Sara noted how there were so few people around. “I know!” he said. “That’s why I love this park so much!” He pointed out an Osprey nest at the top of a distant tree, then wished us well on our hike.

As we clambered up the small hill at the start of the trail, I prepared myself for the likelihood that we wouldn’t get to see the rare bird we were seeking. I told myself just to enjoy being out here with my sweetheart in these glorious woods, forest-bathing and awe-walking.

And then, just three minutes into our hike, there he was! As usual, Sara spotted him first.

Can you see his little eye and bright-red crest peeking out from behind the mossy stuff? I didn’t at first! Sara says, “I was taking a picture of a Brown Creeper, a bird that is notoriously hard to capture due to its camouflage. I looked above him, and there was the Pileated Woodpecker!”

Then he came out a bit more into the open.

He looked huge to me! And like something from back in the mists of time. That pointy, flaming-red noggin! That powerful beak! I was flooded by a feeling of pure elation. It was a peak life experience.

And then he flew away. The whole encounter might have lasted six seconds.

Sara and I stared at each other. We’d actually seen a Pileated Woodpecker! “I can’t believe it!” she said — and then kept repeating it, as we continued our hike.

A half-mile of dense foliage later, we emerged onto Indian Beach. A Great Blue Heron was stationed at the edge of a semi-distant pond.

Is it just me, or does this bird bear a slight resemblance to Mr. Burns of *The Simpsons?*

There was a bench near the shore, which reminded me that I like to sit down. We headed toward the bench — and that’s when we saw it: the most unexpectedly beautiful outdoor bathroom that either of us had ever encountered! Sara dubbed it the Bathroom of Desire.

If there’s any justice, this bathroom should one day be considered the Eighth Wonder of the World.

And here’s the weird thing: Against all odds, we had come across a magical outdoor bathroom, with no one else in sight — and I didn’t need to use it! It’s as if I was King Arthur and I had suddenly become utterly indifferent to holy grails.

So I just sat on the bench and munched on a bagel, while Sara went and took some more pictures.

When we got back to where we’d started at Heart’s Desire Beach, we wanted to tell that park ranger that we’d found the Pileated Woodpecker — but he’d gone. Fortunately, on the drive out we saw him doing some digging-type stuff with another ranger. Sara pulled over so we could tell him. He was excited for us!

Before going home, we made one more stop — at the Bear Valley Trail, where we saw some more cool birds doing cool bird things, including this very busy Pine Siskin gathering nesting materials:

Sara says, “I wish this were in focus! The hair is from the tails of horses on Bear Valley Trail and the Morgan Horse Ranch.”

When Sara later posted that photo on Facebook’s fabulous “Nor Cal Birding” forum, it was greeted with excitement. Turns out that it’s quite rare to see a Pine Siskin nesting in this region, so far south of its usual nesting haunts. So, along with our earlier sighting of that Pileated Woodpecker, once again we’d been quite fortunate!

We also saw an Acorn Woodpecker — Sara’s original “spark bird”:

We seemed to spark the curiosity of a Scrub-jay:

This male Western Bluebird, on the other hand/claw, regarded us with utter indifference:

As Sara started driving us away, she briefly pulled over to get a photo of one of her favorite birds, a California Quail:

Sara says, “California Quail dad. Look at his jouncing topknot! He is the cutest. He looks like he has a million dad jokes.”

I regarded this incredibly noble-looking animal, with his ramrod posture and heart-shaped topknot (does he use product?). He was diligently watching over his mate, who was searching for food below. Now that’s a husband, I thought. He probably never whines about his bathroom fears, or wavers when faced with a task. He just gets up on his fence post and does what needs to be done.

If I was the kind of person to fall into obsessive self-criticism, I might have taken those thoughts further. But instead, as we headed back to Berkeley, I adjusted my lumbar-support cushion, turned on some music, and smiled about the lovely day we’d just had.