In Search of the Pileated Woodpecker
by Michael Goodwin
Inspired by Thomas Prindle

"See Thomas," said Mike, pointing to the picture in the field guide that he had removed from Thomas' backpack. "It's about the size of a crow with a huge red crest on its head."
"Do you think we might see one of those in here?" asked Thomas searching for something in his many coat pockets and gesturing towards the depths of the town forest with only a slight nod of his head.
"Yes, it looks almost prehistoric . . . looks like a dinosaur," Mike added, drawing his binoculars in an experienced manner up to his sight with his right hand and offering the guide book to his friend with the other. Thomas looked at the picture for a final moment as Mike scanned the tops of the trees in search of the Pileated woodpecker.
"Let’s do it!" exclaimed Mike as they entered the bowels of the town forest. They walked for a mile or two, exchanging few words, allowing the forest to speak to them. A chickadee belted out his familiar two-note whistle, A nuthatch yanked incessantly, the snow crackled beneath their feet, and a brass pipe, known only as "Pat" was passed back and forth between the two. Faint wisps of smoke that mixed with their breath in the cold February air could be seen as they passed through wooded trail, but no woodpecker. They climbed a small hill which overlooked a small kettle pond, frozen solid, its ice sharply reflecting the mid day sun.
"Hey Mike, check this out," Thomas pointed at a limbless birch snag with several holes carved out of the wood. "Could this be our pecker?"
"The holes look big enough," Mike said. He was able to put his fist into one of the birch snag's curious openings and rub his hand along the inside of the tree, which was smooth and slightly damp. Smelling his fingers, Mike stepped back to have a better look at the tree that was a food source for the ancient creature. As if he knew already at what he would find, he directed Thomas to look up. "See that fungus on the top," he said with a knowing smirk that could be seen under the binoculars that now covered his eyes. Thomas looked up to see three large mushrooms crowning the dead tree, creating oval shadows of equal size. They seemed to steam in the forest sunlight.
"You think those are edible?" asked Thomas, hoping Mike had remembered the mushroom guide that the two had discovered together at a second-hand bookstore some years ago. But like many of the guidebooks that passed through his hands, the knowledge, facts, and the identification of what much of the forest had to offer was now a part of Mike. Already halfway up the tree, in movement swift and strong, Mike replied, "Thomas, my friend, today is a great day! These mushrooms are not only edible, but are thought to be, by some scientists, an extinct food source of the creature we seek. These have not been spotted since before you or I were born." From the top of the birch tree, Mike picked the most plump mushroom of the three being sure not to disturb the other two which the Pileated woodpecker would return for when great distances of flight were necessary. Mike held the burger sized cap in his mouth gently and slid down the tree. "Would you like some tea?" he asked Thomas.

After a brief stay on top of the hill, they tumbled down the slope towards the frozen water, taking advantage of the evenness that the thick layer of snow provided. Within moments they were sitting in the middle of the shimmering pond, drinking their steaming cups of mushroom tea. They both sat cross-legged, facing each other, with the bottoms of their jackets pulled tight beneath their asses to prevent the water from seeping through. As the two both started to feel the psychotic effect of the found fungus, Mike spoke of his most recent project which was a field guide to New England that included not only flora, fauna, and wilderness areas, but a listing of unique bird and mammal sightings.
"My only problem with the listings," offered Mike, "is that by increasing human traffic we might disturb certain species and that increases the chances of those species leaving..." He stopped speaking as he saw Thomas' face turn pale, his eyes rising in absolute wonder over what appeared to be Mike's left shoulder. "What is it?" asked Mike, too stunned by the expression on his friend's face to turn around and see for himself. "Are you all right...hey, don't worry, the ice started moving for me too about ten minutes ago."
"No Mike, turn around because you have to see this for yourself," Thomas said. Mike turned slowly and saw with his own eyes a spectacle that he, or Thomas, would never forget. A gigantic yellow bird, walking on two legs, skipped down the path, and headed up the hill towards the hollowed out birch. Its head bobbed from side to side as it whistled a familiar tune, kicking up snow and ice with each stride in rhythm to a bass line that seem to come from within the bird itself. The creature climbed to the peak, and immediately came barreling back down the hill and onto the pond, directly towards Mike and Thomas. The weird music, which the two could only describe as funky, suddenly was heard throughout the forest.
Baaooo,chicka,chicka,chicka...baaoo,chicka,baooooooo...baoooo
chicka,chick,chicka...baooo,chicka,baoooooo.
"I am a big bird!" the apparition yelled maniacally as it ran past the two friends and into the woods on the opposing side of the pond. "Yes," the fluffy monster continued as it disappeared into the forest. "I am a crazy yellow bird!"

Mike and Thomas did not speak for several minutes, both staring into the woods in disbelief. They eventually locked eyes, then both looked at their steaming cups of tea, looked back at each other and fell into outrageous fits of laughter.
"Is that one in your guide?" roared Thomas.
"No," cackled Mike, "but it will be!"

They sat on the pond until sunset, hoping they would have the luck of seeing the yellow beast once again, but the bird did not return.
"Thomas, first thing tomorrow, we are going to search these woods and find out where that thing is nesting!" Mike said.
"I have a feeling we would have better luck searching the local saloons!" Thomas replied, feeling the affect of the afternoon tea waning, both agreed that it was time for a big beer at the small town's local pub.

They rose from the ice as the sun made its final descent behind the stand of pines and headed towards the entrance of the forest. From his perch atop a distant birch, the elusive Pileated woodpecker watched the men leaving the forest, eying them with great concern and even greater mirth.