Who knows how long I was out, but as I got up and brushed myself off, the third wise bog bird appeared. He was his normal chirpy White-breasted Nuthatch self and I couldn’t understand him either, but he was clearly pointing to the north in such a way that only a nuthatch can point. So I took that as a sign and off we went, north down the trail. All of a sudden, from the grass at my feet, up popped an.. uhhh, over stuffed old softball with a slurpy straw for a beak?!?! I’ve never seen such a bird in all my life but if I had to guess, I’d say that was an American Woodcock! At that moment I understood what the three wise birds had been saying, Good luck, because there ain’t no way I’m photographing that timid and perfectly camouflaged bird. I’ve had five sightings of the American Woodcock since that day and I’m still no closer to getting a photo.