Long cold wait for a close encounter

A lot of animals and birds have suffered during the big freeze and now we have a late-arriving spring.

But for an artist and photographer like me it has also been a time when wildlife becomes more visible. Feeding grounds become reduced so wildlife congregates in specific areas.

This winter, I was able to get closer than ever before to one of Europe's most elusive birds: woodcock.

Essentially a woodland bird, its plumage, an intricately patterned palette of russets, fawns, greys and blacks, is seamlessly camouflaged with the leaf litter of a woodland floor where it takes cover during the day, making it virtually impossible to observe.

The woodcock is a bird that is seen readily on shoot days as beaters flush them out. Their flight is fast and erratic as they chink through the trees to make their escape. But it is nearly impossible to spot woodcock on the ground.

As night falls, woodcock will fly out into fields to probe the soft earth with long, flexible beaks for worms and other invertebrates. But the darkness then acts as another cloak of disguise.

Although we do have a resident population of woodcock in the UK, numbers swell in winter when more birds fly in from Scandinavia. So your chances of seeing them are greater at this time. On a bright morning of sunshine following a night of snow I set off in my car with my camera, looking for inspiration for a painting that will become this year's Christmas card. I headed to a small pool in a valley bottom near Thixendale. It was frozen solid, but there was a small area of fresh water and soft mud where spring water flowed in and out of the pool, protected from the frost by a willow tree. This was the only fresh water, and unfrozen ground, in the area.

As I pulled up I could see that, as I had suspected, it was a wildlife hotspot. I watched as a flock of fieldfares, blackbirds and a charm of goldfinches flew in to drink. Then I spotted it: the unmistakable silhouette against the snow and the long bill that I had hoped for. I grabbed my binoculars to check. Yes, definitely a woodcock. As I scanned the rest of the pool I spotted another one – bingo! My hunch had been right.

And then I came across its smaller cousins – a pair of snipe feeding on the mud by the pool. Although the road was close by, the birds were too far away to photograph. I needed to set up a hide close by. But I didn't want to disturb the birds as they fed during the day. So, although less than ideal, I set off that evening to construct a hide. In spite of being slowed down by a blizzard I had completed the hide by midnight. The next morning, I was ready for action. Wearing seven layers of clothes, I entered the hide prepared for a day-long vigil.

As I approached, I saw a woodcock and snipe fly away. My heart sank. It wasn't easy being light-footed in snow, loaded down with 25kg of camera equipment and a day's worth of provisions.

There was nothing for it but to sit and wait. The first bird to appear was a fieldfare. It made a good photographic model to pass the time.

Then as I looked out I got a tantalising glimpse of what I thought was a woodcock, but it disappeared round a corner in the stream. It reappeared a moment later. A snipe.

I photographed it all the same, even getting shots of it bathing and preening.

As darkness started to fall my chance had gone. So I headed home, my feet like blocks of ice. The next morning I ventured out to the hide again, wearing an extra pair of socks. After two-and-a-half-hours there was still no sign of woodcock, or snipe. Luckily the fieldfares kept me entertained, along with a great spotted woodpecker and some bullfinches.

I was beginning to lose hope when I spotted one at last, just where the spring emerged. I watched as the woodcock deftly prodded the earth for worms. Its long bill disappeared completely into the soft ground. Once it had hold of a worm, it slowly teased it out of the ground, sometimes pausing to get a better grip with its serrated beak. It fed continually for two-and-a-half hours.

As it walked, it bobbed up and down in the most unusual and exaggerated way. It was a sort of body-rock jig timed with the motion of the water. Some say that this "bobbing" is to attract worms up, a sort of rain dance, but many other waders and dippers do this when close to water.

I have never seen a woodcock act so naturally before. It came nearer still and I finally got some close-up photos of this super bird.

A loud chattering shattered the peace. Fieldfares alarm-called as a male sparrowhawk rushed over the top of my hide in hot pursuit. Both disappeared down the valley, the sparrowhawk matching its prey's every move.

The woodcock froze with its head down until the danger passed.

It was a real privilege to spend a weekend watching the birds coming and going from the pool. But observing such a secretive and largely nocturnal bird just a few miles from my own home in the middle of the day was probably one of the most rewarding moments in my wildlife watching career.