Birding: The truth about snipe hunts

"A snipe hunt reveals two kinds of people: those who have seen snipes … and those who don't believe the first group exists." This fun folklore quote plays on the cultural reference to "going on a snipe hunt." The idea of sending kids on a snipe hunt has long been used as a prank — a way to keep them busy or send them on a fool's errand. It reminds me of the first day of college baseball practice. The coach picked an unsuspecting freshman and sent him to the athletic office to get the "key to the batter's box." Nearly any freshman would do exactly as asked without thinking. The athletic office then sent the player to the grounds crew, who then sent him somewhere else, and so on, until it was finally revealed that there is no "key to the batter's box" — something, of course, everyone already knows. The batter's box is just white lines in the dirt around home plate. In April 2018, Gina and I took an early spring trip to Magee Marsh due to reports of a Wilson's snipe. As we approached the wildlife area on a somewhat gloomy day, about three weeks before The Biggest Week and warbler madness, I remember thinking: sure, I'll keep an eye out, but with snipes' legendary camouflage, the odds of spotting one from a moving car seemed pretty slim. Snipes can vanish in inches of grass; seeing one often feels more like chance than skill — in fact, they are more often stumbled upon than found. We didn't find it on the way in, and we walked around Magee Marsh for a bit, seeing the typical spring favorites such as red-winged blackbirds, grebes, egrets and wood ducks. On the way out, I scanned the wet edge carefully as Gina slowly drove the causeway. And then — there it was, clear as day! A bird famous for disappearing stood right out in the open. We were able to stop the car and take some photos. To this day, I believe it is the only Wilson's snipe I've ever seen — though Gina got some great looks one day at Sandy Ridge Reservation. In reviewing my previous columns, I found that I had not mentioned snipes even once. It seems their camouflage works on writers, too. Somehow, this little marsh bird has not only avoided most birders — it has also escaped my literary attention. The Wilson's snipe is a member of the sandpiper family. It was considered a subspecies of the common snipe until 2003, when it became its own species. It was named after the famous Scottish-American ornithologist Alexander Wilson (a practice now frowned upon). The common snipe is a very similar bird found in Europe, Asia and Africa; meanwhile, the Wilson's snipe is found in North and South America. It is quite a distinguishable bird in this area; the only rivals are the American woodcock and long-billed dowitcher. Even then, the Wilson's snipe is easy to tell apart from both — the snipe has vertical stripes on its head, while the woodcock has horizontal stripes. The dowitcher has longer legs and is more frequently found in open water. I am surprised that I didn't make the connection sooner, but the military and cultural use of the word "sniper" reportedly comes from 1770s British soldiers who hunted snipes in India as game birds. When snipes are flushed, they fly very fast (up to 60 mph) in a zig-zag pattern — making them difficult to shoot (and help evade predators) Thus, those with the marksmanship abilities necessary to hit snipes became known as "snipers." However, for all their fame as masters of camouflage and escape, Wilson's snipes aren't always as impossible to find as the folklore suggests. Every so often they perch on a fence post or gather in loose little groups, making themselves surprisingly visible. And considering that hunters legally harvest more than 90,000 snipes a year (2019–2021), it seems clear that plenty of non-"snipers" manage to shoot them just fine. The Wilson's snipe is also known for "winnowing," a haunting, ghostly sound produced by its tail feathers during steep dives. Used primarily for mating, it is also used to detour predators and defend their territories. In the whispers of wetlands, the female snipe will scrape a nest bowl where she lays 2–4 eggs. After an incubation of 18–20 days, the absolutely adorable chicks are born active and immediately leave the nest. Unusually, the first two chicks leave with the male and the youngest two leave with the female — after which the parents have no further contact. Snipes feed in muddy waters using their long and flexible beaks. They scour through the mud, dancing (a little like woodcocks) and pumping their beaks like a sewing machine while, searching for worms, invertebrates and other small prey. Another interesting adaptation of the snipe is the position of its eyes, which are set farther back on the head. They have binocular vision and the ability to see behind them — which is quite useful when your beak is several inches in the mud and predators may be approaching. Snipes have lived in the strange space between legend and reality for centuries: half practical joke, half elusive marsh bird. In reality, they are an amazing bird of the wetland that has both an interesting history and several notable physical adaptations. If someone invites you on a snipe hunt — the binocular kind — don't assume it's a prank. You just might see one. And one thing is certain: your odds are far better than trying to find the keys to the batter's box!