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limbs in winter woods.
American nature writers have often become entangled in their own words in attempting to describe the wild, intricate and prolonged song of the tiny brown wren. In his “A Field Guide to the Birds,” Roger Tory Peterson wrote: “Song: a rapid succession of high tinkling warbles and trills. Prolonged, often ending on a very high light trill." That certainly captures the complexity of the song.
I have heard the song of the Winter Wren a few times, mostly at high altitudes in Virginia and West Virginia where great spruces echo the vast evergreen forests of New England and eastern Canada. There, among moss-covered boulders and hidden by luxuriant ferns, the singer was hidden. His song was enhanced by the setting.
It is the length of this bird’s song that I remember. It seemed to go on and on, embellishing itself on the way. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
In my British bird book, the wren’s song is described: “VOICE — Hard ticking, harsh churring; explosive song of loud notes with trill near end of each phrase.” If there is praise in that I can’t find it.
In a land where the Nightingale is considered the sublime singer, I suppose the song of the Winter Wren may lack richness for some. The bird considered to be North America’s grandest singer is the Hermit Thrush. This bird’s intricate and measured notes float on the summer air of the same forests that the wren chooses for his nest. I’ve never heard the two at the same time. That could be too much of sublimity.
Let the reader be alert when walking in the deep Virginia woods in winter. Where limbs have fallen and dry leaves sifted down to make a tangle, watch for a quick mouselike movement. It may be a Winter Wren. Stand very still. He may show himself as he searches for hidden insects and protein-rich spiders.
At the very end of a summer day at elevations above 26,000 feet, a rich, varied and seemingly endless song may be heard when other birds have been silenced by lengthening shadows. It will be the song of the Winter Wren, a bird only slightly larger than a hummingbird.
John Trott, the Virginia naturalist, may be reached at: P.O. Box 59, Washington, Va., 22747.
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