I have neither seen nor even heard the Black Rail, a tiny and secretive marsh bird with a limited and scattered range.  Since much of its range is along the Eastern Seaboard, an area I have long inhabited, my failure to detect this bird is a bit of an embarrassment, and one which I endeavor to correct.  Still, that is not easy.

Serious birders understand the challenge of finding this bird.  It is certainly practical to hear (and definitively identify - and so list) this bird if one is willing in May or June to drive to a remote location in a coastal salt marsh in the middle of a still and moonless night and listen for the phrase “kick-a-poo” to be recited repeatedly in the distance and then go back to the lodge to rest and sooth the mosquito bites sustained during the endeavor.  Finding the bird may be more difficult today because the species may be seriously declining for unknown reasons that probably include habitat destruction and alteration associated with the expanding primate population of the region, but still it can be accomplished. 

So, why have I not found it?  Well, not living within reach of the bird at home, I have to make a special trip for it.  I have not done this in large part because the satisfaction to be obtained from hearing the bizarre calling while standing in the dark in a mosquito infested place does not seem worth the expenditure of resources necessary, that is of the cost in time and money to drive and take lodging and of the nocturnal trudging by car and on foot along unfamiliar and somewhat hazardous backroads.

I seriously consider a spring RV tour of southern New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland in search of this bird, but even that would be a bit of a challenge.  We would probably adopt a sleep time of 4:00 p.m. to midnight so that we could scour the marshes beginning at 1:00 a.m. and have several hours of search time before dawn.  Have you ever tried to live on such a schedule, especially when staying in a public campground? Quiet times seldom begin before 10 p.m.

So far, I have tried to find this bird during daylight hours with a small hope of actually seeing one.  There are well known Black Rail locations.  One is a pier at a convention center on South Padre Island, Texas.  Anne and I spent a week at Brownsville one spring and visited this pier on at least four dawns and dusks.  We enjoyed eyeing many Clapper Rails and a few Virginia Rails and Sora Rails.  We spotted zero Black Rails.

Since our son lives and works near Palo Alto, CA, we hope some day to visit during December or January when famously (among birders) Black Rails are pushed from their marshy meadows onto the higher banks where they are exposed to view by extreme high tides.  In recent years we have, for social reasons, spent this season at home in Pennsylvania or in south Florida.  Some year, perhaps, we will go west and see them there.

Speaking of Florida, it is famous for Black Rail, but mostly farther north.  It apparently does not breed in south Florida, and if it winters here nobody seems to have noticed.  I suspect it is very rare here in part because mangrove forest occupies the coastal zone taken by short marsh grasses and sedges north of Tampa.  To visit the rail’s habitat farther north would require the same kind of expedition mentioned above for the Mid-Atlantic states.  Still, when in possible habitat we look and listen for this bird, so far without success.

We consider a stop on the way home this year in March.  We could make a short trip on day one to Hernando Beach and spend two nights there exploring the local salt marshes.  We would probably enjoy meeting some of the local constabulary along the way.  That brings up a serious problem with nocturnal birding.  Many of the best locations are within government parks which often “close” at sunset.  Unless the birder elects to risk trespass, they must bird from the public right-of-way.  That exposes one to traffic noise and the interest of both the local residents and law enforcement officials.  If you tell them that you are looking for birds, the former view you as loony and the latter as suspicious.  In any case, being examined by strangers distracts from the quest and allows the birds to silently wander off.

One way of attracting the bird or at least inspiring it to call is to play a recording of the species call.  Birds call to give notice of their presence and to initiate social contact.  So, desiring social contact with the bird, calling seems an ideal approach for the birder.  Yet, some people object to it, and making the call is considered illegal in some locations. 

Supposed naturalists are afraid that the pitiful little bird will be unduly distracted by the sound of its kind.  My view is that except under a few extraordinary circumstances, birds are accustomed to hearing the call of their kind and react to it as to their mood.  In some cases that is with fury, in others with keen to mild interest, and often it is not at all.  Hearing its call is part of bird life.  Compared to such things as driving down a road, walking down a trail, bringing a mirror (as on an automobile) into the woods, or running dogs on a beach, making vocalizations are a trivial disturbance to the birds.  In any case, to make the quest more difficult there are places where I may not imitate or play recordings of the call of the Black Rail. 

We currently plan a spring 2013 RV voyage to Colorado.  I notice that along the way are two places where black rails breed in Kansas and Colorado.  Since they should be calling at this time, probably we will plan stops there and at least spend a night or two listening for the elusive call of the Black Rail.  Wish us luck.

Kick-a-poo.  Kick-a-poo