The percussionists of the woods, woodpeckers hammer out rhythms that echo through burned snags, quiet groves, and sunlit trunks. They tap not only to feed, but to send a message—staking out their space, calling for a mate, reminding you that life thrives even in the bark of the dead. There’s something captivating in their focus, their tenacity, their ability to make music out of trees. I’ve tracked them through the PNW and beyond, each sighting a jolt of joy.

“Each tap of a woodpecker’s beak is a small miracle of precision and strength.”
— David Allen Sibley