A softer note, heard during active courtship and display, sounds like wake-up, wake-up, wake-up, or yarrup, yarrup, yarrup, given more deliberately in subdued tones and not so prolonged. This has been referred to as the scythe-sharpening, or rollicking, song and has also been written as yucker, yucker, yucker, or wicker, wicker, wicker, or hick-up, hick-up, hick-up, or flicker, flicker, flicker. Mr. Bicknell (1885) has recorded these notes from April 8 to September 5; there seems to be no seasonal regularity about them, as they are probably affectionate notes of greeting. Mr. Burns (1900) “heard an apparently rare variation, a metallic Ka-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-wick-ka by the male while close to the nest.”
He gives as conversational, or soliloquizing notes, “commonly a scanny, gurgling, almost involuntary chur-r-r-r as danger seems to threaten it when on the wing, or when flushed from the ground or just before a-lighting, which may be interpreted as a note of warning or announcement of arrival according to the circumstances. I have heard a low guttural who-del as it endeavored to balance itself on a slender branch immediately after arrival.” A bird on a house roof, in December, “uttered an odd guttural call of huck-a-woó-ah or again only woo woo evidently for his own edification.” Other soft conversational notes sound like ouit-ouit, or puir-puir, or a cooing yu-cah-yu-cah.
Dr. Eaton (1914) says: “When the flicker flies up from the ground and alights on a stub or fence post, he frequently bobs and bows to an imaginary audience and immediately thereafter jerks his head high upward giving voice to a sharp note like the syllable ‘clape.’” This is a loud, explosive note and may indicate defiance or surprise.
A common note, oftenest heard during summer and fall, is a plaintive call suggesting one of the notes of the blue jay or the red-shouldered hawk. It is a loud and rather musical note, which has been variously interpreted as pee-ut, ye-a-up, pee-up, que-ah, kee-yer, etc., given singly or repeated two or three times, as a ringing call of considerable carrying power.
Field marks.—While hopping about on the lawn, the flicker may be recognized as a brown bird somewhat larger than a robin and with a rather long bill; if facing the observer, the black crescent on the spotted breast is rather conspicuous, but the red crescent on the nape does not show up much except at short range, nor does the black malar patch of the male. The most conspicuous field mark is the white rump, which shows plainly as the bird rises from the ground and flies away; this probably serves as a direction mark, or a warning to the companions with which it is often associated. Then, of course, the flash of bright yellow in the wings and tail marks the bird in flight, chiefly when high in the air, but somewhat also in straightaway flight.
Enemies.—When I was a boy, 50 or 60 years ago, flickers, meadowlarks, and robins were considered legitimate game, and they were very good to eat. Bunches of these birds were often seen hanging in the game dealers’ stalls. During our fall vacations on the coast, when the weather was unfavorable for coot shooting, my father and uncle used to resort to the uplands to shoot “partridge woodpeckers” and “brown backs” (robins) among the bayberry bushes and sumacs. And flickers were slaughtered in large numbers in the South. Man was then the flicker’s worst enemy, but that is now all ancient history, as these birds are now protected. But a new enemy has been introduced, which is probably worse than the old one. The European starling has come to compete with the flicker in its search for a food supply. The starlings are now so abundant that they swoop down in flocks on the formerly plentiful supply of wild fruits and berries, stripping the trees and bushes clean of the fruits on which the flickers and robins depended for their summer and fall food. They also compete for nesting sites, fighting for or usurping every available cavity, even driving the flickers from the homes that they had made. Lester W. Smith writes to me: “For several years after the starling became common in Connecticut, other birds, especially the flicker, were seldom ejected, or not until all available nesting possibilities about buildings were used and filled up. Never have I seen the flickers actually fight to retain their hole or bird house. On the sanctuary they were exceptionally noisy whenever starlings attempted to take or had taken possession. On one occasion three starlings took part; one remained in the entrance hole of the box and took dry grass that a second brought to it; the third chased off either of the pair of flickers, as it flew near the nest box, which was about 8 feet from the ground on a sawed-off tree in a white-pine grove. On shooting one of the starlings, the other four birds flew away temporarily, and, on examination, I found a thin layer of grass over the flicker’s eggs. In 15 minutes the starlings returned and a second was shot. I removed the grass, and, hiding nearby, I saw nothing more of the third starling; but the flickers returned soon, took possession of the box, and later raised the five young.”
Sydney R. Taber (1921) tells an interesting story of a battle between a male flicker and a pair of starlings for the possession of the flickers’ nest. The flicker had once pulled one of the starlings out of the hole, but, during his absence, both of the starlings entered the hole.
On this second occasion, despairing of being able to pull the two out at long range, so to speak, the Flicker also plunged into the hole. Then followed a battle royal, lasting for what seemed minutes. It was rather ghastly to imagine the blows that were being dealt at closest quarters; not a sound was emitted, but one could imagine what was going on within the hole by the feathers that flew from it. The first bird to emerge—that is, to be pushed out, by fractions of an inch—was one of the Starlings, which then flew away. The fight between the other two birds then continued out of sight until something appeared at the mouth of the hole. This proved to be the tail of the Flicker. When he had backed out of the hole into view once more, it appeared that he and the remaining Starling had clinched in a desperate grapple. With the latter gripping one of the wings of the Flicker, they fell, fluttering and fighting, a distance of nearly 40 feet; but just before touching the ground, they parted and flew in different directions. * * *
The above events occurred a fortnight ago. Since then the Starlings have been in full possession of the hole of contention.
Flickers figure largely in the food of duck hawks; their brightly colored feathers are often found about the aeries. Other hawks take their toll. O. A. Stevens sends me the following note on a sharp-shinned hawk attacking a flicker, perhaps only in sport: “The hawk settled in a partially dead, spreading pine tree, some 8 feet from the top. A flicker perched about 6 feet above him, apparently from curiosity. For some time they remained, the hawk sitting quietly, preening, occasionally casting a glance at the flicker. The latter teetered about on his perch, craning his neck at the hawk and even dropping down a foot or so. After at least 10 minutes, the hawk suddenly darted at the flicker and away they went, the flicker twisting and escaping. It seems odd that an apparently heavy flier like a flicker would escape so easily.”