That's not a bee's nest

A number of years ago my sister Karen and I went on a girls' camping trip in the state forest over at Big Lake in Iron County. While we were setting up our camp, the campground manager came over to check for contraband firewood (FYI, we were in compliance). The well-meaning host then pointed out a hazard on the campsite: a "bee nest" in a birch tree that he said he would come back later to exterminate.

Concerned about the possibility of actual bees and not hornets being eradicated, I examined the alleged bee nest. There was indeed a cloud of insects, including bees, surrounding a neat arrangement of holes drilled into the tree trunk. This was not a bee hive or hornet nest: it was a grid of sapwells drilled into the tree by a yellow-bellied sapsucker.

So naturally I asked the manager to please not spray RAID into the holes, which would certainly kill the sapwell's creator. Karen and I spent the rest of our campout watching not only the sapsuckers, but all the other creatures who benefited from their drilling efforts: the aforementioned bees, butterflies, hummingbirds, and several red squirrels that came for a snack. It was a great example of how one species can make things easier for a number of others.

Earlier this week when I was in the Wausau area I was pleased to hear the yellow-bellied sapsucker's meowing call heralding that they were back from their winter hiatus. They're the only woodpecker we have here in the eastern U.S. that migrates south for the winter, and they're making their way back to their breeding territories across the upper Midwest, New England and much of Canada. And their diet of sugary tree sap also sets them apart from their year-round cousins.

Yellow-bellied sapsuckers are busy engineers. They drill orderly sets of deep round holes in early spring to catch the running sap, and then drill shallow rectangular holes after the tree leafs out. Keeping these holes productive is a lot of work, and sapsuckers spend a good deal of their time on keeping the sap flowing. They use their brush-tipped tongues to lap sap from the wells and also eat insects and fruit (much to the dismay of orchard owners).

Northeastern woodlands are often full of dead and weak trees covered in rows of sapsucker drill holes. You might not see them at your feeders as much as other woodpeckers; here in the town of Gingles I had one coming to my suet feeder last summer but that was a rarity for me. You might also see them if you have young or dying birch and maple trees in your vicinity.

Yellow-bellied sapsuckers are pretty little woodpeckers with bright red crowns (and throats on males), spotted backs, bright white wing patches and pale yellow underparts. Despite their name, the yellow belly isn't their most striking feature. Like other woodpeckers, they drum to announce their territory, often on houses and metal structures. Their drumming is easy to identify, with a rapid-fire start that slows down gradually toward the end.

These sweet-toothed woodpeckers winter across the southeastern U.S. and well into the tropics. While they prefer sugar-heavy trees like maple, birch and hickory, they drill sap holes into hundreds of species. I've spotted them a few times in the Yucatan region in Mexico in the winter, but I'm not sure what kind of trees they prefer to drill for food down there.

In addition to drilling sap wells, yellow-bellied sapsuckers excavate cavities for their nests, often with small birdhouse-sized openings. Males pick out the nesting tree and do most of the work on the cavity. In fact, they sometimes are more attached to their nesting tree than their mate and may return to their preferred spot without last year's co-parent.

"Yellow-bellied" has long been a vernacular insult suggesting weakness or cowardice. In fact, yellow-bellied sapsuckers are resilient and adaptable and their population has been increasing over the past few decades. They thrive in the emergent and second-growth forests that are so common across their modern range, and adapt well to human activity. So if you see a tree covered in a grid of little holes, please don't spray pesticide all over it: not only for the sapsuckers but for all the critters (other than the tree) that follow behind them and benefit from their hard work.

Morris, a bird-watcher and outdoorswoman who explores northern Wisconsin from her home base in the Ashland County town of Gingles, may be reached at morrisoutside@gmail.com.