After their drama and their protectiveness, I monitored the killdeer (Charadrius vociferus) nest every day knowing the time of year and the parents’ behavior combined into one clear indication: the eggs would soon hatch.

Four camouflaged lives would metamorphose into four vivacious newborns.  Because killdeer chicks are precocial (an advantage for ground-nesting birds), the young would leave the nest as soon as their feathers dried and their legs started working.  Even better for the safety of the family, all the eggs would hatch around the same time since none of them start developing until the whole clutch is incubated.

Less than a week after locating the treasure, I rushed home from work one day, grabbed my camera and scurried to the lake.  More and more I felt the parents indicated a multiple birth was imminent.  And I was right.

Sunset and lack of light did little to hide three chicks huddled around the last egg.  I felt like a child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning.  I had to keep our encounter short, though, as the parents needed to incubate the last egg whilst keeping the chicks warm and safe.  I snapped a few pictures before retreating.

I dared not disturb them in any way.  They didn’t need panic and fear defining their first evening.  Besides, their parents gave me all sorts of hell—and rightfully so!  There business was more important than my hope of taking pictures.

The next day saw all four eggs hatched.  Two of the chicks had already left the nest; the other two still had to figure out how their legs worked.

This time I really kept my distance as the two up-and-moving chicks were running around the field with their father trying to keep an eye on them.  Their mother remained with the other two chicks still in the nest.  I had no interest in causing panic that might force one or more of the chicks to vanish.

I couldn’t decide which was cuter: the wild children running amok, dashing about the meadow with unrestrained frenzy, or the two babies stumbling over their own feet as they tried to leave the nest, a process of get up, fall down, get up and move a bit, fall down again, then start all over.  At one point this landed both of them in a tuft of grass that, at least for their height, looked like a jungle.

Without causing panic in the chicks by approaching too near, mostly what I saw was tail feathers as the two early risers scampered about with their father in hot pursuit.

As for the two still trying to master those disproportionate legs…  Well, they ended up back in the nest after realizing they hadn’t quite mastered the whole standing thing, let alone walking or running.

And that’s where I left them.

But an hour or so later when another photographer visited, the nest had been abandoned—as expected—and the entire family was nowhere to be seen.

After letting the killdeer (Charadrius vociferus) demonstrate their full repertoire of distractions, I let them show me one more thing: the location of their nest.  And once I knew where it was, I let them show me their last tactic.

These birds will stand their ground and defend the nest if it’s discovered.  The interesting part of this tactic is that it seems directly proportionate to how soon the eggs will hatch.  As that time approaches, the parents appear far less likely to leave the nest for long, or to get too far away from it.  (In this case, the eggs hatched about three days later.)

The photo above shows the father standing between me and the nest; the eggs are huddled together in front of the dry leaves in the background.

I circled.  He turned, sometimes facing me directly and sometimes standing sideways.  But always watchful, always vigilant.

Meanwhile, the mother gave me her best performances.  She dazzled me with nearby broken wing displays, threat displays, false brooding displays and all manner of noise.

Yet I wanted our encounter to be as short as possible.  I didn’t want to stress the parents unnecessarily, but more importantly I didn’t want to draw attention to the nest.

So I snapped one last image of the father standing over the eggs.

See them?  They’re just in front of and below the bird’s breast.

As with the killdeer themselves, nature blessed the eggs with its gift of camouflage, what is normally called ruptive colors or ruptive patterns.  The eggs are speckled with dark and light colors.  This breaks up their pattern and helps them merge into the background, making them more difficult to find.

Perhaps this crop of that image will help you find the eggs.

I left the parents to their day.  Yet I knew I would be back.  Time of year and behavior told me the nest would soon be empty.

[next: eggs and chicks]

Let’s say you’re walking through a field and you quite unexpectedly hear a bird making all sorts of racket, and when you look for the bird you find this:

A not-too-small creature scrambles along the ground, its wings held in unnatural positions—perhaps one fluttering violently with the other dragging on the ground.  The bird’s piercing cries fill the air as it struggles to get away, the bright colors of its spread tail making an obvious target.  You note the poor thing seems hardly able to move.

You assume rather quickly that the bird is in distress, that one or both of its wings are broken, that it’s trying to escape with what little life it has left.

You assume incorrectly.

The broken wing display happens to be a polished, meticulous, masterful performance that killdeer (Charadrius vociferus) have turned into art.  As a diversionary device, no other species can claim the convincing flair and variability that killdeer display.

Now imagine you’re a predator stalking that field.  When a hobbled bird flutters into view and screams its heart out, you as a predator think “Easy meal!” and move in accordingly.

From the killdeer’s point of view, that’s the point.  The trick is simple: tempt you away from the nest, away from eggs and/or young, then once you’re far enough away to pose no threat, fly into the air and escape—with the nest safe in the distance.

But you’re no predator.  In fact, you not only understand the trick, you understand the species well enough to know you can get the protective parents to lead you right back to the nest.

So now imagine you ignore the broken wing display and edge closer in the direction you were walking, moving slowly so you don’t miss anything on the ground and so you can react if the birds stop engaging you.

As you walk, you notice one of the parents in the distance.

After an injured bird didn’t interest you and assuming next that you are intentionally looking for eggs or chicks, one of the avian parents gladly tries to mislead by running to a random spot far from the nest, settling in comfortably on the ground as though incubating eggs, folding tail and wings in a natural nesting position, then watching to see if you take the bait.

This is called false brooding.  If you want to find a nest, they’ll happily give you one.  An empty one.

You realize by then these are by no means dumb birds.  Being able to provide a clear indication of a nest as a diversionary tactic no doubt works well for those unaware of the killdeer’s ability to adapt its protective approach.

Remember, though, you’re not unaware of such things.  You put your knowledge to work and within minutes have the true nest location.

Finally, imagine you approach it carefully and in trade for your invasion of their space, you get the threat display that inevitably is saved for those who come way too close after ignoring the other distractions.

By making itself larger and by charging you, the killdeer hope to dissuade you from bothering the nest.  Should it not work outright, the birds also are known to fly up and strike the problem (with horses and cows and the like, it’s generally a strike to the face); this helps change the animal’s course and protect the brood.

And though I didn’t get photos of it, you can also be treated to the ungulate display.  Meant to cause unaware animals to go a different route, this tactic looks much like the threat display except the fanned tail is held up over the back so brighter colors are visible, and also to increase the apparent size of the bird.  Like all but the false brooding display, this comes with all manner of noise, including a throaty “growl” that seems in direct opposition to the usual peeping and kill-DEER noises these birds are known for.

[next: parent with eggs, then after that three chicks and an egg]

— — — — — — — — — —

As with the cicada-killer wasp I convinced to land on my hand repeatedly and to trust me without hesitation, getting a killdeer to lead me to its nest and to remain with the eggs without any protective display required nothing more than understanding the species.  And as with the wasp or any other creature I’ve coaxed into a sense of security so I can get near it, I do not intend to share that methodology.

Knowing wildlife well enough to get close, to make contact, to get within reach is not so much a trade secret as it is information that can endanger creatures great and small.  Bubba Smith looking to kill birds could use that to violate a killdeer nest, and Betty Sue wanting to smash a giant wasp could use it to attract a useful insect into a deadly trap.

The trick of nature photography—and the spirit of a true naturalist—hinges entirely on comprehension: understanding the natural history, traits and habits of that which you seek.  It means appreciating it more, and it also means an ability to predict, to see through the veil of mystery.

I’ve shared the location of this killdeer nest with only a few other people: each of them, like me, would act vehemently to protect it.  And as for the secret of how I “convinced” the killdeer to show me their most precious treasure…  Well, let’s just say that information will probably follow me to the grave.