The Phantom of the Woods: A Black Woodpecker Encounter in Albania

A Forest of Promise

The forest near Velipoja, not far from Albania’s Adriatic shore, carried the rich scent of transformation. Rain had swept through earlier in the day, soaking the canopy and darkening the trunks of the hornbeam, oak, and beech that lined my route. By late afternoon, the sun had returned in force, pushing the temperature up towards thirty degrees Celsius. The result was an air thick with humidity, almost drinkable, rising in waves from the mossy earth and leaf litter. This was a forest holding its breath. And I, too, walked with anticipation.

Around me, the woodland was alive with song. Nightingales, hidden in every patch of bramble and undergrowth, wove their explosive, improvisational symphonies into the hush. Turtle Doves purred from branches above with a nostalgic softness, while Eastern Subalpine Warblers stitched quicksilver melodies through the lower scrub. But most dominant were the woodpeckers. This was their stage.

A Wood Alive With Drumming

Everywhere I looked, Lesser Spotted Woodpeckers zipped through the treetops like little arrows, trailing flickers of white and black through the canopy. Their dainty forms belied a fierceness in their behaviour, chasing, calling, endlessly on the move. Their larger cousins, Great Spotted Woodpeckers, worked the trunks with gusto, hammering and calling with full-chested confidence. It felt as though the very bones of the forest were vibrating with their percussion. But amidst all this avian theatre, I was waiting for something else. Something larger. Stranger. Deeper. For three decades I had dreamed of one bird: Dryocopus martius, the Black Woodpecker, a bird both monumental and mysterious. I'd walked the forests of Europe without seeing it. I'd imagined its call in the silence between trees. I'd studied its silhouette on laminated field guides until the pages wore thin. This day, in the sweltering stillness of an Albanian woodland, that dream found wings.

The Phantom Appears

Deep in the deciduous tangle, tormented by the high buzz of biting insects, the birdsong had died off, held its breath in anticipation. As if this part of the trail belonged to something more ancient! The atmosphere hung like the humidity, heavy and expectant, eyes relentlessly scanning the understory for any glimpse of the bird.

I turned in time to see a great black form glide low between the trunks. At first, it was simply shadow in motion smooth and uncannily silent for something so large. Crow-sized, but with an aura far greater, the bird sailed effortlessly through the low evening light and landed high on the trunk of a tall, dead tree. Clearly, a well used drumming post, now transformed into a throne. There it was. After thirty years of longing. The phantom of the woods, real, tangible, piercing my soul with that pale eye!

A Moment Suspended

Time changed shape. I didn’t breathe for a moment, or even blink. My heart beat a tattoo on the inside of my ribs, adrenaline coursed through my veins like a drug, everything seemed to melt from around me, my friends, the relentless biting mosquitoes, the humidity. My brain focused purely on the phantom in my midst. The spectral being that the forest had given up to me, now sat as if it had been there all along, waiting for me! The Black Woodpecker sat exposed in full, glorious, golden sunlight its black plumage seeming to absorb the suns warmth, its blood red crown glowing like a hot coal.

This was not a glimpse. This was presence incarnate. Command. Majesty. And then, miraculously, it stayed. For what must have been ten full minutes, it preened and stretched, slow and deliberate in every movement. Not hurried, not fearful. It seemed to own the moment, and by extension, the forest around it. Its massive, wedge-shaped bill working methodically through its ebony plumage. Its talons clutched the trunk with an unshakable grip, as if it were fused to the living memory of the tree itself. Its eye, pale and intense, watchful, but not restless. Never has black seemed so expressive and effervecent as in this birds plumage. Limitless lustre, owning the space. An undescribable contrast to the emerald of the canopy. Like watching the sky before the stars come out, its not just seeing but experiencing, timeless in its composure. As though it had always been here. As though it had always been watching me walk beneath, unseen.

A Dream Realised

From my indoctrination into birding aged 8, I had imagined this bird in a thousand ways, in a hundred different forests. I had dreamed of this encounter with such intensity that I had begun to doubt it could ever match expectation. But here, with the heat rising from the forest floor and the day softening into golden hour, it exceeded it. The Black Woodpecker wasn’t just a tick on a list. It wasn’t even just a bird. It was a symbol of perseverance, of patience, of natures capacity to still surprise and reward. When it finally took off, it did so without drama. A few strong wingbeats, and it melted into the verdant forest, absorbed back into the trees that concealed it until it was ready to draw the next pilgrim into its world. Shadow returning to shadow.

Why It Matters

I stood in silence long after it had left, rooted as much to the moment as to the soil beneath my feet, my brain a fog of excitment .and disbelief! The encounter reaffirmed what I already believed to be true: wild places hold stories older and more powerful than our own. That if you move slowly enough, and listen deeply, the forest will reward you, trust you, reveal its secrets to you. Sometimes in the voice of a warbler, the whisper of wind through oak leaves and sometimes, just sometimes, in the sudden arrival of a phantom with wings.

📝 Field Notes

• Location: Deciduous woodland near Velipoja, Albania

• Weather: Post-rain humidity, approx. 26°C

• Notable species:

  • Black Woodpecker (Dryocopus martius)

  • Great Spotted Woodpecker

  • Lesser Spotted Woodpecker

  • Nightingale

  • Turtle Dove

  • Eastern Subalpine Warbler

Want to see more stories like this?

You can follow my nature writing and birding journeys across Europe on Instagram, or right here on this blog. If you've ever waited years to see a species, or had a single moment of contact change how you feel about wildness, I’d love to hear about it.

Because in the end, it’s not just about what we see in the woods.It’s about what the woods awaken in us.

JC