Being snowed in isn’t all bad. Last week’s snowstorm kept me home from work and allowed me to see something I never would have otherwise.

Snowfall may have been continuous and heavy at times, but the birds were out and about. Goldfinches, pine siskins, mourning doves, and woodpeckers mobbed the feeders. They never stopped eating all day – except when danger lurked.

At one point I glanced out the window and noticed three mourning doves on the platform feeder. Something seemed odd, and I realized the birds were not eating; they were frozen into immobility. They might as well have been statues. A hairy woodpecker, clinging to the cylindrical feeder, was also frozen in place.

I realized there must be a predator about, and the birds’ behavior suggested the predator was another bird – a very swift, dangerous, and actively hunting bird at that.

I glanced around at exposed tree limbs, expecting to see the telltale silhouette of a raptor. Nothing. Then I saw movement within a tall white pine. It was a sharp-shinned hawk.

The small hawk perched on a low branch. It kept looking up into the tree, and suddenly it launched itself into the pine’s upper branches. This maneuver flushed some small bird – I thought it might have been a black-capped chickadee – from hiding, and the hawk instantly gave chase. The pursuit was short-lived, though, as the chickadee easily outdistanced the hawk. Eventually the doves flushed from the platform feeder, and the hawk chased them as well. This attempt was also unsuccessful.

I watched the hawk as it cruised through the tree belt around the house. I was rewarded with some great views as it paused momentarily on a bare tree limb. Then the bird would be off again, slaloming among tree limbs and trunks. This feat was made possible by its long tail and short, rounded wings, which give it quick, accurate maneuverability even in dense cover – a must for prey that is small and equally swift.

At one point, I observed another hairy woodpecker fly to a horizontal branch and position itself against the trunk of the tree, facing outward. With its white chest feathers fluffed out, it resembled a clump of snow; if I hadn’t seen it fly there, I would have thought it was just that – a clump of snow. I imagined that its black-and-white-mottled back, when viewed from above or behind, would seem to blend into the branch upon which it was perched.

This bird remained motionless for a full 45 minutes. Snowflakes settled upon it, stuck to its stiff, bristle-like feathers at the base of its beak, and created a little snow-cap on top of its head.

The tactic worked. The hawk was nothing if not persistent, but it never discovered that woodpecker. The last I saw of the hawk was as it was pursuing another chickadee through the trees. This time, it was touch and go; it looked as if the chickadee was about to be caught, but it got away – that time.

On the one hand, I sympathized with the smaller birds who faced the possibly of a sudden death, becoming a meal for the predator. On the other, I sympathized with the hawk, which was having to work pretty hard for its meal, and, if not successful, faced a long, agonizing death by starvation.

The majority of our hawks migrate south for the winter, but increasingly, those such as the sharp-shinned hawks and the similar, but larger, Cooper’s hawk are making themselves right at home through our northern winters. The birds know a good thing when they see it – and backyard birdfeeding stations supply a reliable, concentrated supply of “fast food.” The overpopulation of pigeons in our towns and cities also supply a meal to these swift aerial predators.

No, being snowed in wasn’t bad at all; it provided an exciting dose of drama and a fascinating lesson on survival tactics of both predator and prey.

NEWS bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net