There is no doubt that a lot of animals and birds will have suffered during the big freeze. But for an artist and photographer like me it has also been a time when wildlife becomes more visible.

Feeding grounds become reduced, meaning that wildlife congregates to specific areas. And this winter, I was able to get closer than ever before to one of Europe’s most elusive birds – the woodcock.

Essentially a woodland bird, its plumage, an intricately patterned palette of russets, fawns, greys and blacks, is seamlessly camouflaged with the leaf litter of a woodland floor where it takes cover during the day, making it virtually impossible to observe.

The woodcock is a bird that is seen readily on shoot days as beaters flush them out. When disturbed, woodcock will break cover at the last minute.

Their flight is fast and erratic as they chink through the trees to make their escape. But it is nearly impossible to spot woodcock on the ground.

This makes studying them even more difficult as an encounter is mostly by chance and fleeting. As night falls woodcock will fly out into fields to probe the soft earth, with its long, flexible beak, for worms and other invertebrates.

The big freeze, however, gave me an advantage over this enigmatic wader and for the first time I managed to actually watch one in broad daylight.

It was on a bright morning of sunshine after a night of heavy snow. The snow meant that no visitors were going to be able to reach the gallery, so I set off in my car with my camera, looking for inspiration for a painting that will become this year’s Christmas card.

I knew that fresh water would be scarce because the worms it survives on were underneath more than a foot of snow. So I headed to a small pool in a valley bottom near Thixendale, not far from the road.

Not surprisingly, it was frozen solid. But there was a small area of fresh water and soft mud where spring water flowed in and out of the pool and where it was protected from the frost by a willow tree.

This was the only fresh water, and unfrozen ground, in the area. And then I spotted it, the unmistakable silhouette against the snow and the long bill that I had hoped for.

I grabbed my binoculars to check. Yes, it was definitely a woodcock and as I scanned across the rest of the pool I spotted another one – bingo. My hunch had been right.

As I approached, I saw a woodcock and snipe fly away. My heart sank. It wasn’t easy being light-footed in deep snow, loaded down with 25kg of camera equipment.

There was nothing for it but to sit and wait, hoping the woodcock would return. I was beginning to lose hope of getting woodcock shots at all when I spotted one at last, just where the spring emerged. I watched as the woodcock deftly prodded the earth for worms. Its long bill disappeared completely into the soft ground.

Once it had hold of a worm, it slowly teased it out of the ground, sometimes pausing for some time to get a better grip with its serrated beak. It fed continually for two- and-a-half hours. As it walked, it bobbed up and down in the most unusual and exaggerated way.

It was a sort of body-rock jig timed with the motion of the water. Some say that this ‘bobbing’ is to attract worms up, a sort of rain dance, but many other waders and dippers do this when close to water. I have never seen a woodcock act so naturally before. It came nearer still and I finally got some close up photos of this super bird.

A loud chattering shattered the peace. Field fares alarm-called as a male sparrowhawk rushed overhead. The woodcock froze with its head down until the danger passed, before continuing to feed.

It was a real privilege to spend a weekend watching the birds coming and going from the pool. But the highlight was undoubtedly watching such a secretive and largely nocturnal bird just a few miles from my own home in the middle of the day.