It's the last day of March and it feels like Spring is finally here. The duck crowd waiting for grub in the morning has dwindled to only four or five ducks. Out of this small crew, only one is a female. She is attended by a male mallard that stays close and warns off all the other males. I think this is the same couple that has spent summers with us for a few years. She does not brood eggs, but he is faithful, staying with her. I'll never know if they're really the same couple unless I band them, and it's OK, I'll just assume they are. He talks quietly to her as they pick through the wet morning grass for the corn bits I've tossed there.
All the while, the male Anna's hummingbirds are already up and going, proclaiming their territory. Shreep, shreep, shreep, it goes on from dawn till dusk. The males perch in the topmost branches of the escallonia tree, or near the top of the shore pine. Their heads turn rhythmically from side to side, side to side, watching for any small incursion into their territory. Alexander the Great could learn from these guys. They employ a scorched earth policy regarding any trespassing male hummingbird, be it an Anna's or a rufous.
The otters are making an occasional foray into the pond, coming down from the big lake. I saw one yesterday, crouching happily in the shallows and crunching some delectable little crustacean snagged from the cool water. They will be less enchanting when they return to hunt succulent baby ducks. It's Nature, after all.
Some very special ducks have graced us with a visit. Hooded mergansers are the soul of style. The male sports a lovely yellow eye and flashy colors of black, brown and brilliant white and a set of head feathers that he can raise into a quite flamboyant mohawk at a moment's notice. The hen is a quieter blend of browns and rufous reds. She too has a mohawk, but hers is more of a delicate reddish fan.
They have rounded heads and long thinnish bills. They love to dive, and it happens in the blink of an eye. The mohawk flattens, head arches gracefully down and the entire body forms a quick "C" before the bird disappears silently under the surface. He will reappear yards from where he dove, often with small fish crosswise in his bill.
One of the most charming things about common mergansers is their habit of allowing their youngsters to hitch a ride on their backs in the water. For the birds, it's simply a matter of safety and convenience, but for us humans, it's a major cuteness moment. Tiny, fuzzy brown babies sit happily, usually on the hen's back, and sometimes they will tuck themselves partially under her wing for warmth.
Mergansers are cavity nesters just like wood ducks. If you have wood duck boxes, you may be lucky enough to host a merganser family one year. Just as with wood ducks, as soon as the last duckling hatches, the hen leaves the box, heads for the closest water and begins to call to the ducklings. They find their way to the water and never look back.
It's evening, and the sky is pure, deep turquoise. The beaver is veeing slowly north to south, heading for lodgings in the wider, wilder part of the lake. The hummingbirds have gone to roost and the calling varied thrush is silent. The geese couple are roosting across the water on the neighbor's grass, and I can hear occasional quiet, hoarse 'chonks' from one of them.
Venus is shining in the sky and the tree frogs are tuning up. Who could want more?
