I was having a conversation about ducks.
It doesn’t take much to think of five or six people I’ve recently talked about ducks with. I talk about ducks often. The favorite duck of the painter and photographer I was talking with is the Bufflehead. A great duck to love. How can you not?
In turn, I selected a species of duck and said it was my favorite.
“You say that about a lot of ducks.”
I do, and they vary. Three come to mind—okay five, and a handful more I’ve probably called my favorite at some point.
Never a merganser. Red-breasted don’t do it for me, I don’t see Commons frequently enough. Hooded Mergansers are great ducks but are only in my top ten.
I love Wood Ducks. It’d be predictable to pick them. I don’t see them often enough for them to be my favorite.
They’re the only ducks I’ve actively birded for by ear, which makes them feel special.
Then there is the Bufflehead. Petit and endearing—but a species in the running for favorite should at least feel unexpected. A Bufflehead in winter is about as unexpected as a runny nose.
I felt compelled to settle on a favorite, so laid out parameters.
I must see it fairly often or know where to go.
The duck must be beautiful. All ducks are. My favorite must be particularly beautiful to me.
It must feel uncommon, even if it isn’t.
It needs to have facilitated special moments.
First that come to mind are Greater Scaup, Ring-necked Duck, Green-winged Teal, Northern Pintail, and Common Goldeneye.
The Common Goldeneye’s name disqualifies it. Hard for a bird named “common” to feel uncommon. Because I’ve once seen a Barrow’s Goldeneye, I differentiate when I see the former. “Common Goldeneye!”
Easy way to nuke the uncommon feeling is to assert “common” whenever you see the bird. There are still plenty of ducks, like those remaining four.
Greater Scaup
Do I see them often? Often enough to feel good saying yes. They also have that tickle of uncertainty. Greater? Not Lesser?
Are they beautiful? Scaup are ducks. “Beauty” is synonymous with “duck.” I like Greater Scaup because they’re more likely near saltwater in winter. Don’t know why that fact does it for me. Maybe it’s just convenient to know—my preferred birding spots are by saltwater bodies. I’ve had special moments with Greater Scaup and love them, but they’re not my favorite duck.
Ring-necked Duck
To see these ducks, I know where to go. One spot stands out, so have others as I’ve continued to bird. This undermines the duck’s feeling of uncommonness.
They were my favorite. As they’ve come to sometimes feel expected they’ve fallen in the rankings. I remember being excited by them at their reliable spot years ago, and remain excited when I see them there, but the special feeling wanes.
They made themselves known before I even got out of my truck for a recent walk at their most reliable spot. Instead of “Ring-necked Ducks!” I thought, “Well yeah, Ring-necked Ducks.” The way I feel about Bufflehead at most waterbodies during winter translates to Ring-necked Ducks at this one spot.
Green-winged Teal
I only really started noticing and appreciating these ducks more recently than I’m proud to admit. Once you start to notice something, you see it rather often. They still feel uncommon.
An imperfect analogy is when you get ingredients to make a good breakfast, then make it every day. Each meal, more and more expected, still feels uncommonly good.
Have I had special moments with Green-winged Teal? Two come to mind—and I recently had another.
For the most recent, I said good morning to another birder. I’ve come to love such birding-based exchanges. Excitedly, he told me about Green-winged Teal he’d seen, the bird he’d set out for. Setting out for a specific species of duck? A man after my own heart! I saw the teal for myself. A nice moment, courtesy of that birder and a handful of Green-winged Teal.
For the first moment that came to mind, it was the Christmas Bird Count I wrote about in “Death and Birds.” A teammate pointed out a Green-winged Teal. I tried for a picture. The sound of the truck door startled the duck, another Green-winged Teal revealed itself. A good day, I thought.
A really good day. We’d already seen Horned Grebe. They’d be in the running for “favorite duck,” but while duck-like a grebe is not a duck. They don’t have webbed feet, the bill isn’t like a duck’s. A grebe’s closest relation is the flamingo.
We’d also seen Razorbill, a Saltmarsh or Nelson’s Sparrow, Greater Scaup—then a Fox Sparrow, Northern Flickers, loads of Yellow-rumped Warblers. A Red-necked Grebe graced a teammate’s scope. He let me look through it. A really good day.
For another special Green-winged Teal moment, the preceding day had been medically important. I hadn’t been encouraged to bird, but hadn’t been told not to. I don’t think the surgeon understood the fervidity I can bring to birds.
If I have the option, want to, and nobody tells me not to, I’ll likely bird. My mind was a maelstrom of fear, optimism, uncertainty, nervousness. In such situations, bird if your body permits. My body permitted. I was also too stubborn to think otherwise.
Off the bat, Green-winged Teal. Ducks can’t speak, but these teal told me it would all be fine.
Northern Pintail
If it isn’t obvious because I’ve saved this duck for last, and “Northern Pintail” is the title, the Northern Pintail is my favorite duck.
I see them often. There are reliable spots. I’d ask if a Northern Pintail is beautiful—but come on. The most elegant duck. Wood Ducks and Harlequins are nice, Black-bellied Whistling, but the Northern Pintail’s comeliness is magnified by its accessibility. They still feel uncommon because they’re uncommonly gorgeous.
Special moments with Northern Pintail have been abundant. The prototypical Northern Pintail moment, in my mind, has my thoughts and heart joyously racing as I take pictures with inextinguishable awe.
Humans have an unfortunate penchant for claiming ownership when it comes to nature, but I don’t know how else to put this: Northern Pintail feel like my duck.
Carl Ingwell’s recent essay in Life is for the Birds, “Bird by Bird,” was impactful. Wonderfully written and deeply touching. I love to read about birds, but also their significance to those who love them. I’ve reread his essay many times, sent it around.
In his opening paragraph, Ingwell explains:
I associate many birds with positive experiences, but some fly with my remorse and shame weighing down their wings. I am working on identifying these species in my head, then seeking them out, so that I can redefine our relationships.
Pintail have somehow managed to remain unencumbered. Maybe that’s why they’re my favorite—my duck. They are only what they are. Beautiful waterfowl, a living manifestation of how good birding can feel.
Ingwell is doing his “biggest year,” going for his highest ever species count in 12 months. At the time of his writing, he’d already seen 121. I feel good about my count thus far—but 121 through two months, January and February no less, is impressive.
A Big Year can mean a lot to whoever opts to undertake one. If you do, the birds are likely more than numbers on a spreadsheet, list, or eBird. They’re there for a reason.
The impetus behind my year was not a love of raptors, songbirds, or ducks. I want to make the most of being alive, surrounded by birds. Get my regular dose of joy, allow myself to focus just on happiness for some moments, focus on the birds.
After parking my truck one morning, I sat with the door ajar and listened to a winged orchestra. American Robin, Northern Cardinal, Carolina Wren, an insistent American Crow. Nothing crazy. Birds that sound like a robin but aren’t will show up. Red-eyed Vireo, Scarlet Tanager, Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Robin or not, birdsong and calls remind us the world contains much wonder. We are lucky to be here.
Ingwell eloquently concludes:
It is time for me to grow, both as a birder, and as a man. It’s been a long and difficult process, but this year, I’m taking it bird by bird.
We should always be growing, evolving. It doesn’t happen overnight, is not easy or pleasant. The term “growing pains” readily applies. These pains, while good, are indeed pains. They can drag and embarrass you, taint your mind with self-doubt. If you find birds meaningful, take it bird by bird.
For me, bird by bird starts with Northern Pintail. Elegant ducks I love. My duck. I logged them early on this year, an auspicious start to all of this. Merely number 27 of [redacted] bird species for 2024 so far. Comforting, comely, captivating ducks.
Bird by bird, duck by duck, this is a lovely and evocative series of photos and writing. Thank you, James.
What a great duck lineup! I never get tired of any duck. I pulled into a parking lot today, and someone had a license plate that said BUFLHED and I never saw the person but I already like them :)