A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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Northern Shoveler: Northern Shoveler Sugg'erpak If you ever find yourself on a placid lake or pond somewhere, take a look around and you might see one of the strangest species of ducks on earth, the Northern shoveler. Watch it for awhile and I guarantee you'll smile as this duck "shovels" its way, head half submerged, across the surface of the water. You've probably already guessed that it's feeding as it does this. But among ducks it is the species that is best equipped to feed in this way. For on the edge of both upper and lower bill it has special comblike "teeth" called lamellae that allow it to sieve tiny plants and animals such as diatoms and copepods from both the surface and muddy bottom of the lake. If you watch long enough you may even hear them murmur as they swim sedately along in pursuit of their miniscule quarry. During migration you will find scores of these birds swimming side by side, combing the water in unison, trying to fatten up for the long haul south to their wintering grounds in the southwest or Mexico. Down there I've seen them by the hundreds doing the same thing. On one memorable occasion a few years ago in Arizona, the sun was just setting, presenting me with silouettes of what must have been close to a thousand of these ducks on a large lake. A shimmering wake trailed each bird on the mirror surface of the water, making this sighting almost poetic (I say almost because I didn't write a poem about it). The shoveler's scientific name is Anas clypeata, which liberally translates as "shield-billed duck.'' The Yupik people have two names for the duck that I know about, Sugg'erpak, meaning simply "big-billed duck," and Curcurpak, meaning "big duck that goes cuq cuq." "Cuq Cuq" is actually only one of several of its calls and is made by the male during courtship. He also calls, "woh, woh, woh," when trying to entice his mate. When the pair finally arrives on their nesting ground his calls are mixed with an aggressive pumping of his head up and down as if to say "stay away from my mate, my nest and my feeding territory!" Shortly after reaching their nesting spot, the female builds her nest on grassy high ground near the boggy edge of water. She finds a concealed depression, lines it with dry grass and her own downy feathers, then starts laying her eggs, a lot of them. She has been known to lay as many as 14, ranging in color from pale olive-buff to greenish-gray. Unlike other male ducks, which usually take off after the last egg is laid, the shoveler male is more loyal and defends their nesting territory sometimes up to the time of hatching of the eggs. At that time, however, he does fly off to join other males on nearby sloughs and ponds, leaving the raising of the young to his mate. Imagine raising 14 kids, or even ten or twelve, all the same age, by yourself! But that's her daunting task. And it starts 22 days or so after incubation begins and all of the ducklings hatch and promptly follow their mom to the nearest slough or pond. If they manage to escape the likes of northern pike and other predators, they take their first wobbly-winged flights about 45 days later. At this point they officially join the ranks of one of the most abundant ducks in North America, numbering close to a million birds. Only pintails, mallards and American wigeons are more numerous. For those who are on the placid lake I mentioned above for the purpose of hunting these beautiful and unique ducks, hold your fire for a few minutes and watch them with your binoculars. Who knows, unless you're really hungry, maybe you won't pull the trigger.  |
