A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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White-fronted Goose:White-fronted Goose Leqleq Listen to these amazing geese and you will hear honest to goodness laughter and chuckling. As they fly overhead, it could be they're laughing at the way we build our houses, or the way we're so confined to the earth, or perhaps the way people point up at them and say "leqleq," or "neqleq," or "neqlepik"! Now it's time for you to laugh because these are names that were given probably many thousands of years ago by hunters who thought the sound these geese made reminded them of someone passing gas. You don't believe me? Well listen again. One person's laughter is another's, how can I put it delicately, "flatus." On to other things, such as their scientific name, Anser albifrons, meaning, "goose with the white forehead," which is where the big goose also gets its official English common name. In the Y-K Delta, however, the goose is called "Yellow legs," because of its brilliant orange-yellow legs. Some of my friends also call it "Speckle belly," because of its, yes, speckled belly. After migrating north from their wintering grounds in California and Mexico, these laughing geese fly in to the Y-K Delta in large numbers. Three year olds have by now already found mates and immediately prepare to nest, even if there is still snow on the ground. Both during the winter and on their way north the two newly mated birds have strengthened their pair bond with what is called the "triumph display," where the male briefly attacks another adult bird, then returns to its mate with its neck outstretched and its wings partly spread. While he does this, both male and female call loudly back and forth. Since, in this case, it is no laughing matter, they don't laugh. Mother goose builds her nest by herself in a shallow depression in the tundra near water out of dried grasses and small sticks and then lines it with her own down. Father goose meanwhile remains nearby, calling loudly, and hissing and flying at any other White-fronts that may approach too close for comfort. This may happen fairly often, since White-fronts nest in loose colonies of 15-20 pairs. The female usually lays 5-6 large cream-colored eggs and incubates them by herself while the gander stands guard. It takes almost a month for the young to begin to peck their way out of their shells, but when they finally make it into the light of day they are already quite big and strong, and within a day can walk and swim without any help from mom or dad. Both parents tend the young after they leave the nest, leading them to feeding areas. They do not feed them, however. Feeding close by, the hatchlings eat pretty much the same fare as their parents: marsh and tundra plants, aquatic insects and their larvae and, especially during migration, crowberries and blueberries. After fattening up on these foods for about a month and a half, the young are ready to push into the air and fly, fly, fly. They don't seem to be in any hurry to leave the company of their parents, though, and remain with them for the first year of life, and often are loosely associated with them for several years. When it comes time to migrate in Fall, the young follow their parents, thereby learning the skills needed for long-distance migration. They fly with them by day or night, using well established routes flown by countless generations of White-fronted and other geese, and relying on traditional stopover points to recharge for the next leg of their journey. My favorite migration memory of these handsome geese was during a walk one late Autumn day on the mountain above the village of Marshall. Snow was falling and, well, let me tell the story in the form of a poem I wrote about them: It was an opaque sky with early snow falling when I heard them gabbling somewhere out there in those hoary flakes dropping leaden on green birch woods and bleaching red tundra frosty white with winter. Further along the trail I spotted their tracks, a stampede of webbed feet chasing blueberries across yellowing tufts of splayed cotton grass on wet snow, lightly squashing confetti leaves of dwarf birch cast away by galing September winds. Then I heard them again, above me, their noisy gabble warning of some amorphous imminence. Suddenly, there they were, like giant wings flapping, first one flock, then another, and another, scudding off in different directions, splitting their numbers, flying higher on the mountain where no one will bother them, to fatten some more on blueberries and crowberries, just biding their time till the weather breaks and they can see the grey snake braids of the Yukon river once again. Then they'll be gone, heading across the pass to Russian Mission, over to the Kuskokwim and south to warmer climes and another winter of respite from the blood and broken feathers inflicted by the greedy cannonfire of hungry hunters. Good luck to you, my friends. P.S. The White-front has many other common names: Gray brant, gray wavey, harlequin brant, laughing goose, marble-belly, pied brant, prairie brant, speckled brant, tiger brant, tule white-fronted goose, yellow-legged brant, and yellow-legged goose.  |
