Tag Archives: Indian runner (Anas platyrhynchos)

Let them sing

In songs I cannot hold I feel the world touch me.  In places I cannot go I find myself wandering through a landscape of music.  In voices familiar I find unknown friends.

Eastern phoebe (Sayornis phoebe) singing from a tree branch (2009_03_08_012482)

I cannot deny the totality of my failure.  More always can be taken.  I have no escape from that palpable lesson of loss.

A drake wood duck (Aix sponsa) calling out at sunset (2009_02_13_008525)

Yet I find that dark moment at least partially illuminated with the brightness of song, a chorus of voices innumerable and vast.

A female red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus) calling out from the treetops (2009_02_03_006168)

Like carolers some bring their gifts right to my door, yet others I must seek out like opera.

A domestic greylag goose (Anser anser) honking as it swims by (2009_02_03_006504)

The calls of life surround me, blanket me in a warmth that permeates the darkest cold.

A domestic Indian runner (a.k.a. Indian runner duck or runner; Anas platyrhynchos) quacking at sunset (2009_02_03_007053)

Standing witness to this musical legion balms the open sore of failure and begins healing the wounded self.

A Carolina wren (Thryothorus ludovicianus) singing from the bushes surrounding the patio (2009_01_31_005332)

It’s somewhat like taking alms from the universe.

A male great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus) calling out (2008_12_07_001616)

Yet I feel no shame in receiving this charity, this gift from those who have it to give.

A male northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) singing from a treetop (2009_02_20_010310)

Let them sing.  And let me lose myself in the singing.

For even today the needful, lonesome calls of mourning doves filled the shadowy hours of dawn, and I let my eyes climb the tree outside the patio as they followed the plaintive calls to those offering their voices to the chill morning: a pair who had already built a nest in the outer branches.  This can help.

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos:

[1] Eastern phoebe (Sayornis phoebe)

[2] Wood duck (Aix sponsa), drake

[3] Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus), female

[4] Domestic greylag goose (Anser anser)

[5] Indian runner (a.k.a. Indian runner duck or runner; Anas platyrhynchos), domestic breed

[6] Carolina wren (Thryothorus ludovicianus)

[7] Great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus), male

[8] Northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos), male

The first walk (Part I)

My new camera arrived in late December 2007.  Because my naiveté with its functionality meant the date had not even been set correctly, I can’t truthfully say when I first held this splendid piece of magic in my grimy paws, nor can I tell you the actual date these photos were taken (as the EXIF date is incorrect, although it’s only off by 12-24 hours from what I remember).

Nevertheless, I can tell you this: Perhaps taken Christmas Eve or the day before, perhaps taken Christmas Day even, these images represent my new Canon S5 IS’s initial performance at White Rock Lake, its debut as my photographic companion at the urban oasis I love.

So welcome to the first walk, to be presented in parts since there’s lots to see.

Two American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) and a double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus) perched on a submerged branch and preening in morning sunlight (IMG_0091)

Two American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos)
and a double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus)
perched on a submerged branch and preening in morning sunlight.

A broad view of White Rock Lake from Sunset Bay (IMG_0092)

Taken immediately after the previous photo, I zoomed out to give some
perspective on where I stood when I snapped that picture.  This is
facing west from Sunset Bay.  You can see my shadow in the lower-
right corner of the image, and the pelicans and cormorant can be seen
just right of center.

A pair of juvenile ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) standing on a submerged tree stump (IMG_0111)

A pair of juvenile ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) standing on a
submerged tree stump, sometimes preening, sometimes looking around
as though trying to determine what to do with their morning.

The confluence in Sunset Bay crowded with teeming waterfowl, from an American white pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) to American coots (Fulica americana) to brown and white Chinese geese (a.k.a. swan geese; Anser cygnoides) (IMG_0127)

The confluence in Sunset Bay crowded with teeming waterfowl, from
an American white pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) to American coots
(Fulica americana) to brown and white Chinese geese (a.k.a. swan
geese; Anser cygnoides).

A covert of American coots (Fulica americana) milling about in the shallows near the shore of Sunset Bay (IMG_0139)

A covert of American coots (Fulica americana) milling about in the shallows
near shore, some eating, some preening, some wandering aimlessly.

A veritable flotilla of ducks swimming upstream from the lake, including two male, one female, and one unidentified pekin ducks (a.k.a. domestic ducks, white pekin ducks, or Long Island ducks; Anas domesticus), a male mallard (Anas platyrhynchos), two male Indian runners (Anas platyrhynchos), and a male crested Indian runner (Anas platyrhynchos) (IMG_0149)

A veritable flotilla of ducks swimming upstream from the lake, including
two male, one female, and one unidentified pekin ducks (a.k.a. domestic
ducks, white pekin ducks, or Long Island ducks; Anas domesticus), a male
mallard (Anas platyrhynchos), two male Indian runners (Anas platyrhynchos),
and a male crested Indian runner (Anas platyrhynchos).

That’s it for now, but there’s more to come in future installments.

Allow me to finish with this:

It took me years to realize my Canon PowerShot S50 had a macro setting, let alone what that could do for me.  It took me years to develop any level of proficiency with that piece of equipment, my first digital camera.  It took me years to feel comfortable with it, to feel confident with changing the settings to fit the conditions.  It took me years to start taking respectable images.

My sincere hope now is that it won’t take me years with the S5 IS.  I love photography.  Something about capturing the moment as I see it means a great deal to me, whether the pictures are just for me or for public consumption.  My newest camera, although certainly not a professional piece of equipment, offers tremendous power and advantage when compared to its predecessor.  I’m trying to learn its ins and outs as quickly as possible.  Considering these photos were taken the first day I had it, I hope I’m making more rapid progress than I did before.

[Next]

Runner at dusk

Dusk.  Our familiar star settles below the horizon, yet neither light nor dark rule our planet.

Nothing less than otherworldly, the twilight hour defined by a mingling of giants: night and day.

Weak light bends through the air to offer sight in still darkness.  Not too much vision, mind you, but enough.

Amongst the foraging creatures stands a runner.  Tall, upright, obvious.  He towers over his feathered brethren.

Indian runner duck (a.k.a. Indian runner or runner; Anas platyrhynchos) amongst other waterfowl at dusk (20080222_01972)

I stagger at his presence, his defiant stance above his kind, his station.  What empowers him to be so different?

Indian runner duck (a.k.a. Indian runner or runner; Anas platyrhynchos) amongst other waterfowl at dusk (20080222_01975)

Gravity.

It’s no more complicated than that.

With legs placed further back than other ducks, his center of gravity rests near his tail.  This forces him and his kind to stand up.

And to walk like they’re running.

Indian runner duck (a.k.a. Indian runner or runner; Anas platyrhynchos) amongst other waterfowl at dusk (20080222_01976)

Or marching.

While gabbing ad infinitum with a diatribe meant for the gods.

Still, even in this late hour when daylight and darkness combine, his presence remains unmissable, unmistakable.  Even if you’ve seen his kind before, a runner at dusk is a magical thing indeed.

Indian runner duck (a.k.a. Indian runner or runner; Anas platyrhynchos) amongst other waterfowl at dusk (20080222_02011)

[male Indian runner duck (a.k.a. Indian runner or runner; Anas platyrhynchos); also seen are American coots (Fulica americana), mallard ducks (Anas platyrhynchos), and pekin ducks (a.k.a. domestic ducks, white pekin ducks, or Long Island ducks; Anas domesticus)]

With anger bleeds the heart

The sharp pain in my fingers tells me of the cold, of the subfreezing temperatures.  Hours I spend roaming around the lake, walking here, kneeling there, standing motionless in each spot as I seek to feed my longing for nature’s bounty.

Perhaps gloves would make a prudent addition to the winter armor I wear: a tee shirt, a sweatshirt, and a jacket over them both.  But gloves would make the camera unwieldy, unworkable.  More so than the fumbling of fingers bitten by frost and stiff with the season’s icy embrace?  I suspect as much.

Each footstep crunches through grass thick with ice, every blade a glassy spectacle.  When I turn and face east toward the morning sunrise, light dances upon the ground and casts winter rainbows in every direction.  The world seems covered with glitter.

Even the pier at Sunset Bay is slick with ice.  I step carefully and still slide here and there.  Fear tells me I shall soon fall into the lake; my love of nature tells me to go on, to continue, for my heart burns with a fire that cannot be extinguished even if doused in the lake’s dark waters.

How long I stand there I do not know.  Fifteen minutes?  An hour?  Longer?  The question is moot for it never seems long enough, never enough time to see all that can be seen, to wallow in splendor only Mother Nature can provide.

Too many times I find myself wiping a tear away.  I lament nothing more than my longing to stay in this place, and the exquisite painting which constantly changes before me.  No better canvas can be found, I know, and I whisper as much to no one in particular.

Visitors from far and wide make this place their home during the cold season.  I can always find magnificence throughout the year, but it increases a thousandfold as migrants arrive from all parts of the continent.

Yet in an intriguing way, I find myself drawn to two ducks who make this place their home year-round.

One an Indian runner duck and the other a crested Indian runner duck (both Anas platyrhynchos).  I see they are males, statements made clear by the declarative curly tail feathers.

Only recently have I been able to identify this species despite having seen them here for many years.  At least a dozen runners live at the lake.

Their center of gravity rests further forward than in other ducks; therefore, they do not waddle on land.  Instead, they must stand upright and walk.  Seeing this for the first time explains why the name “runner” applies so well.

My mind drifts back in time to when I first witnessed this strange occurrence. . .

An Indian runner duck (Anas platyrhynchos) walking upright amongs American coots (Fulica americana)

Watching a duck stand up in such a way and practically run made for quite a scene, at least in my own experience.  One photo taken and all I could do then was stand and stare, look on as this strange creature ran along the shore like some avian intrigue sent to confuse the locals.  Locals like me, that is.

When finally my thoughts drift back to the icy pier upon which I stand, I lift the camera and snap a photo as the ducks pass by me.  Even as I do this, I realize something about the second duck is wrong.  Very wrong. . .

Two Indian runner ducks (Anas platyrhynchos), one of them crested, paddling through cold water

My eyes lock to its position as it paddles from the lake toward the confluence.  Many of its brethren and cousins already find themselves there, many bathing as first light dapples through the bones of the world, naked branches drawing bizarre pictures with shadow.

I strain to comprehend the cause of my sudden unease, my sudden heartache for the second duck.  It is then I zoom in with the camera to snap another photo.  As I press the button, the LCD screen reveals the blade that has pierced me so.

A crested Indian runner duck (Anas platyrhynchos) with a plastic ring wrapped around his beak

Only then does my weeping become manifest.  Tears draw cold trails down my cheeks like icy tendrils.  My thoughts race to the conclusion my heart already knows: unless the duck can push the plastic rings forward and off its beak, it will die.  Perhaps it will be of starvation, but more troubling than that, perhaps it will be of dehydration, a warrantless death in a place defined by water.

I speak aloud the vehement curses for that person so ignorant, so heartless, as to throw this loaded weapon into an environment where it poses a blatant risk.  Sobs fail to mitigate the anger.

I find myself twice wounded: my heart bleeding from anger’s stabbing pangs whilst my sorrow pours forth into the chilly waters below me.

Nothing can be done, I realize, except to hope this bird can free itself from the shackles that bind it.  Yearning tells me promises I wish to hear; reality tells me such horrors rarely end with fortune.

Finally, after drained of might by my own emotions, I turn the camera off and walk carefully back toward land, my eyes upon the slippery wood planks beneath me, my ears hearing the crunch of ice with each step.  That noblest part of me, however, remained at the end of the pier.  It stood and watched that duck, stood there and begged it to let me help, stood there knowing I could do nothing but let the crimson pour from my heart on the dagger of rage which had pierced it.

What cruel inhumanity possesses our species to be so careless, so thoughtless?  What feeds this megalomaniacal ignorance and apathy towards nature?

As for me, I sit here even now, even a day later, and fight the antipathy I feel toward our species, toward humankind, for the senseless slaughter of innocents, for the greedy and selfish wanton destruction of our home and its inhabitants.  Were I the last man on Earth, only then would I feel nature safe from our savagery.