Aix sponsa, The Wood Duck

At a very young age, I became enamoured with birds.  These feathered wonders come in such an array of sizes, shapes and a spectacle of colors.  I knew then, with such clarity, that I wanted to become an ornithologist and dedicate my life to working with these wonderful creatures.  (Of course, that didn't happen...)

It's no wonder, really, that my life compas should align this way.  As I think back in time to those most carefree of days, there was always wildlife as a central focus of my life.  As a ragged youth, clad in jeans and t-shirt, I ran wild along the banks of the James River in southwest central North Dakota.  I hiked, I biked, I ran, I swam and I canoed this wood-lined river, often from sunrise to sunset.  Living on the edge of a small town with two working parents and three nagging sisters, this was my escape.  I remember fondly the hours spent viewing wildlife, and some special moments that put permanent markers on the road of my life.  But, those I'll save for future writings.

Back in the early 70's, it was rare to see wood ducks on that stretch of the river.  Wood duck just were not all that numerous.  It made it a special event each time I would get a glimpse of these jeweled spectacles.  Slowly, as Ducks Unlimited, with the aid of local Boy Scouts and others, established nesting boxes up and down the river, the numbers grew.  By the late 70's and early 80's, wood ducks became a much more common site.

I became skilled at spotting these spectacles perched on trees overhanging the river, or drifting in and out of sight under the many snags and deadfall at the rivers edge.  I can remember watching for hours as the ever alert and constantly peeping hens minded their brood of ducklings along the wooded shoreline.  As I would occasionally approach just a bit too close by canoe,  the mother would enter her broken wing display, pleading me to follow her as her down-clad young scattered into the bramble. 

Often, I would see a hen watching over what was clearly more than just her own brood of young.  I would later come to learn that these enormous broods were the result of hens laying there eggs in other hen's nests.  No matter, the nurturing mother always seemed well equiped to deal with the large gaggle of young.


The wood duck has a special place in my heart.  Whenever I hear their call, or spot one darting through the sky or swimming along the banks of the Rio Grande, I'm taken back to those carefree days of my youth.  Undoubtedly, a smile will cross my face and maybe a sparkle twinge my eye as I admire the beauty of this wonderful bird.