Bird #559 — Mexican Duck

anas (duck) diazi (August­an Diaz (1829-1893) Mexican military engineer, geographer, explorer)

Englewood, Colorado — Arapahoe Lake

Thursday, April 8, 2021 — 8:30 am

First the bad news. Back on February 10 of this year, I drove two hours north to Louisville to look at a duck that was reported to be a Mexican Duck — reported to be a Mexican Duck by the guy who wrote the article for the ABA website on how to identify Mexican Ducks. I found the bird, but without that guy’s photos to guide me, I never would have thought it wasn’t a female Mallard. I took photos and wrote it up as a lifer. It was darker than most female Mallards, with less white on the tail, and with a thin strip of white on the scapular, but the bill looked very Mallard-like to me. Still, what do I know? I added it to my list.

But within days, a couple other local experts chimed in on the Colorado birders chat site and said it was just a Mallard. The explanation was this: “The bill pattern is unusual for a Mexican Duck as is the somewhat pale belly. The bird is not as dark as most female Mexican Ducks, and I’ve seen female Mallards with extensively brown tails. This is all kind of vague, but the ID of female Mexican Duck vs. Mallard is complex and still not fully worked out.”

So I had to go through the process of deleting Mexican Duck from all my lists.

On my birthday, I drove to south-central Wyoming to look for Greater Sage-Grouse. At the last minute, I checked the rare bird reports and saw that another Mexican Duck, a male this time, was reported from a small lake in Englewood. From the photos on eBird, this one looked much more like I expected a Mexican Duck to look like. I had time and was in the neighborhood, so I made the detour.

Arapahoe Lake is a tiny pond in the middle of a subdivision. By small, I mean perhaps 60 yards long and 40 yards wide. There’s a walking path along about a third of the shore, so I parked and walked. I saw many Mallards and a few other birds, but not the Mexican Duck. I circled the lake and walked on the road across the dam. I was just about to give up when I saw a suspicious-looking duck on a rock across the way. I had walked right past it, but as it was only visible from the path from one angle, I’d missed it.

The duck was in the shadows, so the light made it impossible to i.d. it for sure. I headed back to the other side. That’s when I saw the very large sign informing me that if I didn’t live on the lake, I was trespassing. Whoops.

But now I had a dilemma. I’d seen what I was pretty sure was the lifer I was looking for, but to be positive, I’d have to trespass again. Since nobody had stopped me the first time, I went for it — which I usually don’t do. I got one photo of the Mexican Duck on the rock before it eased into the water and swam off.

In the shadows, my photos showed little more than a silhouette. And I didn’t feel good about trespassing. So I returned to my car and drove back to the dam where I was allowed to be and took some more photos.

The Mexican Duck was a male — evidenced by the orange-yellow bill (like that of a male Mallard). It was darker than the female Mallards, with narrower pale edges on its feathers. The tail had limited white and no curling feathers. I feel a lot better about this one than I did about the Louisville one. This one I could have identified as a Mexican Duck on my own. Another hint that it was a male was how chummy it was with one of the female Mallards. They were definitely behaving like a pair. (The two species were recently split and often hybridize.) Other than that, it behaved like a duck on a pond, slowly drifting around with no particular agenda or direction.

The white eye perplexed me for a bit. I thought perhaps the duck was blind in one eye. But I later saw that eye open, and you can see it the same think on the female Mallard in the bottom photo, so I think it was just a lid to shield the morning sun.

The Mexican Duck was, until recently, a subspecies of the Mallard. Its normal range is, unsurprisingly, Mexico, along with southern Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. There’s usually one or two wandering around Colorado at any given point in time.

This wasn’t a terribly exciting lifer sighting or a particularly exciting place to see it. But I’m glad I’ve ticked it off my list with a bird that doesn’t have me doubting myself.

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Ohio Wildlife

I took these photos on our quick trip to Ohio. I didn’t have my camera, so these are stills from videos taken with my phone. They aren’t great photos, but they’re the best I have of Woodchucks and displaying Wild Turkeys.

Woodchuck in the cemetery next to our hotel along the Olentangy River in Columbus on April 4.

Wild Turkeys at Blendon Woods Metro Park on April 5.

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Robin

I drove all the way up north of Boulder on Saturday morning because a Short-eared Owl and Peregrine Falcon were the only birds of interest being reported in the state. The place I went was Lagerman Agricultural Preserve, maybe four square miles of pastureland surrounded by the creeping sprawl of suburbs. I walked five miles on muddy trails and saw nothing of note. (Except that, being near Boulder, 10 of the 15 people I passed were wearing masks — outside. In a huge field. Where it was simple to keep many yards away from any other person.) The long drive home was unpleasant, with heavy traffic all the way from Boulder to the Springs. I was home, twitchy and stressed, by early afternoon. For all that, I did get a couple decent photos of an American Robin.

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Highlights from Recent Reading

GOD, GIVE US MEN!

GOD, give us men!
A time like this demands
Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;
Men whom the lust of office does not kill;
Men whom the spoils of office can not buy;
Men who possess opinions and a will;
Men who have honor; men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue
And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking!
Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
In public duty, and in private thinking;
For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds,
Their large professions and their little deeds,
Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps,
Wrong rules the land and waiting Justice sleeps.

 by Josiah Gilbert Holland

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The Hawaiian rode the donkey with my traveling bag balanced on his saddle horn. I rode the horse with my typewriter slung from the saddle horn. Well, my horse was dead. I don’t know how long he had been dead, but it must have been a long time. It was only the pull of the moon on him, like a tide, and the fact that occasionally I got off and lifted one of his legs ahead of the other, that gave us any progress at all.

from Home Country, by Ernie Pyle (1940)

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One day two little children got off a bus. They were so tiny they didn’t even know their own names. Travelers Aid had nothing at all to work on. The newspapers co-operatively ran the children’s pictures. Next day their mother called up from Bakersfield, three hundred miles away. She said she and her husband had put the kids on the bus, hoping to hitchhike through to San Francisco before the kids got there, and meet them at the bus station. But on the way up they got a harvesting job in one of the vegetable fields, so they just stopped and went to work. That’s one way to raise a family.

from Home Country, by Ernie Pyle (1940)

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I am not happy with the number of Cub losses in ratio to victories. — Cubs’ owner, William K. Wrigley (1949)

from The Game Is Never Over, by Jim Langford (1980)

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Nineteen-year-old -pitcher Jimmy St. Vrain, for example, was a terrible right-handed hitter. He decided to have a go at batting left-handed in a game against the Pirates. On the first pitch he actually hit the ball, a slow low grounder to shortstop Honus Wagner. Immediately, St. Vrain dashed across the plate with his head down and elbows pumping. Across the plate? Yes. Directly to third base. Wagner, along with everyone else at the park, was stunned: “I’m standing there with the ball in my hand looking at this guy running from home to third, and for an instant I swear I don’t known where to throw the darn thing. And when I finally did throw to first I wasn’t at all sure it was the right thing to do.”

from The Game Is Never Over, by Jim Langford (1980)

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“I’ve got to sail for America in a few days.”

“With Jane?”

“Well, of course with Jane, Good heavens, you don’t think I’m going to leave her behind. How soon can one get married?”

“Like a flash, I believe, if yer get a special license.”

“I’ll get two, to be on the safe side.”

“I would. Can’t go wrong, if you have a spare.”

Lord Uffenham was silent for a moment. He seemed deeply moved. “Did yer know,” he said at length, “that the herring gull, when it mates, swells its neck, opens its beak and regurgitates a large quantity of undigested food?”

“You don’t say? That isn’t part of the Church of England marriage service is it?”

“I believe not. Still,” said Lord Uffenham, “it’s an interesting thought. Makes yer realize that it takes all sorts to make a world.”

from The Butler Did It, by P.G. Wodehouse (1957)

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Whoa!

Paul Revere leaped into his saddle.

“Through every Middlesex village and farm, Bess, old girl!” he whispered in his mare’s ear, and they were off.

And, as he rode, the dauntless patriot saw as in a vision (in fact, it was a vision) the future of the land to which he was bringing freedom.

He saw a hundred and ten million people, the men in derbies, the women in felt hats with little bows on the top. He saw them pushing one another in and out of trolley-cars on their way to and from work, adding up figures incorrectly all morning and subtracting them incorrectly all afternoon, with time out at 12:30 for frosted chocolates and pimento cheese sandwiches. He saw fifty million of them trying to prevent the other sixty million from doing what they wanted to do, and the sixty million trying to prevent the fifty million from doing what they wanted to do. He saw them all paying taxes to a few hundred of their number for running the government very badly. He saw ten million thin children working and ten thousand fat children playing in the warm sands. And now and again, he saw five million youths, cheered on by a hundred million elders with fallen arches, marching out to give their arms and legs and lives for Something to Be Determined Later. And over all he saw the Stars and Stripes fluttering in the artificial breeze of an electric fan operated behind the scenes.

So tugging at the reins he yelled, “Who, Bess! We’re going back to the stable.”

Note: This piece was first published in 1924, when derision was not confused with disloyalty. [Imagine what Revere would think if he had a vision of America today?]

from The Benchley Roundup, by Robert Benchley

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Many present-day situations have parallels in the situations in the Alice in Wonderland books, but I like to believe that this is not because Carroll put sense into his nonsense, but because the present-day situations are sheer nonsense themselves.

from The Benchley Roundup, by Robert Benchley

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When I am writing a novel I must actually live the lives of my characters. If, for instance, my hero is a gambler on the French Riviera, I make myself pack up and go to Cannes or Nice, willy-nilly, and there throw myself into the life of the gambling set until I really believe that I am Paul De Lacroix, Ed Whelan, or whatever my hero’s name is. Of course this runs into money, and I am quite likely to have to change my ideas about my hero entirely and make him a bum on a tramp steamer working his way back to America, or a young college boy out of funds who lives by his wits until his friends at home send him a hundred and ten dollars. …

This actually living the lives of my characters takes up quite a lot of time and makes it a little difficult to write anything. It was not until I decided to tell stories about old men who just sit in their rooms and shell walnuts that I ever got around to doing any work. It doesn’t make for very interesting novels, but at any rate the wordage is there.

from The Benchley Roundup, by Robert Benchley

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He opened a wallet and extracted a card. He struggled to his feet and handed it to me. The card read: Goble and Green, Investigators, 310 Prudence Building, Kansas City, Missouri.

“Must be interesting work, Mr. Goble.”

“Don’t get funny with me, buster. I get annoyed rather easy.”

“Fine. Let’s watch you get annoyed. What do you do — bite your mustache?”

“I ain’t got no mustache, stupid.”

“You could grow one. I can wait.”

from Playback, by Raymond Chandler

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Four Out of Six

I did some chasing today (looking for particular birds that have been reported by others as opposed to just going to a spot and seeing what’s there is to see). I started at Stratton Open Space where Northern Goshawk has been seen regularly for the past month. I’d only seen three in my life, and two of those were flyovers, so I didn’t really have a lot of hope. But I followed the directions to the area where it’s been seen, and there it was.

I first saw it on top of a pine on a ridge perhaps 100 yards away. I got one lousy photo before it dove down into the trees out of sight. But less than a minute later, it flew back up and landed on top of another pine about 50 yards away. It perched and looked around for about five minutes, then took off and flew down the hill. It passed right over my head about 15 feet off the ground and glided for 100 or so yards until I lost sight of it.

Then I drove down to Lake Pueblo. I missed the Mew Gulls, but I found a couple Juniper Titmice and followed them until I got some halfway decent photos. These have long been a tough find for me. I’ve seen them, but never before today have I gotten good, extended looks. They were gathering seeds from the ground under the junipers and then flying up to low branches and pounding them open.

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