Saturday morning, while the rest of the family slept, I went out to Marcil Lake. Well, the outflow of it really. Qarsauq (Red-throated Loons) had arrived, with five pairs on the small ponds. I spent some time on my belly, waiting for a decent shot (there was also a female King Eider on the pond, the first I've seen there), but I began feeling guilty about the time I was spending away from the others, and made my way back. I am, after all, a working man now, and weekends should be spent with family.
On the closest pond to the road someone had propped up the front of an old iglutak, complete with broken out window, and as there were birds on that pond, and I could use the lay of the land to get to it, I decided to use it as a hide (I love the British term for a blind, it seems much more appropriate).
There were three Qarsauq on the pond, but there were also a number of Long-tailed Ducks, the subject of this post. As I sat on the ground, wishing the iglutak was closer to the edge of the pond, the Akkiarjuk put on quite the show.
I love their calls, almost a chortle at times (thank you Lewis Carroll for that word). Time is short up here in the breeding season, and these small ducks were intent on making the most of their time. They displayed, rising up in the water and flapping their wings, they preened, they chased each other and fought. And they called. The activity rose and the chasing got more frequent and then suddenly they paused. The ducks all sat quietly as if it was half time, and then one called and it started all over again.
We returned to the outflow in our evening drive. The day had transformed into one of those glorious June days up here, warm and sunny, and filled with birdsong. The light had greatly improved, and now some of the Akkiarjuk were sitting on the last little bit of ice on the pond, sunning themselves. When they hadn't moved after the kids tore about, trying to find the lemming that had been sunning itself also, I decided to grab some more photos.
This time I opted for the direct approach, slowly walking across the tundra towards them, snapping photos as I went, until they had decided I was close enough. When half of them had slid into the water, I turned and went back to the truck, leaving their chortling for another day.
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“Hide” isn’t just a British term. Our hunter friends here in central PA say “hide” instead of “blind,” too, and I’m guessing it goes on down through the Appalachians.
I never knew that Dave. I’d always thought that Hide was strictly from across the Pond.