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Wild Ducks: Edible kinds of — Breeding-places of Mallards — Change of
Plumage — Shooting —Feeding-places — Half-Bred Wild Ducks — Anas
glacialis — Anas clangula: Habits of — Teeth of Goosander — Cormorants —
Anecdotes.
A few years ago I used to
see a great many scaup ducks in the pools and burns near the coast, but
now it is very seldom that I meet with a single bird of this kind; the
last which I killed here was in the month of July. This is one of the few
ducks frequenting the shore which has not a rank or fishy flavour: out of
the numerous varieties of birds of the duck kind, I can only enumerate
four that are really good eating, namely, the common mallard, the widgeon,
the teal, and the scaup duck. The best of these is the mallard : with us
they breed principally about the most lonely lochs and pools in the hills;
sometimes I have seen these birds during the breeding-season very far up
among the hills : a few hatch and rear their young about the rough ground
and mosses near the sea, but these get fewer and fewer every year, in
consequence of the increase of draining and clearing which goes on in all
the swamps and wild grounds.
Some few breed in
furze-bushes and quiet corners near the mouth of the river, and may be
seen in some rushy pool, accompanied by a brood of young ones. Though so
wild a bird, they sit close, allowing people to pass very near to them
without moving. When they leave their nest, the eggs are always carefully
concealed, so that a careless observer would never suppose that the heap
of dried leaves and grass that he sees under a bush covers twelve or
thirteen duck's eggs.
Occasionally a wild duck
fixes on a most unlikely place to build her nest in; for instance, on a
cleft of a rock, where you would rather expect to find a pigeon or jackdaw
building, and I once, when fishing in a quiet brook in England, saw a wild
duck fly out of an old pollard oak-tree. My curiosity being excited by
seeing the bird in so unusual a place, I examined the tree, and found that
she had a nest built of sticks and grass, containing six eggs, placed at
the junction of the branches and the main stem. I do not know how she
would have managed to get her young ones safely out of it when hatched,
for on carefully measuring the height, I found that the nest was exactly
fifteen feet from the ground.
As soon as hatched, the
young ones take to the water, and it is very amusing to see the activity
and quickness which the little fellows display in catching insects and
flies as they skim along the surface of the water, led on by the parent
bird, who takes the greatest care of them, bustling about with all the
hurry and importance of a barn-yard hen. Presently she gives a low warning
quack, as a hawk or carrion crow passes in a suspicious manner over them.
One cry is enough, away all the little ones dart into the rushes,
screaming and fluttering, while the old bird, with head flat on the water
and upturned eye, slowly follows them, but not until she sees them all out
of danger. After a short time, if the enemy has disappeared, the old bird
peers cautiously from her covert, and if she makes up her mind that all is
safe, she calls forth her offspring again, to feed and sport in the open
water.
The young birds do not fly
till they are quite full grown. I have observed that, as soon as ever the
inner side of the wing is fully clothed, they take to flying; their bones,
which before this time were more like gristle than anything else, quickly
hardening, and giving the bird full power and use of its pinions. The old
bird then leads them forth at night to the most distant feeding-places,
either to the grass meadows where they search for snails or worms, or to
the splashy. swamps, where they dabble about all night, collecting the
different insects and young frogs that abound in these places. As the corn
ripens, they fly to the oat-fields in the dusk of the evening, preferring
this grain and peas to any other. They are now in good order and easily
shot, as they come regularly to the same fields every night. As soon as
they have satisfied their hunger, they go to some favourite pool, where
they drink and wash themselves. After this, they repair, before dawn, to
their resting-place for the day, generally some large piece of water,
where they can float quietly out of reach of all danger. In October the
drakes have acquired their splendid plumage, which they cast off in the
spring, at that time changing their gay feathers for a more sombre brown,
resembling the plumage of the female bird, but darker. During the time
that they are clothed in this grave dress, the drakes keep in flocks
together, and show themselves but little, appearing to keep as much out of
observation as possible. During the actual time of their spring moulting,
the drakes are for some days so helpless that I have frequently seen a dog
catch them. The same thing occurs with the few wild geese that breed in
the north of Scotland. With regard to shooting wild ducks, I am no
advocate or follower of the punt and swivel system. I can see little
amusement in taking a long shot at the sound of feeding water-fowl,
killing and maiming you know not what; nor am I addicted to punting myself
in a flat boat over half frozen mud, and waiting for hours together for
the chance of a sweeping shot. There may be great sport in this kind of
proceeding, but I cannot discover it. I much prefer the more active and
independent amusement of taking my chance with a common gun, meeting the
birds on their way to and from their feeding or resting places, and
observing and taking note of their different habits and ways of getting
their living.
No rule can be laid down
for wild-fowl shooting; what succeeds in one place fails in another. The
best plan, in whatever district the sportsman is located is to take note
where the birds feed, where they rest in the daytime, and where they take
shelter in heavy winds. By observing these different things it is always
easy enough to procure a few wild ducks. On the coast, the birds change
their locality with the ebb and flow of the tide, generally feeding with
the ebb, and resting with the flow. I believe that about the best
wild-fowl shooting in the kingdom is in the Cromarty Firth, where
thousands of birds of every variety pass the winter, feeding on the long
sea-grass, and passing backwards and forwards constantly at every turn of
the tide. I have here often killed wild ducks by moonlight. It is an
interesting walk in the bright clear winter nights, to go round by the
shore, listening to the various calls of the birds, the constant quack of
the mallard, the shrill whistle of the widgeon, the low croaking note of
the teal, and the fine bugle voice of the wild swan, varied every now and
then by the loud whistling of a startled curlew or oyster-catcher. The
mallard and teal are the only exclusively night-feeding birds; the others
feed at any time of the night or day, being dependent on the state of the
tide to get at the banks of grass and weed, or the sands where they find
shell-fish. All ducks are quite as wary in the bright moonlight as in the
day time, but at night are more likely to be found near the shore. Between
the sea and the land near my abode is a long stretch of green embankment,
which was made some years back in order to reclaim from the sea a great
extent of land, which then consisted of swampy grass and herbage,
overflowed at every high tide, but which now repays the expense of
erecting the embankments, by affording as fine a district of corn-land as
there is in the kingdom. By keeping the landward side of this grass-wall,
and looking over it with great care, at different spots, I can frequently
kill several brace of ducks and widgeon in an evening; though, without a
clever retriever, the winged birds must invariably escape. Guided by their
quacking, I have also often killed wild ducks at springs and running
streams in frosty nights. It is perfectly easy to distinguish the birds as
they swim about on a calm moonlight night, particularly if you can get the
birds between you and the moon. It is a great assistance in night shooting
to paste a piece of white paper along your gun-barrel, half-way down from
the muzzle. In the stillness of the night the birds are peculiarly alive
to sound, and the slightest noise sends them immediately out of shot.
Their sense of smelling being also very acute, you must always keep to
leeward of them. The mallard duck is more wary than any other kind in
these respects, rising immediately with loud cries of warning, and putting
all the other birds within hearing on the alert. I have seen the wild
swans at night swim with a low cheeping note close by me ; their white
colour, however, makes them more difficult to distinguish than any other
bird. It is quite easy to shoot ducks flying by moonlight, as long as you
can get them between you and the clear sky. Practice, however, is required
to enable the shooter to judge of distance at night time.
I have frequently caught
and brought home young wild ducks. If confined in a yard, or elsewhere,
for a week or two with tame birds, they strike up a companionship which
keeps them from wandering when set at liberty. Some few years back I
brought home three young wild ducks : two of them turned out to be drakes.
I sent away my tame drakes, and, in consequence, the next season had a
large family of half-bred and whole wild ducks, as the tame and wild breed
together quite freely. The wild ducks which have been caught are the
tamest of all; throwing off all their natural shyness, they follow their
feeder, and will eat corn out of the hand of any person with whom they are
acquainted. The half-bred birds are sometimes pinioned, as they are
inclined to fly away for the purpose of making their nests at a distance :
at other times they never attempt to leave the field in front of the
house. A pair or two always breed in the flower-garden. They appear to
have a great penchant for forming their nests in certain flowerbeds, and
they are allowed to have their own way in this respect, as their elegant
and high-bred appearance interests even the gardener, enemy as he is to
all intruders on his favourite flowers.
These birds conceal their
eggs with great care, and I have often been amused at the trouble the poor
duck is put to in collecting dead leaves and straw to cover her eggs, when
they are laid in a well-kept flower-bed. I often have a handful of straw
laid on the grass at a convenient distance from the nest, which the old
bird soon carries off, and makes use of. The drakes, though they take no
portion of the nesting labours, appear to keep a careful watch near at
hand during the time the duck is sitting. The half-bred birds have a
peculiarity in common with the wild duck—which is, that they always pair,
each drake taking charge of only one duck—not, as is the case with the
tame ducks, taking to himself half-a-dozen wives. The young, too, when
first hatched, have a great deal of the shyness of wild ducks, showing
itself in a propensity to run off and hide in any hole or corner that is
at hand. When in full plumage my drakes also have the beautifully mottled
feathers above the wing which are so much used in fly-dressing. With
regard to the larder, the half-wild ducks are an improvement on both the
tame and wild, being superior to either in delicacy and flavour. Their
active and neat appearance, too, make them a much more ornamental object
(as they walk about in search of worms on the lawn or field) than a
waddling, corpulent barn-yard duck.
There is a very pretty and
elegant little duck, which is common on our coast—the long-tailed duck,
Anas glacialis. Its movements and actions are peculiarly graceful and
amusing, while its musical cry is quite unlike that of any other bird,
unless a slight resemblance to the trumpeting of the wild swan may be
traced in it. Lying concealed on the shore, I have often watched these
birds as they swim along in small companies within twenty yards of me; the
drake, with his gay plumage, playing quaint antics round the more sad-coloured
female—sometimes jerking himself half out of the water, at others diving
under her, and coming up on the other side. Sometimes, by a common
impulse, they all set off swimming in a circle after each other with great
rapidity, and uttering their curious cry, which is peculiarly wild and
pleasing. When feeding, these birds dive constantly, remaining under water
for a considerable time. Turning up their tails, they dip under with a
curious kind of motion, one after the other, till the whole flock is under
water. They are not nearly so wild or shy as many other kinds of
wild-fowl, and are easily shot, though if only winged it is almost
impossible to catch them, even with the best retriever, so. quickly do
they dive. They swim in with the flowing tide, frequently following the
course of the water to some little distance from the mouth of the river.
When I see them in the heavy surf on the main shore, they seem quite at
their ease, floating high in the water, and diving into the midst of the
wildest waves. When put up, they seldom fly far, keeping low, and suddenly
dropping into the water again, where they seem more at their ease than in
the air. When I have shot one of these birds, its mate (whether the duck
or the drake is the survivor) returns frequently to the spot, flying round
and round, and uttering a plaintive call.
On the open part of the
coast they are often seen in company with the velvet duck. The latter very
seldom comes into the bay, but keeps without the bar, quite regardless of
storm or wind. It is a fine handsome bird, though of a rather heavy make.
When flying, they have very much the appearance of a black-cock, having
the same white mark on the wing, and being black in all other parts of
their plumage. It is not difficult to approach these birds in a boat, but
as they are not fit to eat, they are not much sought after. They are
excellent divers, and must be shot dead, or they generally escape.
The golden-eye, Anas
clangula, and the morillon, are common about the mouth of the river
and burns. I have often heard it argued that these two birds are merely
the same species in different degrees of maturity; but I do not consider
that there is the least doubt as to their being quite distinct. I have
frequently shot what I suppose to be the young golden-eye not arrived at
its full plumage ; but in these the white spot at the corner of the mouth
is more or less visible. The birds are larger than the morillon, besides
which the golden-eye, in whatever stage of maturity it is found, always
makes that peculiar noise with its wings, when flying, which is not heard
in the flight of the morillon, or of any other kind of duck. I remember
too, once watching a pair of morillons in a Highland loch, late in the
spring ; they had evidently paired, and were come to the age of maturity,
and ready for breeding.
The golden-eye dives well,
remaining a considerable time under water seeking its food, which consists
of the small shellfish which it finds at the bottom. The morillon
frequents the same places as the golden-eye, but always remains singly or
in pairs, whereas the latter birds frequently unite in small flocks,
paiticularly when they take to the inland lochs, which they do at the
commencement of the spring. The golden-eye is frequently very fat and
heavy, but is of a rank, coarse flavour.
The goosander and merganser
fish constantly in the river: they remain late in the spring and return
early in the autumn. Quick-sighted, they perceive an enemy at a great
distance, and keep a watch on all his movements. As long as he remains in
full view and at a safe distance the birds do not move; but the moment the
sportsman conceals himself, or approaches too near, they rise and go out
to sea. They are easily killed by sending a person above them, and
concealing oneself some way down the course of the stream, as when put up,
although they may at first fly a short way up the water, they invariably
turn downwards and repair to the open sea, following the windings of the
river during their whole flight. If winged, they instantly dive, and rise
at a considerable distance, keeping only their heads above the water, and
making for the sea as fast as they can.
They feed on small trout
and eels, which they fish for at the tails of the streams or in
comparatively shallow water, unlike the cormorant, who, feeding on
good-sized fish, is always seen diving in the large deep pools, where they
are more likely to find trout big enough to satisfy their voracious
appetite. The throat of the cormorant stretches to a very great extent,
and their mouth opens wide enough to swallow a good-sized sea-trout. I saw
a cormorant a few days ago engaged with a large white trout which he had
caught in a quiet pool, and which he seemed to have some difficulty in
swallowing. The bird was swimming with the fish across his bill, and
endeavouring to get it in the right position, that is, with the head
downwards. At last, by a dexterous jerk, he contrived to toss the trout
up, and, catching it in his open mouth, managed to gulp it down, though
apparently the fish was very much larger in circumference than the throat
of the bird. The expanding power of a heron's throat is also wonderfully
great, and I have seen it severely tested when the bird was engaged in
swallowing a flounder something wider than my hand. As the flounder went
down, the bird's throat was stretched out into a fan-like shape, as he
strained, apparently half-choked, to swallow it. These fish-eating birds
having no crop, all they gulp down, however large it may be, goes at once
into their stomach, where it is quickly digested. Like the heron, the
cormorant swallows young water-fowl, rats, or anything that comes in its
way.
There is a peculiarity in
the bills of most birds which live on worms or fish : they are all more or
less provided with a kind of teeth, which, sloping inwards, admit easily
of the ingress of their prey, but make it impossible for anything to
escape after it has once entered. In the goosander and merganser this is
particularly conspicuous, as their teeth are so placed that they hold
their slippery prey with the greatest facility. The common wild duck has
it also, though the teeth are not nearly so projecting or sharp feeding as
it does on worms and insects, it does not require to be so strongly armed
in this respect as those birds that live on fish.
I wonder that it has never
occurred to any one in this country to follow the example of the Chinese
in teaching the cormorant to fish. The bold and voracious disposition of
this bird makes it easy enough to tame, and many of our lochs and
river-mouths would be well adapted for a trial of its abilities in
fishing; and it would be an amusing variety in sporting to watch the bird
as he dived and pursued the fish in clear water. We might take a hint from
our brethren of the Celestial Empire with some advantage in this respect.
A curious anecdote of a
brood of young wild ducks was told me by my keeper to-day. He found in
some very rough, marshy ground, which was formerly a peat-moss, eight
young ducks nearly full-grown, prisoners, as it were, in one of the old
peat-holes. They had evidently tumbled in some time before, and had
managed to subsist on the insects, etc., that it contained or that fell
into it. From the manner in which they had undermined the banks of their
watery prison, the birds must have been in it for some weeks. The sides
were perpendicular, but there were small resting-places under the bank
which prevented their being drowned. The size of the place they were in
was about eight feet square, and in this small space they had not only
grown up, but thrived, being fully as large and heavy as any other young
ducks of the same age.
In shooting water-fowl, I
have often been struck by the fact that as soon as ever life is extinct in
a bird which falls in the sea or river, the plumage begins to get wet and
to be penetrated by the water, although as long as the bird lives it
remains dry and the wet runs off it. I can only account for this by
supposing that the bird, as long as life remains, keeps his feathers in a
position throw off and prevent the water from entering between them. This
power is of course lost to the dead bird, and the water penetrating
through the outer part of the feathers wets them all. This appears to be
more likely than that the feathers should be only kept dry by the oil
supplied by the bird, as the effect of this oil could not be so
instantaneously lost as to admit of wet as soon as the bird drops dead,
while if the bird be only wounded they remain dry.
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