Duck, Duck, Band Duck

 

   Last week Teresa suggested we help band ducks at the Agassiz Wildlife Refuge. This duck banding was scheduled for Thursday evening at 5:30. At 5:30 I'm usually looking for my supper and envisioning my bed not long after that. Besides, we had an errand to run out of town and would not make it back for this duck banding thing.

  But the errand fell through and Teresa said, "Now we can band ducks." I said nothing. I was trapped. So late Thursday afternoon we drove 37 miles south and west to Refuge Headquarters. Soon other cars joined us. There were lots of kids. The little museum got packed so we didn't go in but studied the banding instruction posters outside. 

  Before putting a band on a duck you must determine if the duck is a juvenile, born this year, or an adult. And you must also determine the sex. There were intimate photos of male duck genitalia. This could prove embarrassing. Fortunately I hadn't signed any paperwork agreeing to be a duck bander.

  At 5:30 sharp our caravan of fifty cars drove four miles west then a half mile north on one of the narrow roads that are usually closed to the public. I thought I had been clever to be the second car in line. Front row seats. But we couldn't see a thing when we stopped. There was a large pool of water on the right and a marsh of reeds on the left. The sun was beginning to sink towards the marsh.

  After a few minutes a refuge employee walked back. She said the ducks had decamped on our arrival and we'd have to wait for them to come back. I learned later that the staff sprinkle barley on the road and while the ducks are eating they use rockets to carry nets over the ducks. Hmmm. This could be awhile.

  Indeed it was. Gradually people got out of their cars. A dad with a kid on his shoulders walked to the front of the line for a look. No ducks. The line of cars stretched around a bend behind us. I could see turn signals come on now and then. Kids playing in cars. A horn might beep. Kids.

  Dark clouds appeared in the north. The dad with a kid on back walked by again. Sprinkles. Dad turned around. Drizzle. Dad still lollygagging. Heavy shower. Dad running. The rain quit, the clouds moved off, and the sun shed his long rays over the scene. It would have been beautiful if we hadn't been trapped with no idea when the ducks would return if ever. Darkness was approaching. Can you band ducks in the dark? There would be a risk of gender confusion.

  Finally, after a mortal ninety minutes we moved forward a thousand feet. As we walked up it was like arriving at a battle that had just ended. Two large nets lay across the road. Dozens of ducks struggled beneath the nets while refuge staff pulled them out like POWs and put them in long, low cages. There were four of these cages with 15-20 ducks in each one.

  The staff placed one of the cage on sawhorses. There was a ring of chairs around the cage for the kids. A staffer held up a duck. "Who wants to be first?" A little red head, still in diapers, bounced in her chair crying, "Me me me!" A four year old standing next to his parents and staring off over the marsh jumped a foot when his mother stuck a duck in his face. "Give it to diaper pants," I thought I heard him mutter.

  If a kid wanted to hold the duck, then the staffer would clamp on the metal band. Otherwise the staffer held the duck while kid put the clamp on usually with a parent's help. Happily, the sex could be determined by the color of the bill: females are yellowish, males are greenish, but occasionally a duck had to be upended by a staffer for a positive ID. This was no job for duffers.

  The kids were loving this project. The little redhead did three ducks herself. There was a group from the University of Georgia testing ducks for avian flu. It was almost dark by the end. A staffer held up a duck. "Who wants to let the last duck go?" The kids had had their fill. Teresa said, "Me." And Daffy or Daisy Duck was soon winging its way home. We followed immediately after a ten point turn around on the road.

A once in a lifetime event.