Scaups are primarily fresh-water ducks, and they do occur in enormous numbers in coastal bays and coves.
Sometimes, something that appears to be true, even perhaps “confirmed” by circumstance, still falls short of being true. During a visit to South Hero Island on Lake Champlain, our group witnessed an amazing cloud of ducks on the distant horizon, ducks that swarmed into the air, and settled into a vast black sheen on the surface of the lake.
It was a unique sight, and I supposed that these ducks were black scoters, but later learned from local birders in Vermont that this raft had been present there for some time, and were, in fact, not scoters, but a mixed flock of lesser and greater scaup.
That made more sense, because scoters are sea ducks, found mostly on salt water. Many scoters do migrate overland, and some flocks may stop briefly on inland lakes, as they did in our region recently. I wrote about this in my column for Nov. 10, and should have realized scoters do not tarry long enough to form large rafts on fresh water.
Scaups are primarily fresh-water ducks, and they do occur in enormous numbers in coastal bays and coves. We have seen these great rafts on Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island, during our winter visits there. Our inland lakes are too small to attract such large numbers, but Lake Champlain is wide and deep enough to do so.
In the column for Nov. 10, I promised there would be more stories to tell about our Vermont adventure. Those stories from day two turned out to be more about birds of the valley than birds of the lake. We began the day by visiting a rocky ledge on the edge of Shelburne Bay. The wind was fierce and cold and a scan of the choppy waters gave us only a handful of ducks. Nor was there any sign of snow buntings feeding on the rocks, as there had been on previous visits.
It was only slightly less brisk at Charlotte Bay, but here, there were extensive bars of exposed sand and stones. There we found the snow buntings, thanks to the perseverance of our leader, who studied the stones and found some of them possessed the gift of mobility.
Though mostly white, snow buntings have pale, rusty markings on the neck and face, and gray speckles on the back. They looked much like animated stones as they searched the bar for seeds, but with patience we could see them raise their heads and show their faces.
At the next stop on the way south, we found bufflehead ducks in the shelter of McNeil Cove, and a red-shouldered hawk broke from the trees and circled up and away. Button Bay and Potash Bay were not sheltered, and the heaving waves made spotting ducks almost impossible. It was time for a change of pace. We had found the small snow-white birds of the open country, now we set out to find the big ones.
We arrived at Dead Creek Wildlife Management Area with high hopes. Dabbling ducks were huddled on the ponds, but the farmland beyond was green and brown. There was no hint of any snow geese. We drove to the end of the road, then turned back, always eyeing the distant fields.
Suddenly, there was a flash of white, small but sure. Then another and another, snow geese flying low above the hedgerows, only to fall silently out of sight. Each few that rose and fell raised hopes for more. Then it happened, like a sudden eruption, hundreds of white bodies boiled up from behind the hedges.
The white waves rose and grew in a great tide, and the sound of their clamoring reached our ears. Then, as slowly and gently as they had appeared, the cloud of white wings speckled with black, settled down and disappeared.
The drama was not over, for one of us glimpsed a hawk gliding over the field behind us. It was large and it was black, both the head and chest, and it was “kiting” on broad, steady wings. For many minutes we watched this rough-legged hawk of the far north, as it slowly haunted the earth.
There was no supposing about this black hawk, or about the snow buntings and the snow geese.
Seth Kellogg can be contacted at skhawk@comcast.net
The Allen Bird Club website can be found at massbird.org/allen