Far and Near

Despite the gorgeous weekend weather, I felt too sick and lazy to see what waterfowl were arriving. But Monday stayed warm and the new rules for opening the gates at dawn are conducive to birders seeking glimpses of ducks and geese before they vacate the lake soon after dawn.

It was not disappointing. The main lake held Ring-necked duck, Gadwall, Shoveler, Green-winged teal, Mallard (by the hundreds) Ruddy duck, Wood duck, Canvasback, Pintail and a scaup or five through in for good measure. Coot were everywhere, of course. And geese. There were lines of cackling geese swimming with the mallards. Cackling geese and ducks are similar in size.

The weather predictions show 50s and 60s all week. That won't drive any ducks south, most likely. But neither will it drive them away. There have been years when sub-zero cold struck the first week of November and froze the lake over. Then the ducks don't stop at all. It's depressing to miss the migration altogether. By contrast one year the lake stayed open through December 5 when temperatures hit 70 degrees. I crept out to a dense point of reeds and sat listening to the murmuring voices of hundreds of ducks swimming on peacefully calm waters. There were peeps and quacks, whistles and grunts. Who knew waterfowl had such voices! On that day there were 18 species swimming around Nelson Lake. Then a cold front passed through. The lake froze over and the next visit proved silent and cold. Just in time for the Christmas Bird Count.

This has been a ritual for me for more than 30 years, catching up with fall waterfowl on this patch of raggedy-edged water outside Batavia, Illinois. For many years the autumn days were shared with hunters, whose blinds clogged the south shore. Before the marsh became a nature preserve, it was a sporting reserve. Hunters used skiffs lined with cattails to float near water's edge and jump shoot ducks near their decoys. A tiny hunting shack once stood below the point where the west side observatory stand now perches on the hillside. One fall the hunters nailed the heads of each species of waterfowl to the wall to chronicle their success. My brother and I studied the colorful faces of wood duck, canvasback, redhead and other species. Then we hurried out of there before we got caught, because we were trespassing on what was then private property.

It would be another 15 years before hunting was completely banned around the lake. I've never been anti-hunter but did have a few interesting encounters with gunners at Nelson Lake. Even after the county purchased property in a perimeter around the water, hunters still set up in adjacent fields. Once in a while I'd be walking the foot trails and come face to painted face with a pod of goose or duck hunters. A few of them cursed me. More than one pointed a gun in my direction as a vague threat. The tenant farmer who managed the east side property literally threatened my life, brandishing his gun and screaming that I did not belong on his property. Actually I was walking a line marked by Illinois Nature preserve signs and the old fence row where the lake margin used to be. But I understood and respected his position, in a way. It's hard to watch something you love being taken away. For whatever reason. Years later that same tenant farmer would sit parked in his old station wagon in the parking lot on the east side where his home once stood. I can related. My father's family farm in upstate New York was leveled by the power company that for decades had tried to purchase the property. They finally won. Eminent domain often comes with a profound edit feature.

But all those memories stem from the 1980s. It's 2009 now. Dick Young Forest Preserve has replaced the Nelson Lake Marsh sporting club. It's a new land ethic come to fruition. Yet somehow I value the memories of the "early days" and the edgy feeling you got from trespassing to see birds. Maybe I miss that youthful drive that would make us get up early and take risks to find something worth seeing. I'm working to get some of that drive back.

Back at the car I was loading my scope when a movement near the parking lot caught my eye. It was a meadow vole running tight circles on the limestone path. I pulled out my camera and snapped photos of this little mouselike creature as it worked its way through the grass and nearly ran over my shoe. Surely some kestrel or other hawk would have loved to find this creature out in the open. But this Monday morning it was only me. And I bore the crazed critter no malice. He was trespassing on the tamed surface of human construction, out of his element, naturally. I guess I could identify with his lot in some way.