By Joe Rahm

Gulls are the acknowledged harbingers of spring around these parts, but I watch for a pair of goldeneye ducks that nest in our small bay. Announced by their whistling wings, the pair arrives promptly with the first open water. And for a short while they become an entertaining part of my life.

Goldeneyes are a peculiar little duck.  The female is gray-brown, but the male is a sartorial dandy. He has a large, greenish-black head; bright, golden eyes; and sporty, black stripes along his white sides.

The male’s comical appearance is appropriate because he is usually a little clown. The only exception is when he sees another male goldeneye in the bay. When that happens, he dives under the intruder and catapults him into the air!

Another notable thing about the male is his bizarre mating dance. He begins by raising his head high in the air and then snapping it back against his rump. With his head in this awkward position and with his feet kicking up great sprays of water, he zigzags around the female, uttering zeee-rrrrt. This achieves his goal, but one would think something a little less painful might do.

The perky little female is always busy.  And she is an incredible flyer. She can even land in a strong tailwind, something most pilots would never attempt.  Furthermore, her landing target is a three inch hole in a nest box nailed high in a swaying tree — and how she does it without braining herself is beyond me.

The female faces daunting demands when caring for her eggs. She must not remain on the nest when laying her eggs — but after laying the last egg, except for short breaks, she must remain on the nest for 30 days! How does she endure staring at a wall for that long?

When the eggs finally hatch, the female has to get the ducklings out of the nest box before they dehydrate. She has 24 hours to decide when they are strong enough. The male is already gone, so it is all up to her. She begins by clearing the bay of all potential threats, even the peaceful mallards. Then, when the time is right, she swims below the nest box, looks up, and begins a special call — kuk-kuk-kuk.

The ducklings recognize the call, and they scramble up the mesh ladder to the exit hole and throw themselves out. With tiny wings flailing, they fall 20 feet and plop lightly on the water — riding high, like little corks. When there is no more peeping from the nest box, the female leads the brood to safety among the nearby islands.

Goldeneyes are an endless source of wonder. This week our bay fell silent for another year, but I am already looking forward to next spring and those whistling wings.