January 14, 2003 - There was something new on Dark Lagoon! From the Parkway Trail you can look down on the dark waters of the cove snuggled below in-between the high bank and the woody peninsula. Usually the placid waters are only dimpled by a couple pied-billed grebes and a pair of bufflehead that work that channel every winter, and sometimes egrets and herons wade along the shore.

Every winter it is gratifying to see that particular pair of bufflehead working the back water as if they had a special foraging pool, and even though the people walking the paved path can look directly down into what would normally be a perilous-appearing position that the birds would not tolerate, they have accepted the condition as safe even though alert to man's unpredicableness.

The male bufflehead is especially adorned with brilliant plumage of striking black and white--and he knows it--often showing off to the ladies with fancy splashes. Though not much larger than a robin, the water-lover is such a healthy living entity that merely to see it is uplifting to the spirit, and even on the most stormy days, it buoyantly carries on an exuberant life-style as if every day is a good day and there are no obstacles too great to challenge.

Part of my affinity with buffleheads has descended from my association with the Lake Merritt Wildlife Refuge in Oakland, CA when I worked there on the Naturalist Staff for some 32 years. Every year the buffleheads would return from the Far North, along with other migrants, and you eagerly watched and awaited their reappearance on that city-bound waterway. Whatever job complexity might be occurring, or political turmoil in the hierarchy of the city, the ducks would return as if they had a claim on that sanctuary and were not about to give it up...even though the pedestrian traffic accelerates and mechanical sounds are ever- present. Then, as now, their appearance is like an old friend returning to represent peace and beauty.

Even though those free-flying migratory masters do not advertise their awesome adventures over the Canadian wilderness, past the Washington mountain ranges, and across the Oregon deserts, we know they travel immense distances, not so much as to greet us and enjoy our company, but to seek safe sheltered waters and find food.

Thus it was that I saw three new ducks on Dark Lagoon one January morning, a mother bufflehead and two daughters. It was evident that it was a family minus the male, as two were half the size of the lady leader. Female buffleheads are very cute, bundled up in a gray body of feathers, tiny beak, and featuring a white spot on the cheek. The two half-growns were fully feathered although closely attached to mom as they swam alongside.

It had been a late hatch somewhere north, perhaps in a woody lake along the Canadian prairies, and the gallant hen had to wait for her babes to grow large enough to fly even though howling storms were gathering force. One wonders what had happened to the father, or whether it is customary for the male to help tend the family. In any event, those two toddlers finally reached the flying stage, and even though tiny were able to gain altitude for the trip south. Maybe she had to make short flights each day and alight on some unknown marsh to rest her children. It is against nature's rules to abandon your off-spring, and she complied.

Finally, they arrived on the Feather River and sought out the Dark Lagoon. How did they pick that spot, or was it a random choice selected from their view in the sky? No one knows exactly what guides a bird to its location, since they have the freedom of wings and choice to go anywhere.

Showing devotion to her duties, the hen bufflehead paddled in the cold waters, and the children watched her closely and followed her every move. They were momentarily devoted to their creator regardless of what future pathway they followed. If mom dipped, they dipped. If mom nibbled some vegetation, they did the same. Once a great egret unexpectedly flapped from the shoreline directly over the trio, and the hen instinctively dove, and the babes did likewise. When they surfaced, mom started preening, and soon they were all preening together.

A pair of goldeneye ducks also feed in that lagoon, and once they came whistling in and pulled up for a skidding descent right in the midst of the bufflehead, but there was hardly a stir of startlement. They paddled past without a glance. The grebes were accepted in like manner, but there was contention with the pair of bufflehead; the male had to show off a little with all the ladies present, and its mate urged him away to their regular solitary section.

The days went by, and the three drifters stayed in the lagoon, and I never saw them mingle with the other buffleheads in the main river. Nor did I see any other young birds so small. The mother was giving them a chance to grow, but it would be slow. How long would it be before the kids skipped the ties of the parent and disappeared into the world on their own? There comes a time in every life when the parental tie is broken and the children follow a new direction... whether it is bird or human. But for a little while, there is the appearance of affection at the threshold of life. Oroville, CA