On Christmas Eve it was dark, but I went on a short excursion to try to locate a Green Heron, which had been reported on Balaclava Street in Vancouver. On the drive over, I had a raven in a treetop and a Red-tailed Hawk on a tree beside the road, but due to traffic I kept driving instead of taking photos.

Arriving at Balaclava Street, I noticed that all of the roads in the neighborhood had water-containing ditches on both sides of them. It was going to take some looking to find our bird. It was pleasant for an overcast day, though, and I enjoyed the search in the misty light drizzle. After about twenty or twenty-five minutes searching, I spotted some motion in a water-filled ditch, and had found the bird. It was so dark that I couldn't hand-hold the camera, so I had to go back to the car for my tripod. The heron was nice and stuck around while I gathered my gear.

While I was shooting him, he flushed three times, but always seemed to return to the same ditch a few minutes later. Here he is, looking like he's in way more light than he actually was. I'm glad that herons tend to stay still a lot, so I can use long exposures without getting a blurry bird photo all of the time.

I spent about a half an hour getting photos of the heron, and then left, distracted only momentarily by some Bushtits and Black-cappeds in the bramble by the ditch.

Boxing day was a different day, with a different story. I went out to the park alongside the Tsawassen ferry jetty, to check for the Willet that people keep reporting and I keep missing. When I got out of the car, I didn't see a Willet, but I did see some ducks and a loon. The loon seemed to be a Common Loon, and he was pretty far out there. Here he is.

I decided to see if I could get a better photo of the scaup, and I maneuvered closer while staying on the driftwood logs. The ground was all muddy and soft, and it threatened to swallow my foot and shoe whole when I once stepped in it.

I worked quite a bit closer, and the duck hadn't moved. I was surprised at how close he let me get.

The male then stood up, and that's where this all gets a little dicey. The story has a happy ending, but the middle isn't pleasant. Don't look at the rest of the photos if you're squeamish.

As I was saying, the duck stood up, and I notice something a little wrong with his shape.

At a fuller stretch, the problem becomes obvious. He's got a big honkin' wound along the side of his neck. It looks like some predator had gotten claws or fangs on him.

He turns more towards me, and more exposed flesh shows. This is one injured duck. I now know that he let me get close because it's hard for him to move.

He's slow on his feet, can't seem to fly, and (I hate to say it) a sitting duck for any predator that cares to come by. I was taking photos, but I was thinking that this duck wouldn't last the night.

So I went back to my car and called my friend Margo on my new cel phone and she looks up an appropriate rescue agency for me to call. I call them and they tell me that they can't come and pick up the duck, but that I can bring him in. I get good instructions on transporting a duck, but not much on capturing one.

Luckily, I had a fairly big rubbermaid tub in the back of my car, and a brand-spankin' new set of chest waders. I donned the waders and stepped out into the water, thinking I'll come at the duck from the water side so he can't swim away. I was a little sad at the thought of taking him away from the female, as she was obviously his mate, but he wasn't going to make it if I didn't. Maybe they'll find each other down the road.

The nice shallow water turned out to be sitting on top of about half a meter of very viscous seaweed, and I sank in to mid-thigh. The going was really really slow, with suction holding my waders down after each footstep. I stumbled once or twice, and was happy that I had chest waders rather than hip waders. I was moving about as slow as a human can manage, and I was trying to catch a wild bird. Lucky me.

However, the said wild bird was moving only slightly faster than me, and he didn't start moving until I was almost within grabbing distance. After he twice ran away a little, I commandeered a piece of driftwood and used it to herd him to my grasp. It was a good thing I got him when I did, because I was exhausted from slogging through the seaweed.

Anyhow, another short slog later, I'm back over to my hot pink rubbermaid tub, which I had already lined with seaweed. In goes the duck, and after about twenty seconds or so he stopped flapping around trying to escape. I ended up taking the poor guy to an animal resuce place in east Surrey, about a twenty-five minute drive from where I picked him up.

The woman at the rescue place eyed me suspiciously, as I hadn't taken off my chest waders and must've looked like a hunter. However, she briefly examined the scaup and said that they'd be able to repair the damage and he'd be all fine in about a week or so, and that was all, thank you. I took her not-so-subtle hint and left, but was happy to know that the little guy was going to pull through.

That scaup, it turns out, would be my last photographic bird of 2004.

Wading in where angels fear to tread,
Tom