Memories of mallard watching
Posted 5/1/03

The pond lies between the meadow on the west and the Rum River on the east. Bisecting the two is one of several scenic hiking and biking trails that wind their way through woods, around ponds, up hills and down just west of Milaca.

In my younger days, the pond was always a source of infinite fascination, youthful exploration and loads of fun. My friends and I spent countless hours hiking in the meadow and woods near the pond some 30 years before the trails were even developed.

One thing I remember most about the pond was its attraction for wildlife. Deer and ducks, frogs, turtles and snakes, red-winged blackbirds, squirrels and fox could be found nearby. All things young boys find fascinating.

Each spring, shortly after ice out, I could count on finding a pair of mallard ducks using the pond. I don't know if it was the same hen and drake that returned year after year, but a pair of mallards were always there each spring, like clockwork.

Once I knew the ducks had arrived I would return several times a week to observe the pair. They seemed content to just swim around the cattails and marsh grass, occasionally dabbling for food and preparing to nest.

Over the years, countless clutches of little fluffy yellow ducklings were hatched in that small and smelly pond. For me, it was great fun to crawl unnoticed to the rim of a small bluff over-looking the pond on the western edge. From beneath the huge oak tree there, I watched quietly as the ducklings grew and thrived. It became an annual event for me.

I returned to the pond recently, mostly just to see what it looked like, but in the back of my mind I was secretly hoping to find the mallards. My bike took me north along the river and up a small hill just southwest of the pond. I ditched the bike there, walked quietly to the meadow and found the old oak tree. Half crouching and half crawling, I slowly made my way to the edge of the pond, unseen by any waterfowl that might be about. ³Sneaking the pond," as my waterfowling friends call it, I peeked over the grass to scan the surface of the water. The pond was empty.

Disappointed, I stood up and observed the rest of the pond. Nothing. Just as I turned to get my bike, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to look back, a pair of mallards took flight from a grass-choked spot in the pond. What a beautiful sight! As I looked skyward to watch the ducks circle above me, I suddenly felt like a 10-year-old boy again. Mesmerized, I watched the mallards gracefully fly in a wide circle around the pond, once, twice, three times before cupping their wings and landing back in the water.

The ducks had put me back in touch with the days of my youth, days of carefree exploring, hiking, camping, fishing and playing ball. No worries. Days in which a boy could waste the better part of them doing nothing more than watching a pair of mallards rear their young.

Mallard memories. Those were the days....