Spring is here. Almost. The official beginning of spring will be celebrated on Wednesday, and we have just a couple weeks left until we are out of what I call the “winter doldrums.” I expect that many of you, like me, are champing at the bit just waiting for a chance to get outside and enjoy the warmth and fresh air of a brand new spring. Any delay now is almost painful.
Spring is a time when I traditionally sit down and attempt to plot out a rough schedule of excursions, expeditions and other adventures. The yellow lady’s slippers of High Ledges are always in the back of my mind, as are the flat waters of the Turners Falls Power Canal. This year, however, I find my thoughts highly influenced by a book that was given to me by my brother, Tom.
We recently met for dinner while he was attending a conference on water quality assessment techniques (very technical stuff involving analyzing the communities of microinvertebrates) and he surprised me with a book called, “Quabbin: A History and Explorers Guide.” Published in 2002, this may be a familiar title for some of you, but it was new to me and I have especially enjoyed the section of the book that talks about Quabbin’s “gates.”
The Quabbin was a favorite destination for me as a boy, and my brother and I spent many a summer day riding our bikes from South Amherst to the Windsor Dam, just for the fun of it. Later, the Quabbin played a prominent role in my training as a wildlife biologist, and to this day I have a special affinity for the northern portion of the reservoir in New Salem. I am especially fond of the many little beaver ponds that can be found near the gates at the top of the Prescott Peninsula. Suddenly the two topics of waiting for spring and the Quabbin come crashing together.
It was March 21 and I was out on an adventure. I was in New Salem for a drive in the country on a beautiful spring morning, and as I toodled along, I was brought to a stop by a particularly picturesque little pond. I parked my car, grabbed my camera and took a closer look. What I found was an old beaver pond that had been abandoned by its builder. The water had receded and left an open area of marsh around its edges, which was made obvious by the brown leaves of cattail plants that had been bent and flattened by the snow. This scene was beautiful enough to merit a photo, but things got better quickly.
Unbeknownst to me, there were several hooded mergansers that were also exploring the pond. Fortunately, my arrival had gone undetected and the ducks came into view without seeming to show any sign that they saw me. I started taking photos as quickly and quietly as I could, and the mergansers kept exploring. At one point, a pair of mergansers came quite close to my position and I find it almost impossible to believe that they didn’t see me, but they didn’t show any panic.
The male and female explored a narrow little channel of water, and the differences between male and female plumages really stood out. At one point, the female basically disappeared in plain sight by simply dunking her head underwater. Meanwhile, the male, in his dazzling costume of black and white, kept a vigilant watch for anything that might pose a threat. Again, I felt the duck’s eyes staring right at me, but he was content to go about his business. Luck was with me that day.
This has been a cold March and the small ponds in our area are still frozen over. This can change very quickly, however, and just a couple days of sunny weather can suddenly open up new possibilities to the ducks and geese that will soon flood into the backwaters across the landscape. This is actually a very special time for photographers because the ducks are often confined to very small sections of open water. If the timing is right, the ducks arrive and there is nowhere for them to go but a little patch of open water where you have set up shop and can take photos to your heart’s content.
Soon the different species of waterfowl will start fighting over who owns which pond, and the mayhem of spring will bloom with a riot of sound that can almost compete with the dazzling visual display of the wildflowers. The ducks and geese are anxious to get started with their explorations of newly melted ponds, and they are restlessly flying around looking for opportunities. I’m anxious to get started with photography, and I’m examining maps looking for my own opportunities. Everything will fall into place any day now, but for the moment we are all stuck in the same waiting game.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 21 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service and Massachusetts State Parks and currently teaches high school biology and physics. Visit speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.