"White birds softly settle/ On ripples in the gathering cold."

As a chill breeze raises soft ripples around them, even these plump-looking green-winged teal huddle under Huachiang Bridge for shelter. （photo by Diago Chiu）

As winter begins, all kinds of migratory birds fly south. Wild ducks began arriving in Taiwan in large numbers in October of last year-incongruously "heralding the spring," if the ancient teaching that "when the river flows warm in spring, the ducks are the first to know" is to be believed. All around our province, bird clubs busy themselves with their annual duck and goose watching events, and birdwatchers line river banks and sea shores to welcome the ducks. Wild ducks have come to take pride of place among the migratory birds which visit Taiwan each winter.

Chestnut with a streak of white--a male Eurasian wigeon, resplendent in his breeding plumage.

"The wild goose is more of a cosmopolite than we; he breaks his fast in Canada, takes a luncheon in the Ohio, and plumes himself for the night in a southern bayou." American nature writer Henry David Thoreau saw waterfowl as more international than humans.

The ruddy shelduck grows to two feet long, almost twice the size of a green-winged teal. It rarely visits Taiwan, but when it does come to our shores it leaves countless birdwatchers frustrated at having failed to catch a glimpse of it. （courtesy of Liu Chuan）

In time with nature's rhythm, wild ducks ply the heavens back and forth between north and south. Humans lift their heads to watch them from afar-for ducks keep their distance from mankind, though our relationship goes way back.

In the cold of the dying year, by the Tanshui River. Looking out from an embankment overgrown with reeds, cattails and wild grasses, on the long sandbars we see ducks of every hue and color flocking loosely together. Looking more closely at the myriad birds scattered far and near, we discover that there are many different kinds among them.

Mingling among the other ducks, northern shovelers (Anas clypeata) busily sift fresh primitive algae out of the mud with their broad, shovel-shaped bills; pintails (Anas acuta), with their somewhat surprising needle-like tail feathers, stand alone to one side, heads turned back, preening themelves; green-winged teal (Anas crecca), shake their wet tails as they waddle up out of the water, calling as they brush past their companions who, with heads uplifted, are on their way in. "In another month or so, the spot-billed ducks [Anas poecilorhyncha] will arrive on the river and join the other ducks," says one of the birdwatchers on the river bank expectantly.

Oblivious to the traffic thundering across the Yungfu and Chungcheng bridges, which connect the south side of Taipei City with Taipei County, the ducks forage among the cattails and turn up algae, quite in keeping with their nature. There is none of the jostling and bickering of domestic ducks raised in pens. Against the distant roar of the traffic, the birds' occasional calls from the sandbars lend a strange serenity to the scene, imparting a sense of harmony and grace rarely seen in this bustling metropolis.

"An osprey calls on the river shoal" (Book of Songs). Order is occasionally disturbed when an osprey-which features in China's most ancient poetry-having finished eating a fish it caught fresh from the river, flies away against the grey background of the concrete city, startling the many ducks on the surface of the river. . . .

Endurance flying machines

Ducks were domesticated very early in China. Writings from the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC) record how "The King of Wu built walls to rear ducks," and in the ancient books Erya and Lisao, wild and domesticated ducks are referred to as fu and wu respectively. But literati often confused the two words, so that it was hard to judge whether references in ancient texts were to wild ducks or domesticated ones. In the end Li Shizhen (1518-1593) of the Ming dynasty, who described animal and plant species from all over China in his monumental herbal pharmacopoeia Bencao Gangmu (Compendium of Materia Medica), tried to put a stop to the arguments by saying that in general, domestic ducks were wu and wild ducks fu, but the two differed in their characteristics, so if one looked at the context in which either name was used, with a little thought it should be clear enough which was meant.

The Tang-dynasty poet Wang Bo (650-676), in his early twenties, stood by the water at Hengyang and saw how "A lone duck flies with the red dusk,/ The autumn water shares the color of the broad sky." He lamented: "Shifting clouds, shadows on the pool, the days slip by/ Life revolves, the stars move, autumns come and go." Though Wang uses the word wu (domestic duck), the lone duck in this scene is hard to associate with the roast ducks hanging with their long necks stretched out in today's restaurants. Yet this is not because the fatty domestic duck is not poetic enough, but because after a thousand years of genetic improvement and interference by humans, even by Wang's time domestic ducks could barely get off the ground.

When the Taiwanese fanya duck (descended from the Brazilian Muscovy duck, Cairina moschata), which was domesticated only recently, sees migratory birds passing by on their way south or north, its urge to fly is stimulated, and it may briefly take to the air; however, its strength soon fails, and it cannot fly far. But by tracking wild ducks in aeroplanes, researchers have discovered that most of them are endurance flying machines. They can take off directly from the water and do not need a runway to get their speed up. Thanks to their powerful wings and quick movements, the domain of ducks and geese is limitless, and their territory extends all over the world. Taiwan is just one of their pieds-*-terre.

According to figures from the Chinese Wild Bird Federation, at least 100,000 ducks and geese spend the winter in Taiwan each year. This number falls far short of the several million captive-reared ducks consumed annually by people in Taiwan, but well over 20 species of ducks and geese visit Taiwan each year. The wild ducks have not suddenly become so numerous: over 30 years ago, the Lanyang River, at Taiwan's northeastern corner, and the Tatu River in central Taiwan, were Taiwan's two main duck hunting grounds.

From wetland to wetland

Modern taxonomists group together ducks, geese and swans in the waterfowl family Anatidae, which includes the elegant, long-necked swans (Cygnus sp.), the mandarin ducks (Aix galericulata), so often seen in pairs with their mates, and the swan goose (Anser cygnoides), the long-distance messenger of Chinese folklore. From little one-pound ducks to 30-pound swans, the family has almost 150 species.

The Chinese also traditionally group ducks and geese together, saying they have in common webbed feet, short legs, long necks and the way they stretch their feet out behind them in flight. But geese and swans rarely appear in Taiwan. It is only those blown off course by heavy weather, or young birds on their first migration, which deviate from their normal flight paths and blunder onto our little island.

In the American novel The Catcher in the Rye, which explores adolescent psychology, after the hero is expelled from school and is wandering aimlessly through the streets of New York City, though shivering in the bitter cold he hopes to find solace in the company of wild ducks. So he walks over to Central Park to see if the ducks are around, wondering where these laid-back birds go when the lagoon freezes over.

Today, biologists have more or less mapped out the "flyways" along which migratory birds travel. In East Asia, migrant species breed in Siberia and northeast China, and in autumn follow routes through Japan or Korea, past Taiwan and Hong Kong. Some even cross the equator and take up temporary residence in the southern hemisphere. When they catch sight of wetlands along the way with an agreeable climate and plenty of plant life to feed on, they come down to land. After a short rest, some continue south, but ducks mostly take the easy option: if they can find a suitable spot, they will settle down for the winter.

A taste of the high life

With their wings to carry them through the air and their webbed feet to propel them through the water, the many different species of wild ducks spread out into different types of wetland. Apart from Antarctica, ducks are found throughout the world: everywhere from the Arctic tundra to tropical rainforests and marshes, from broad sea beaches to lakes and pools high in the mountains, one can see boisterous flocks of wild ducks playing on the rippling water.

The most famous recent snippet of news about wild ducks must surely be the pair of spot-billed ducks which found their way to the moat of the Japanese imperial palace in Tokyo, where they brashly built a nest, and eventually led their ducklings on tours all around the palace. When they crossed the road police stopped the traffic, and reporters recorded their every move. When these commoners flew into the palace grounds they quite forgot the life they had led before.

Many other waterfowl, of families such as Scolopacidae (curlews, sandpipers etc.), Fregatidae (frigate birds) and Podicipedidae (grebes) stay on the sea coast, and depending on the weather, may move further south after gathering their strength. But ducks and geese follow the rivers up from their estuaries to their middle reaches, and may take up residence in the cities.

Ducks which fly too far and become exhausted may become separated from their fellows, and sneak onto duck farmers' ponds. According to one recent report, a mallard flying south caught sight of the domesticated white Peking ducks on the pond of a duck farm in Kenting. Its biological cycle was suddenly thrown out of kilter, and it settled down there and stayed into spring, unwilling to leave.

Early this year, the Associated Press news agency released a picture of a swimmer in a practice session at the World Swimming Championships in Perth, Australia. But the real subject of the photo was a duck flying through the air: seeing the clean water of the swimming pool from on high, this freshly arrived fowl made an imperturbable beeline for it.

Though the saying goes, "When the river flows warm in spring, the ducks are the first to know,"it seems that even before spring arrives, there's a lot going on in the duck world.

Dazzling feathers color the spring wind

Some say that peach trees are the first living things to brighten the Earth each year, when they blossom in the third lunar month. The Song-dynasty poet Su Dongpo (1037-1101) wrote: "Beyond the bamboos, a few peach branches blossom/ When the river flows warm in spring, the ducks are the first to know." But what inspired him to these lines was not the real scene, but the painting Nightfall on a River in Spring by the poet and painter monk Huichong of the early Song. However, Su's words raised the "literary" status of ducks no end, making them the heralds of spring on water on a par with the swallows which, on land, chatter through the night when spring arrives.

As the southern weather turns hot and stuffy, the ducks, missing the spring breezes which they need for their breeding season, grow bored and their hormones subside. At the same time, spring is gradually spreading across the north, melting the Earth's icy veil. With natural enemies there few in number but food plentiful, one after the other the ducks and geese start to return home.

When the peach trees beside the northern ponds and marshes are in full flower, the fiery red which eclipses the green of their leaves also reflects in the rivers. The ancient ancestors of the Chinese living in the Yellow River basin called the gurgling brooks which melt at that season "peach flower streams." When "a thousand peach trees bloom and a lone bird sings," and "countless fallen red petals flow with the water," when the ice melts and the rivers come back to life, swirling and chattering, the ducks reappear from the south as if by clockwork, and choosing suitable places, they shake the pearls of water from their feathers, waggle their downy bottoms and start laying their eggs.

Ducks take only three months to hatch their eggs and rear their young. The hatchlings are "mature" at birth: they can walk as soon as they are hatched, and they only take a month to grow up. In the short space of a season the ducks complete their mission of producing the next generation, and almost immediately leave again for the south. In Taiwan, we don't get to see the lovable little ducklings scurrying hither and thither in a group all bumping into each other. But when autumn arrives, the quiet sandbars and river beaches come to life as flocks of ducks bob on the rushing water or preen themselves on the sandbars, quacking contentedly.

Whose curls are prettier?

When the ducks arrive in the south, they begin to don new plumage, and grow flirtatious. Other waterfowl such as egrets or terns, and even Anatidae such as swans and geese, are mostly white, black or brown-plain dressers to the last. Ducks usually wear a staid-looking mottled greyish plumage too, but when their mating season arrives and amorous feelings stir within them, the drakes put on much a bolder garb. A special colored patch or "speculum" on their wings flashes in the sunlight with a metallic sheen. Bird books describe how the males "repeatedly flash light" off these patches, to dazzle the females and win their hearts.

The mallard wears a "green cap"-much frowned upon by the Chinese as the mark of a cuckold-which is set off by a bright white collar around its neck. The ROC Directorate-General of Telecommunications once issued half a million telephone cards showing the painting Duck by a River by Chen Lin of the Yuan dynasty. In this painting, to which the final touches were added by the great Yuan-dynasty painter Zhao Mengfu (1254-1322), a mallard approaches the water amid luxuriant foliage. Calligraphy added by Qiu Ying (d. 1552) of the Ming dynasty reads: "In olden times someone bought a speaking duck for a thousand ounces of gold; this duck cannot speak, but it is worth no less." This duck, worth many times its weight in gold, has two ringlets on its tail feathers. But these were not added wilfully by the artist in a rush of blood to the head. Five or six white ducks which swim about in winter amid the few remaining lotus stems in a pool at the Taipei Botanical Garden also share these "ancestral genes," and bird guides emphasize the upwards curl of the mallard's "upper tail coverts" as being one of the species' distinguishing features.

These little "curly-tails" play no role in flight, but in the marriage stakes they are essential accoutrements. In mandarin ducks this "secondary sexual characteristic" takes the form of a pair of feathers which stand up from the drake's back like two small sails. At this time of year, when ducks are looking for love and their hormones are in full flow, they show their best colors. After all, don't young lads in the first flush of love also dress to please?

Faithful in love

As well as those mandarins which fly south each year with large numbers of other migratory birds, there are also a few which stay in Taiwan year round, and these are our island's only resident wild ducks. In Japan, researchers cut off the sail feathers of an unfortunate mandarin drake; as they expected, the female stomped off in disgust. In fact, overbright coloring makes birds easy for predators to spot, and the molts required to change between their normal and their nuptial plumage are also risky periods. So why do wild ducks adopt this swaggering display? Researchers speculate that a male's ability to produce a resplendent plumage is visible proof that it is healthy and should therefore father healthy offspring. Thus female birds' preference for brightly dressed lovers may not be not purely subjective, and males have no choice but to shoulder the risk.

That question can be left to the experts; meanwhile, bird lovers can feast their eyes. On the rippling water we see several green-winged teal drakes running one large circle after another around a female, majestically lifting their heads and upper bodies again and again in a sharp movement, and surging through the water like speedboats. After mating, the drakes proudly twist their heads and emit triumphant cries. They splash up water with their red webbed feet, then shake themselves so that the glistening droplets spring from their bright plumage, with a tremendous air of haughtiness and self-satisfaction.

Some have said that mandarin ducks, which symbolize constancy in love, are not actually as faithful as they are made out to be. But Sun Yuan-hsun, an ornithology PhD who has done field research on mandarins, says they stay monogamous at least throughout each season. When the females are incubating their eggs, the drakes form a "men's club" nearby and laze their days away. When wild ducks have mated, the big-bellied females seek out their nesting sites, with the males often just tagging along submissively behind.

A little-known story about the great Republican-era painter Chang Ta-chien, who traveled all the way to Dunhuang and spent many years copying the ancient frescoes in the grottoes there, says that everywhere he stayed, he would have a pond dug and an enclosure put round it. One of the birds he reared in Dunhuang was a ruddy shelduck (Tadorna ferruginea). When Chang had to return south to Sichuan, he had no choice but to set this orange-feathered friend free. The way the bird sadly turned a dozen or more circles above Chang's horse-drawn carriage before at last flying reluctantly away was a remarkable sight. "Actually, this is typical behavior for large Anatidae," says dedicated birdwatcher Lin Chin-hsiung, who finds this story entirely believable-the larger birds are, he says, the more faithful they are in their friendships and their marital relations.

Family likeness

Of all the worlds' waterfowl, the favorites to be kept in zoos, in private gardens and on farms are ducks and geese. And in many people's eyes, the flesh of these large, plump birds is an immortal delicacy.

When ducks are paddling in water, above the surface they hardly appear to be doing anything, but under the water, to make every stroke of their webbed feet produce the greatest possible forward thrust, their legs are positioned at the rear of their bodies. This is the reason for their ungainly waddling gait on land. But they are not only highly efficient swimmers. Compared with many other birds' legs, ducks' legs are stocky and powerful, so that they can also walk and forage on land. Some duck species are rather trusting of mankind, and when they met with quick-witted humans long ago, they were gradually domesticated, to the great benefit of the human race.

Ducks have changed considerably in captivity, but wild ducks and the duck meat which graces dining tables every day are still closely related. Humans have successfully bred over 40 species of river ducks in captivity, but chromosomal analysis and comparisons of morphology show that of the many breeds of domestic duck reared today, most are descended from mallards and the spot-billed duck.

The white Peking ducks of which one to two million are reared every year in Taiwan as egg layers are also descended from the mallard. Thanks to long selection using modern breeding techniques, the Pekings spend their days busily laying eggs, producing some 340 per year. Can't we imagine that looking at the 10 or so eggs in its own clutch, the mallard feels a reflected glory at having such prolific descendants?

Wild is better

Early immigrants to America are said to have often exaggerated the richness of the New World to their families back in the Old by writing: "You can shoot down 50 ducks with one shot, and another 50 with the next."

When wild ducks migrate they move in flocks, so they always appear in large numbers. On the Eurasian and American landmasses, when several hundred thousand waterfowl suddenly take to the air, they fill the sky like a cloud-so they make an excellent target for hunters to shoot at.

"Broken rushes and bent reeds, the wild water is broad,/ I will shoot by the light of the morning star." In "The Woman Said the Cock is Crowing," from the "Zhengfeng" section of the Book of Songs, in a village where the cock is crowing and geese are flying overhead, there comes the sound of a woman's voice: "The cock is crowing." Her sleepy husband says: "It is not yet light." But the wife does not let up, and immediately urges him: "Don't be lazy! Get up and look: the stars are fading, only the morning star is left-it's almost dawn!" Her husband finally gives a "favorable response": "The birds are flying-I will shoot ducks and geese!"

Even today, when we have food and clothing in abundance, and all kinds of animals are reared in captivity, a Western bird guide describes the Anatidae thus: "Economically important; most are game birds." Bencao Gangmu, as well as clarifying the definition of wild and domesticated ducks, describes wild ducks at length: Their bodies are plump and fatty, their meat tastes excellent, and "the green-headed ones [mallards] are the best to eat; the pointed-tailed ones [pintails] are second best." The book even clearly describes the taste of various specious. Today, among the visitors looking out from the birdwatching trail at the mallards and pintails on the Tanshui River mudflats, surely some are secretly thinking: "Farm-bred ducks don't taste half as good as wild ones!"

Even today in the environmentally conscious countries of North America, most wild ducks can still be hunted with a government license. Equipment for luring the birds, such as duck calls and wooden decoys, is widely available. To hunt duck legally hunters must buy "duck stamps" to stick on their hunting licenses, and the proceeds are used to buy land for wildlife reserves. Australia, Russia, Britain and Iceland have also adopted this system-evidently issuing duck stamps is an effective way of raising funds for conservation work. The images of wild ducks on the stamps have already brought in hundreds of millions of US dollars. If each stamp represents a duck's life, then one could say that the sacrifice which ducks have made for conservation work is tremendous.

Admired from afar

Here in Taiwan, however, under the umbrella of the Wildlife Conservation Law, any duck hunting can only be done on the sly. But people still have a deep sense that other countries must be making a better job of things. At a "Kuantu Nature Reserve Symposium" held late last year, a wetlands expert reported how happily wild ducks and humans get along in Japan. At the Ueno Zoo-a favorite with tourists from Taiwan-the ducks which add color to the Shinobazu Pond are so tame they will accept food from visitors. In Taipei, which cuts itself off from its rivers with high walls, a duck reserve has been set up near the Huachiang Bridge. But as soon as humans cross the embankment to observe the birds, they flee to the middle of the river. Someone has lamented that here, just across the sea from Japan, the ducks have become so timid that they hide at the sight of man-grim reality has forced them to develop their survival instinct to the full.

This view makes ducks' fear of mankind an indicator of a lack of kindness among people in Taiwan. But ornithologists comment that it is in some bird species' nature to avoid contact with humans. Though they share this earth with mankind, they keep us at a respectful-some would say reproachful-distance.

The wild ducks and geese in parks in Western cities have lost some of their wild nature, and their fear of man. And the catcher in the rye need no longer ask where the ducks have gone. Investigations into an outbreak of duck virus enteritis among wild ducks in California in 1993 showed that as if fattening Peking ducks, humans fed anything and everything to the ducks, and the contamination of the water which finally resulted killed many of them. The biological clocks of the overweight ducks and geese in parks are also disturbed, so that in the cold of winter, when lakes freeze over and the fish and shrimps disappear to the bottom, the birds become urban refugees waiting to be rescued.

Here, embankments separate humans and ducks; elsewhere, it is hard to keep them from interfering with each other-humans are always putting things out of balance. Someone who examined closely the details of the Song dynasty capital Bianjing (modern Kaifeng) shown in the painting Going on the River at Tomb Sweeping Festival noticed that on the left side of the avenue outside Donghua Gate is the Bian River, while on the right is Ningxiang Pool, so that houses on both sides of the road are built next to the water. The white walls and red fences contrast with green poplars and red-blossomed peach trees, and the pool is criss-crossed with dikes on which grow large trees of every kind. Yellow water-lilies float on the water, and wild ducks and geese swim there.

Our ancestors had the following attitude in their relationship with ducks: "When wild ducks swim on rivers and lakes we are happy to feed them, and although they do not come close, they are cautious but not afraid." They could only be watched from a distance, and could not be treated disrespectfully.

Happy among the filth

In the 20th century, the human race has spread its tentacles everywhere. There is now only the human world, and no separate bird world. Wild ducks too must fight for survival in the human world. In 1984, author Liu Ke-hsiang wrote this little "birdwatching chronicle":

1863: War continues in China/British ornithologist Swinhoe arrives at the Tanshui River/He sees 10,000 green-winged teal flying overhead.

1983: Ideological conflict continues in Taiwan/I go to the Tanshui River/I see 1000 teal at rest.

2000: Taiwan. . . /5000 birdwatchers rush to the Tanshui River/They struggle to see one teal swimming on the water.

For the past 20 years, birdwatchers have faithfully visited the coasts and estuaries to keep company with the shore crabs and the ducks and geese. But sadly the wind from the river carries foul odors, so that people have to block their noses; and building spoil, polluted water, refuse and busy excavators make it hard for them to forget their own worries and the cares of the world.

But strangely, although the Tanshui River is seen by ecologists as a disastrous poison snake fed fat by humans, the grievous scene of a last lonely teal appearing on the river has not come about.

On the contrary: birdwatchers have discovered that ever since accumulating soil from construction work upstream and an ever-decreasing flow of water caused sandbars to appear in the stretch of river near Huachiang Bridge, more and more ducks and geese have gathered there, and they have gradually extended their domain upriver to the Kuangfu, Huachung, Chungcheng and Yungfu bridges, so that the goose and duck park has had to be enlarged and its name changed. This year, when members of the Chinese Wild Bird Federation took a boat upriver from Kuantu to Huachung Bridge to survey bird numbers, they counted 10,000 wild ducks, far outnumbering other bird species. Along the banks of the Tanshui River, "other species were few and far between," says Wu Tsun-hsien, who is involved in surveying bird life on the river.

The other birds have flown away, but the spent distiller's grains which the Kinmen Distillery discharges onto the nearby beach attract Eurasian wigeon (Anas penelope) in their tens of thousands; the rare Indian whistling ducks (Dendrocygna javanica) and greater scaup (Aythya marila) have been seen around Lungluan Pool in Pingtung County; thousands of ducks come to the Lanyang River estuary every year; and the conflict which farmers in eastern Taiwan have with ducks and geese as they continuously expand their fields has become a major agricultural problem-wild ducks arriving in flocks of hundreds damage the rice in paddy fields they visit. Even in the Kuantu Nature Park, where farming has stopped on the farmland already purchased, the birds take no heed of the "political" boundaries drawn by humans, and fly into the surrounding farmers' fields to look for food. So the city government has had to take on the role of duckherd, laying out rice grain for these wild ducks to feed on.

Wild ducks live happily on this river, which humans regard as moderately polluted, and which would cost hundreds of billions of NT dollars to clean up. This leads many birdwatchers to believe that ducks are "none too particular about their environment." Just as domestic ducks are happy to feed on humans' scraps and rotten food, the dirtier and more infested with creepy-crawlies the mud is, the better the wild ducks like it.

Waterfowl wash in clean waves

The dirtier the better? Just after the Miaoli Birdwatching Society had joyfully completed its annual duck watch, 300 green-winged teal died along the banks of the Houlung River. The worst of it was that as they died, more kept arriving, and would not leave despite seeing their companions grow fewer by the day. The society's general secretary Wen Chun-fu, who collected and buried the birds' corpses daily, says with frustration that these ducks are "pretty stupid."

Have the wild ducks grown more numerous? Or is it just that with nowhere else left to go, they are all huddled into the last few remaining places, however polluted?

In contrast with today, when wild ducks live on river beds choked with stinking organic chemicals and strewn with styrofoam and other plastics, in written records from the past the ducks suck up red algae, delve beneath green lotus leaves, wash themselves with dew and live among clouds and mists. Wang Bo, who loved to write about ducks, mentions in a fu (a piece of descriptive prose interspersed with verse) how southeast of Zizhou in Sichuan, the Fu River ran through a pool only a few dozen paces around-a hidden place of green cliffs and splashing waves, where lone ducks often settled on the waters, flying up, sinking down, turning and quacking, quite in keeping with their nature. Wang exclaims pointedly that the universe gives these little ducks a place to stay, and creation provides them with everything they need, here in a little pool just half a mu in area. What need had they-or he-of swimming in luxury pools or asking for handouts?

Taking the mallard as an example, a modern bird book describes how although wild ducks do not make extravagant demands when it comes to habitat, this does not mean that they really prefer filthy surroundings. In a little pond full of reeds and cattails and surrounded by hanging branches, if only the grasses grow thick enough, the female can hide her nest among them, or she can conceal it in a hole in a tree. The drake stands guard on open ground nearby, and if necessary they can escape across the water.

In the shallow pond, not only are the surface plants tender and edible, the ducks can also stretch their necks down to eat plants under the water, and can even dive down to the bottom to feed on roots, snails and insects. In the height of summer, the female leads her huddle of ducklings to the banks of the pond, where they can eat their fill of mosquito larvae from the water and little dragonflies and mayflies from the aquatic plants, and even snap mosquitoes and gnats out of the air. When the ducklings are grown the adults begin to molt, and for a short period lose their ability to fly; the thick grasses give them a safe place to hide at this time, too.

Untidy marshes and ponds fulfill all kinds of environmental needs for mallards, but they do not meet the requirements of modern man.

I don't ask for much

As the leaves turn yellow and winter approaches, in a small riverside town in the north of England, a young scholar spending most of his time with his head buried in his books looks out in a moment of leisure at the ducks coming and going freely on the water. He asks: "Where do the ducks go in winter?"--"They go south." "Where do the rabbits on the grass go?"--"They hide in their warrens." "And where do the young people go?"--"To the library!"

As the ducks and geese head south, students in northern lands begin to shut themselves away with their books, but on our southern island, birdwatchers lift their binoculars to take in the arrival of the guests from the north. Literati see the magic of nature in every leaf and twig, and poets find the hidden truths of the universe in every flower and feather. Some of us, remembering the yellow-crested white geese and red-headed fanya of our childhood, and how they came waddling back from the lakeside in the light of the setting sun, hooting and quacking, cannot resist hanging a pair of binoculars around our necks and walking along the bank of the Tanshui River, with gentle, unhurried movements, to spy on the wild ducks with algae hanging from their bills going into the water or gliding towards the sandbar. The powerful northwest wind blowing into the estuary ruffles the feathers of the wild ducks we see through the lenses, but they are still full of vitality, and when birdwatchers are infected by this spirit or happen to glimpse a rare duck or goose through their binoculars, they cannot help but joyfully call out to their fellows to turn their lenses and take a look!

Amid the vastness of the universe, all we can aspire to is a little expectation and hope; on the banks and shoals of the polluted river, all the ducks want is a bit of wetland and a little food. Is this too much to ask?

[Picture Caption]

By the Tanshui River, beyond the dikes which separate it from bustling Taipei City, egrets and ducks gather on the shoals.

In the cold of the dying year, the wild ducks come flying in! Birdwatchers hurry to Ilan's Wuwei Harbor to watch them arrive. (photo by Diago Chiu)

As a chill breeze raises soft ripples around them, even these plump-looking green-winged teal huddle under Huachiang Bridge for shelter. (photo by Diago Chiu)

Chestnut with a streak of white--a male Eurasian wigeon, resplendent in his breeding plumage.

The ruddy shelduck grows to two feet long, almost twice the size of a green-winged teal. It rarely visits Taiwan, but when it does come to our shores it leaves countless birdwatchers frustrated at having failed to catch a glimpse of it. (courtesy of Liu Chuan)

Who'd have thought it? The mandarin is the only wild duck species which makes Taiwan its permanent home.

The northern shoveler carries a perfect example of a dabbling duck's trademark--its broad bill. The comb-like teeth ("lamellae") inside it are highly effective for straining invertebrates and algae out of mud.

The pintail gives the lie to the idea that all ducks have short tails. But once the breeding season is over it sheds its long tail feathers to become a "stubbytail."

The mallard wears a glossy green cap, and a very distinguished-looking purple flash or "speculum" on each wing. (photo by Diago Chiu)

Another rare migrant visitor: the falcated teal (Anas falcata). In bright sunshine, the green patches on the sides of its head make a brilliant display.

The picture proves it: "I'm your ancestor!" Duck by a River (courtesy of the National Palace Museum) by Chen Lin of the Yuan dynasty is the very model of a modern mallard. The white Peking ducks swimming on NTU's Tsuiyueh Lake today still share the pair of curls on the mallard's tail. (facing page photos by Diago Chiu)

Wild ducks are very adaptable, living contentedly on the Tanshui River although it needs a multibillion-dollar cleanup. But in their struggle for survival in a human-dominated world, ducks are evidently not left with much choice. (photo by Diago Chiu)

Powerless to help the wild ducks he sees dying one after another on the Houlung River, Miaoli Bird Club General Secretary Wen Chun-fu's frustration shows in his face. (photo by Tang Hsiu-li)

"I don't ask for much! Leave me some wetland, for pity's sake!" (photo by Diago Chiu)

The green-winged teal so often seen on mudflats in Taiwan push among reeds and dredge through algae, happy as mudlarks.

A rare visitor to the Taipei Botanical Garden, this mallard stretches its wings as if preparing to take off. Is it a straggler, separated from its flock? (photo by Diago Chiu)

Do ducks like dirt? Not these well-preened fellows!

Who'd have thought it? The mandarin is the only wild duck species which makes Taiwan its permanent home.

The northern shoveler carries a perfect example of a dabbling duck's trademark--its broad bill. The comb-like teeth （"lamellae"） inside it are highly effective for straining invertebrates and algae out of mud.

The mallard wears a glossy green cap, and a very distinguished-looking purple flash or "speculum" on each wing. （photo by Diago Chiu）

The pintail gives the lie to the idea that all ducks have short tails. But once the breeding season is over it sheds its long tail feathers to become a "stubbytail.".

Another rare migrant visitor: the falcated teal （Anas falcata）. In bright sunshine, the green patches on the sides of its head make a brilliant display.

The picture proves it: "I'm your ancestor!" Duck by a River （courtesy of the National Palace Museum） by Chen Lin of the Yuan dynasty is the very model of a modern mallard. The white Peking ducks swimming on NTU's Tsuiyueh Lake today still share the pair of curls on the mallard's tail. （facing page photos by Diago Chiu）

The picture proves it: "I'm your ancestor!" Duck by a River （courtesy of the National Palace Museum） by Chen Lin of the Yuan dynasty is the very model of a modern mallard. The white Peking ducks swimming on NTU's Tsuiyueh Lake today still share the pair of curls on the mallard's tail. （facing page photos by Diago Chiu）

The picture proves it: "I'm your ancestor!" Duck by a River （courtesy of the National Palace Museum） by Chen Lin of the Yuan dynasty is the very model of a modern mallard. The white Peking ducks swimming on NTU's Tsuiyueh Lake today still share the pair of curls on the mallard's tail. （facing page photos by Diago Chiu）

Wild ducks are very adaptable, living contentedly on the Tanshui River although it needs a multibillion-dollar cleanup. But in their struggle for survival in a human-dominated world, ducks are evidently not left with much choice. （photo by Diago Chiu）

Powerless to help the wild ducks he sees dying one after another on the Houlung River, Miaoli Bird Club General Secretary Wen Chun-fu's frustration shows in his face. （photo by Tang Hsiu-li）

"I don't ask for much! Leave me some wetland, for pity's sake!" （photo by Diago Chiu）

The green-winged teal so often seen on mudflats in Taiwan push among reeds and dredge through algae, happy as mudlarks.

A rare visitor to the Taipei Botanical Garden, this mallard stretches its wings as if preparing to take off. Is it a straggler, separated from its flock? （photo by Diago Chiu）

Do ducks like dirt? Not these well-preened fellows!