Let’s Eat!

 By Keith Michael

Slowly I turned. Step by step. Inch by inch.

It’s not quite in the West Village, but nonetheless, it’s a nice afternoon walk to the Lily Pond in Battery Park City. I’d heard that a Black-crowned Night Heron had staked out territory among the waterlilies, so I headed downtown, relishing the plethora of colorful plantings by the ever-attentive gardeners of Hudson River Park along the way. The stealth of these black-capped gnomes is mesmerizing, but in this hyper-urban park with its parade of perambulating toddlers, the glacial rhythm of its murderous pursuits is stunning to s-l-o-w l-y b-e-h-o-l-d.

There is a pleasant waterfall there where iridescent Common Grackles, Starlings, Pigeons, House Sparrows, and in-the-pink House Finches bathe, though it’s not Niagara Falls. (Slowly I turned. Step by step. Inch by inch.) The pool is stocked with goldfish and each spring at least one Mallard couple manages to produce a clutch of eggs that hatch out adorable ducklings to the delight of those ever-circulating toddlers. Here, that Night Heron’s red-eyed, laser gaze focuses toward the circulating goldfish as well as the newly circulating ducklings.

Yes, it’s true. A fuzzy, peeping duckling would make a tasty amuse-bouche before the main course of a golden carp. I visited about a week after the 11 ducklings had hatched. That day only eight were dashing around the pool to the exhaustion of their frazzled-looking parents. The Night Heron was conspicuously hiding in a planter on the north end of the pool. Its black back, gray wings, white front, and yellow twig legs were ample camouflage against the ripples of the water. Motionless. Statuesque. It could have been an art installation. Each time a duckling paddled toward the heron, a parent Mallard would hightail it to corral the wayward featherball back to the south side.

Birds have to eat nearly constantly to fuel their own extreme-sport daily activity, and when they have families to feed, well, their non-stop drive is exhausting to contemplate. It’s difficult to stomach (sorry) but many birds eat their prey farm-fresh live. Flycatchers are called that because they catch flying insects, and if they’re not delivering them to a screaming youngster, they eat them “on the fly.” Swallows might snag dozens of insects on each sally forth. If you think about how difficult it is to swat that one summer mosquito whining by your ear or get a fly out of your car, Swallows’ aerial finesse is astonishing.

Moving up the bird-size scale: the larger the bird, the larger the prey that’s worth their trouble, and the more sophisticated the skills needed to catch it. In addition to stalking crawling bugs, our common American Robin has a well-honed routine to find worms tunneling through the soil. Take a moment to watch one next time you’re taking a break from your morning run on the promenade. You might think that they’re just standing around. They take a few steps, do a few foot taps in the grass, then tilt their head. The foot taps are to “scare” a worm to belie its presence and the cock of the head is actually listening for a telltale wiggle below ground. What super hero powers!

Gulls are primarily opportunistic scavengers, pilfering whatever they can get their beaks on, but crawling crabs, swimming fish, and scurrying baby birds (even impossibly cute Piping Plover chicks) are all fair game. Ospreys and eagles specialize in fishing. Imagine the home-schooled mathematics needed to be flying hundreds of feet above a swimming fish, spotting it at that distance, beginning a dive, calculating wind shear and water refraction, and plotting where the fish will be by the time that they get there. The beaks, talons, ears, eyes, and flight feathers of hawks and owls are designed to catch more wily creatures like squirrels, rats, rabbits, chipmunks, and snakes. I’ve seen them catch all of these, and honestly, it’s not easy to watch. Luckily, they’re so good at it that the demise of the critter is mostly instantaneous.

Prime wildlife photos identify with the success of the bird (or of the photographer). If you look at it from the “catch’s” point of view, it’s not so heroic. I do often think about it from the perspective of “lunch.” What is it like to be happily flying, scampering, or swimming along in one’s own world, then suddenly, an alien far larger than yourself plucks you up and eats you? Down a throat. Lights out. Uh, it’s the core fear of many science fiction movies.

Oh, back to that Night Heron. He’s still stoic. A duckling heads in his direction with Mama Mallard shouting from behind, “Swim faster!” Slowly he turns. Step by step. Inch by inch. Lightning-fast. An orange fish is in his beak, and nearly down his throat before you can blink. Now both Mama and Papa Mallard make a beeline back to scream bloody quack at the Heron! They know what he’s up to and they don’t like it.

I visited the pool again this week, a month later, and there were only four adolescent ducklings making the rounds with Mom and Dad still keeping an eye on them. It’s rough out there.

TOP TO BOTTOM: An American Robin shows off his foraging skills. 2. A Black-backed Gull picks up take-out. 3 and 4. An Osprey shoplifts from the fresh fish counter.