Dski and I keep track of the new bird species that present themselves to the pond property. Every time a new player arrives for the first time, there is always some level of excitement. I guess that's the birder blood in us. So, this past Memorial Day holiday weekend, I'm standing at the windows just after sunrise with my coffee mug, looking out over the water and thinkin' about today's project list. I spy 2 new lookin' critters floating on the pond at the far end. Out come the Nikon binoc's. Hmmmm....these are definitely different. Out comes the bird book. Hmmm...nothing in the duck section really nails it. The neck is all black and long and sticks up from the water surface like the body is almost submerged. Then they dive. OK, that narrows the field, so off to the ducks that dive. Nope, nothing there that matches. Then one pops up with a 8 - 10" YP in it's beak and starts flipping it around like it's playin' with it. I was trying soooo hard to keep the C word from coming to my mind, but this is too much and I open the book to cormorant.
The description of yellow/orange beak and lower face seals my fate. At that very moment, all I could do was feel helpless. A 5 ac pond, no other birds, and no way to stop them short of jumping in and swimming out.
I musta read a hundred threads on PBF about these scoundrels, but now they are in MY backyard. Nope, I don't have any firearms to shoot overhead and scare away. This feeling of helplessness just fuels my anger (that last cup of caffeine doesn't help to calm me down, either). I watch them as they dive and come up. They don't stay down as long as a Merganser, but they cycle their dives 2 - 3 times as often. They are working their way to my end of the pond.
I tie on my tennies and sneak out the door over to a brush pile near the shoreline. They pop up outta the water as I review my carefully contrived plan of attack. You see, I have considered that someday this very thing may occur, so I do have a very complex plan of defense that will, at a given moment, turn into a highly effective offense (or, at least it looked good on paper). They dive once more and pop up about 30 yards from my brush pile. My adrenaline is pumping like an 8 hp trash pump. T minus 5...4...3...2...1....
The plan goes into motion NOW! I jump out from behind the brush pile and begin waving my arms like my armpits are on fire. I am hissing like a cat in heat (I don't even have a cat, but can only assume that this is what they sound like when thery're in heat....I could be wrong). I charge the shore like a cat in heat with armpits that are on fire. NOW I have their attention and I can see the fear in their eyes. It is time to unleash the clapper. Yes, the clapper. I begin clapping my hands as hard and loud and rapid as possible to create something like a cracking or popping sound to simulate gunfire. To me, it is sounding like man made 12 ga shotguns. To them, it may have been something of lesser caliber, but I am certain they were fearful for their lives.
Now, at this point, you are probably expecting me to admit that they just looked each other, cocked their perch eatin' heads as if to say "whatever", and take one more dive. Wrongo. How do I know? Because they started flapping their wings and went into flight. I expected the possibility that they would just go 100 yards away and land again to begin fishing again, so I really cranked up the clapper. OMG, my hands are burning and now my arms are gettin' tired from pounding my palms together. I embrace the "burn" and make sure they know who the
neurotic goof on shore boss is. They make 6 circuits around the pond, each one a little higher, to make it out over the trees. My hands and arms are absolutley killing me, but I feel the edge on this confrontation and I am all in. Finally, on the 7th circuit, they disappear over the trees.
I collapse to the ground at the shoreline and immediately begin thinking about a FOID card.
