Today I returned to the congregation on the river and was surprised to find not only that the location and number of birds seemed to be the same, but also that all of the individuals I recognized from the day before were bobbing around in roughly the same places in the water. The splotchy hybrids were still keeping together on the far end of the group, and a recognizable coot with an injured wing was keeping close to the very same bit of shore as yesterday. The neat little group of tufted ducks must have been swimming all day to stay in the very same spot. So it appears that waterfowl are creatures of habit this time of year. I think that it is a lucky thing to find recognizable individuals among the masses, as it gives one a feeling of connection to an otherwise strange group of foreign creatures, all indistinguishable from one another.

I found another new bird to mark in my book today, and an incredibly cute one at that. While spying out the moorhens hiding in their little thicket I glimpsed what appeared to be some kind of baby duck, small, fuzzy and tailless, bobbing around where the branches meet the water. It was very difficult for me to get a view, and just when I thought I would get a long look at him through my binoculars he suddenly vanished. I waited, pacing back and forth to get alternate views around the branches, but the bird seemed to have disappeared entirely. So I gave up, thinking that perhaps my eyes had deceived me (a baby duck at this time of year is ridiculous!) and walked further to the edge of the group. After some minutes I was surprised to find this baby bird suddenly appear in the middle of the river. In my excitement I fumbled around with the camera, trying to keep one eye on him, but the camera chose this moment to malfunction and give an error notice. I was about to begin fussing with the binoculars when the bird disappeared again suddenly, leaving only a few bubbles behind. “A lone baby diving bird!” I thought in confusion, reprimanding myself for messing with technology when I could have been memorizing the markings of such a bizarre creature. I stood waiting for him to return, but a cold rain from the north sea was beginning to fall, my hands were turning numb, and it was time to move on.
Over coffee in a warm cafe I looked through the diving birds in my guide and was pleased to find that I had seen an adult little grebe (Zwergtaucher). These birds are very small, have no tails, and are fuzzy this time of year, so it is no surprise I thought it was a baby. While I was researching one of the employees of the cafe noticed my books and binoculars and asked if I was a biologist. I explained to him that I look at birds as a hobby. He gave me a strange look, politely thumbed through my books, then told me that it seemed a very odd hobby to him. I told him that I find it very fun, which he didn’t seem to believe!