by Glen Chilton
The killing of Ruddy Ducks is an evolving process. In the early days, a handgun was used, but now a rifle is employed with much greater success. Luckily, said Echevarrias, Ruddy Ducks are “quite stupid,” and a hunter can usually miss a few times without having the target fly away. A more sophisticated system was developed recently to kill Ruddy Ducks in El Hondo. A man in hip waders enters a blind made of vegetation, floats close to the unsuspecting Ruddy Duck, and then blasts it. Echevarrias explained that the blind is named “Dorothy.”
“Why ‘Dorothy’?” I asked. Echevarrias didn’t know, so he put in a call to a colleague to find out. He discovered that in the film Twister, the hurricane-chasing group used a device named Dorothy to track hurricanes. I’ve not seen the film but suspect that this is a reference to the heroine in The Wizard of Oz. Perhaps those responsible for killing Ruddy Ducks think of them as blowing in like small, destructive hurricanes. Without Dorothy, the best system for killing Ruddy Ducks involves two boats. The first contains the shooter; the second is used to drive the Ruddy Duck toward a place where it can most easily be shot.
I asked Echevarrias how he would respond to the opposition of some animal rights activists to the cull of Ruddy Ducks in Britain. He thought very carefully before replying. First, he would invite those opposed to the cull to come to the region and try to identify the one duck in 10,000 that was a Ruddy Duck or a hybrid, and then try to kill it. It was much more practical to eliminate them at the source. Second, he went on to explain that there is currently very strong support in Spain for the conservation of White-headed Ducks, and funding is available to kill Ruddy Ducks as soon as they arrive. It may be difficult to maintain this support into the future, making it important to eliminate the Ruddy Duck threat now.
We then set off to see the projects designed to help conserve White-headed Ducks and other wildlife. The first was a nearby nature reserve, Aula de la Natura, del Clot de Galvany, where visitors, including schoolchildren, can get a first-hand nature experience. The wetlands in the reserve are maintained by treated waste water from surrounding communities. While watching White-headed Ducks from a blind, we were joined by a man who explained that he had moved to Spain from England. He said that England no longer seemed like home, claiming that it was too crowded and expensive. Echevarrias later said that this man was one of a number of “professional birdwatchers” who often come to the reserve. In a somewhat derisive way, he explained that after living in Spain for several years, the man still spoke no Spanish.
As we drove to the next site, I asked Echevarrias how those involved in the killing of Ruddy Ducks viewed their participation in the project. He said that they are not keen on the killing but realize the importance of their work. Echevarrias explained that those involved with the White-headed Duck project feel profoundly responsible for its outcome. When someone goes on holiday, they call home to see how the killing of a newly arrived Ruddy Duck is proceeding. I wondered if rat exterminators feel the same level of commitment to the cause.
We stopped at a habitat restoration area, part of the Parque Natural de las Salinas de Santa Pola. I asked Echevarrias if he felt pride in his work. He said that he did but was also “pissed off” (Carmen’s best attempt to find the right English words) about the length of time required to get a project approved and completed. He explained that the project in front of us had taken fifteen years to complete. Directorships are political appointments, so directors come and go, meaning that short-term and long-term objectives are difficult to establish, and small administrative problems can derail a project. Echevarrias explained that, in general, Spaniards are concerned about the environment. Interest in global warming, for instance, is very high, but engagement in species endangerment is much lower. Interest in the topic does not always translate into action.
We finished our five-hour tour with a visit to a very large and recently completed wetlands project, Parque Natural del Hondo, Generalitat Valencia, which had involved the creation of about 100 hectares of brackish marshes. Canals carried water to the wetlands from the mountains beyond and from agricultural land. Considerable structural complexity in the wetlands suits White-headed Ducks very well. Part of the motivation for the project had been habitat creation for Marbled Teal, a species that had not yet attracted as much public attention as the White-headed Duck. Echevarrias spoke with passion and conviction about this wetlands project. As a man of size and substance, he gave the sense that he could back it all up with a physical presence.
Listening intently can be tiring, but translating questions and answers at high speed must be really draining when done hour after hour. After we cleared Alicante and got on the road for the six-hour run to Córdoba, Carmen slipped into a deep siesta. Luckily I was driving at the time. We proceeded through dry lowlands and wetter highlands. We passed fields of olives, oranges, and cereal crops. For the most part, Audrey was good about the whole thing, but she sometimes became confused. When we got onto a newly constructed road that she didn’t recognize, Audrey insisted that I drive cross-country by the shortest possible route to the roadway that she knew. At one point, I was convinced that she described me as an idiota.
After settling in at our hotel in Córdoba, we crossed the Río Guadalquivir to the centre of the old city in search of food. We watched as a police car stopped next to four young fellows who had been drinking and clearly thought that they were in for a bit of trouble. Instead, the officer rolled down his window, pointed to a well-dressed woman, then pointed to the litter she had just discarded, and insisted that she dispose of it properly. I love Spanish policía.
After dinner, while crossing a Roman-era bridge, Carmen received a telephone call. While she spoke, I wandered to a shrine on the bridge with candles to be lit for prayers. The shrine was propping up two men on bicycles who had been imbibing rather too well to prop up themselves. They babbled at me in slurred Spanish. When I explained, in Spanish, that I didn’t speak Spanish, one of them asked, “English?” When I answered in the affirmative, they started burbling at me in very poor French. They protested that the shrine wasn’t just for lighting candles for fun; this was for prayers to the city’s patron saint. I didn’t have enough Spanish to explain that my mother-in-law was ill, and that the candle was meant to carry my prayer for her, so I just got on with it. I burned myself. Having finished her call, Carmen joined me, listened for a moment, and laughed at how the conversation had turned. The men claimed that I looked like Indiana Jones. Harrison Ford should be so lucky.
CARMEN HAD ARRANGED a 9 a.m. meeting with José Antonio Torres Esquivias, but until she told a colleague about the meeting, she hadn’t realized just how important a man he really was. Esquivias was a high-ranking government official to start with, but when it came to White-headed Ducks in Spain, this guy was it. We took the elevator to the seventh floor of the building that was home to the Delegacion Prov. de Mesion Andalucia for Córdoba and were seated outside Esquivias’ office by a secretary.
Esquivias was dressed in a navy blue sweater over his dress shirt and tie, and it was easier to imagine him safe in his office than in the field getting his feet wet. But first impressions are only that. In preparation for our visit, Esquivias had lined up a comprehensive set of supportive documents, including books and brochures about the difficulties facing White-headed Ducks. The package included newspaper stories, newsletters given to supporters, certificates given to donors, data printouts, scholarly articles, and even window stickers.
Carmen translated his story. Thirty years earlier, Esquivias had been working on a Ph.D. in Córdoba on habitat selection in songbirds. Whenever he went to a conference, everyone wanted to speak to him about White-headed Ducks because Córdoba was the only place with significant numbers of that species. Initially, he was dismayed that people didn’t want to hear about his songbird work but then recognized a niche that he might occupy.
At that time, there were only twenty-two White-headed Ducks in the region, and hunting was still permitted. Esquivias would someti
mes show up at a wetland to complete a duck census only to find people trying to shoot them. Many believed that it was impossible to save a species just by protecting its habitat. However, Esquivias and others insisted that the key to survival of the White-headed Duck was prevention of habitat destruction and elimination of hunting. In 1985, Esquivias and his group purchased the land around Zoñar Lake in order to protect it. It was the first purchase of this sort by a non-governmental organization in Spain. This caused the government to feel guilty that it had not done more to protect the White-headed Duck, and hunting was finally brought to an end in the region. As a result of their efforts, by 2000 the population had grown to about 4,500 individuals, and with the increase, the White-headed Duck expanded its range. With range expansion came further hunting bans.
In the early days, the public had no appreciation for the plight of White-headed Ducks. The association devoted to saving the species made its environmental campaign a very high priority, and at its peak had 2,000 members, including many from abroad. Responsibility for the White-headed Duck moved from the Ministry of the Environment to regional authorities, and association members became members of regional administrative efforts.
But just as the White-headed Duck started to make a recovery, Ruddy Ducks appeared, creating a new threat. Esquivias gave me a graph showing the climbing numbers of Ruddy Ducks and hybrids over time. At first, the decision to kill Ruddy Ducks and hybrids was a regional one, but as the problem increased, the need for a national response team was recognized. These efforts are aided by birdwatchers who notify the team about Ruddy Ducks. The team is a private company, paid for by the government, and Esquivias explained that it is an expensive proposition.
Esquivias said that if nothing were to be done about Ruddy Ducks outside of Spain he would be pessimistic about the future of White-headed Ducks. Most of the Ruddy Ducks are arriving from Britain, but now they are coming from Morocco too; one of these had recently shown up at Cadiz. If Ruddy Ducks and hybrids are not controlled in Morocco, he said, it is one more front of attack.
When I asked about British opposition to the Ruddy Duck cull, Esquivias said he believes that the problem is more a matter of appearance than of actually taking the extreme measures necessary to kill them all. One of the difficulties is that some people in the UK consider the Ruddy Duck to be a British species, introduced but naturalized, and legitimate in some way, so they are reluctant to take necessary extreme measures. Esquivias had visited Britain at the invitation of authorities to speak to activists and explain the problem for White-headed Ducks in Spain. He found it very difficult to exchange ideas with these people in a meaningful way.
Even in Spain, there are activists who are opposed to the shooting of Ruddy Ducks and feel that there should be some better way to control them, such as capture and release. Esquivias thinks that the issue must be dealt with from a scientific perspective. Not that an emotional response is irrelevant. He once went to the shooting of a Ruddy Duck and was so upset by the experience that he never went again. Even so, he understands the situation and fully supports the cull of Ruddy Ducks.
The Spanish population of White-headed Ducks is increasing, but the global population is still in decline. This shows the importance of Spanish measures for the long-term survival of the species. Spain has been involved in programs of White-headed Duck reintroduction in France and Italy, but these have failed to produce results so far.
Without the elimination of Ruddy Ducks in Europe and Africa, the chance of long-term survival for the White-headed Duck is low, according to Esquivias. The Moroccan world is very different from life in Europe, he explained. Everything is hunted in Morocco, and the problem of Ruddy Ducks in that country should be eliminated by the local predisposition to blast away at everything that moves. However, significant wetlands are owned by the Crown, and hunting is not permitted. The Spanish royal family has good relations with the Moroccan royal family and have contacted them about the Ruddy Duck problem, without positive results to date.
When the population of White-headed Ducks fell to its lowest level, a captive group was established, partly in hopes of breeding individuals for release into the wild and partly as a repository of genetic variation. That captive group is still maintained. The difficulty with captive-bred White-headed Ducks is that they have not imprinted properly, and once they are released into the wild they fail to display the natural behavioural repertoire. They don’t seem to distinguish between Ruddy and White-headed ducks, and so are particularly prone to hybridization.
Another difficulty for White-headed Ducks is that they are specialists and require conditions to be just right. Water must be the right depth. They need a supply of chironomid flies and pondweed seeds. In comparison, Ruddy Ducks are generalists and will usually win in a competitive situation.
I asked if the White-headed Duck was Esquivias’ favourite bird species. His face developed a tender look, and he said that there is shared love with this bird. Others have photographs of family members in their office; Esquivias has photos of White-headed Ducks.
Esquivias had arranged an escorted trip to Laguna de Zoñar for Carmen and me with site manager Raphael Vega. Vega negotiated the company truck out of its parking stall and through the Gordian knot of vehicles that represents a typical Spanish parking lot. En route, I began to feel a little carsick. Vega wasn’t keen on posted speed limits, and as the truck surpassed 150 kilometres per hour, an interesting trick of harmonics meant that the vehicle started to vibrate. The front seat seemed stable enough, but riding in the back I got quite a massage, and every bit of my face jiggled. When Vega settled in at 160, the vibrations disappeared.
At Laguna de Zoñar, we were met by Manuel, a park warden. To me, he was a swarthy, dark-haired version of Homer Simpson. There was a vague threat of violence about him, but I assumed that it was a thin veneer over a softer interior.
Manuel is the man responsible for shooting Ruddy Ducks and hybrids in the area. He explained that the official policy is “If in doubt about whether an individual is a hybrid, kill it!” To date, genetic analysis of the corpses has shown that only one pure White-headed Duck has been killed.
Carmen, Vega, Manuel, and I went for a walk around the lake. It is a beautiful place where native vegetation has been planted and maintained to effect. Showing his softer side, Manuel pointed out patches of aromatic herbs. He showed us White-headed Ducks swimming in the distance, and explained that it is important to control voracious carp in the lake, since they are able to eat small ducklings.
Back in Córdoba, Vega suggested an out-of-the-way restaurant near his home. Parking spots proved to be a problem; there weren’t any. I was told that in Córdoba, drivers double-park their cars but leave the handbrake off so that the car can be pushed out of the way if needed. This did not seem feasible in our situation, so Vega created a spot by driving up on the sidewalk and parking behind a dumpster. I thought it unlikely we would ever see the truck again.
The restaurant’s owner was an ex-bullfighter, and every bit of wall space was dedicated to images of bullfighting. A television was broadcasting a bullfight. Despite my opposition to blood activities, I found the wine outstanding and the food hearty and traditional for the region. The owner and I exchanged snippets of genial conversation in English and Spanish.
I was having difficulty believing how late in the evening Spanish people start the day’s celebrations. At 8:30 p.m., Carmen and I set off to meet Julio, a university friend. Carmen explained that she could not imagine a trip to Córdoba without seeing him. Julio had recently started a course of study toward a Ph.D. in molecular biology involving the study of diabetes. Although Julio’s English was rusty, we were able to swap expressions like “immunohistochemistry” and “polymerase chain reaction.”
Julio had a general idea about the location of his chosen restaurant, but his navigation was pretty casual. We strolled through a plaza that had once been used for bullfights. We passed through a courtyard that had been, in some way, impor
tant to the story of Don Quixote. When we got to the restaurant, we were joined by Julio’s impossibly beautiful Peruvian girlfriend, whose name flew out of my head the moment it flew in. Over bread, cold tomato soup, chickpeas, and aubergines, we laughed and teased and told travel stories. Close to midnight, we tumbled back onto the street. Walking through a plaza, we found a concert in full swing. Despite the late hour on a weeknight, young children were playing in the street. “Well, that’s Espain,” I was told. I had my first cheek-kissing experience in Spain when I said goodnight to Julio’s girlfriend; she was not to be denied. When I told her that I hoped we would meet again, she said, “Well, you never know. Life travels in circles.”
SEVILLE is a NOISY, BUSY CITY with a significant air pollution problem. It has myriad cars but very few parking spots. Audrey tried her best, and Carmen helped by calling out, “No, not yet. No, not yet. Yes, turn here. Now!” but it was still all I could do not to smack the rental into other vehicles and run down a sizable portion of Seville’s pedestrian population.
After securing the city’s last parking spot, we walked to the Estación Biológica de Doñana Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, a superior research centre. All major Spanish cities have one or more of these. This one was particularly concerned with biological conservation. The building was alive with young people wandering the halls and exchanging ideas.
We met up with Andy Green, who suggested a nearby café for our discussion. Luckily, Carmen got a break from translating and could concentrate on getting her breakfast down. I asked how someone with the name “Andy Green” came to be working in Seville. He explained that while working at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust in Britain, he started considering the problems facing White-headed Ducks. He recognized a niche and slowly worked his way into a permanent position at the Estación in Seville, where he had been for the past fourteen years. He suggested that being bilingual helped him bridge the gap between England, the source of Ruddy Ducks, and Spain, their recipient. Whenever someone on either side needs information, they can come to him. Whenever a Ruddy Duck or a hybrid is shot in Spain, the corpse is delivered to him. This allows for all manner of coordinated research, including diet, genetics, and parasitism.
