Harlequin Ducks of Sachuest, Rhode Island

Last weekend bird club members embarked on a two-day tour of coastal Rhode Island. Both birds and birders go to the shore for a winter getaway, and usually the weather is harsh. However, in between the days of wind or snow or biting cold, there still is a day when the breeze lightens and the sun shines warmly on the face, foretelling spring.

The first day was clear, but the cold northerlies sliced deep, so you had to bundle up. The second day was one of those gentle interludes, when the sea was calm and you could scan for ducks with head bare and ears uncovered. The stage was set for a real treat.

East of Newport, there is a thumb of land still connected to the mainland by a narrow spit of sand dunes and beaches. It is unclaimed by the wealthy descendants of the 19th-century barons. All people are welcome to visit this refuge of rock and moor named Sachuest.

At one of the beaches, gulls are scattered on the deserted sands, and just offshore amid the floes of ice are goldeneye and bufflehead ducks. Striding swiftly across the wet beach are the well-named sanderlings, small white wading birds that poke their bills into the myriad grains to find hidden bits of edibles.

Farther down the shore, the sand gives way to small stones and then to the rising cliffs of granite that form Sachuest. There you might pick out a ruddy turnstone, a wader distinctly marked with a black breast band and a splash of rust. They look much like scurrying piebald stones, and are a prelude to the feature attraction.

From the top of the fifty-acre hill of stone, you can bask in the bright reflection of the sun off a calm endless sea. Small islands of ledge are just off the shore, and rafts of ducks are rolling gently on the shallow waves around them, all diving to glean the fish and mussels that lurked beneath, the largess of Sachuest.

This day there are several hundred scoters and scaups and eiders, a smattering of massive loons and even groups of tiny grebes. The stage is set, the play is about to begin. It is time for the stars to stride forward front and center, the harlequins of Sachuest.

They are not great in stature, but they have the presence to command. They appear all dark in the distance, but you can see the varicolored tights they wear. There are streaks of white on back and crown and neck and sides, patches of white on cheek and face, and then the rich rusty chestnut of the sides and tail.

No Italian actor can match this startling pattern, and the harlequin dress is not the only link these birds have to ancient mimes. The harlequin duck is the English name for this species, but its Latin name is Histrionicus histrionicus. They do put on a show that seems histrionic, but their feelings are not feigned.

Several males chase a single female over the gentle waters, surging and straining to show off their speed and power. "Am I not beautiful and strong?" they seem to say. "Am I not stronger than this puny rival, who flees before my snapping bill?" His voice is hoarse and squeaky-low. It reaches the ears through the windless air, and even the higher pitch of the female's shriek is clear.

He needs to prove his swimming power, for just two months from now these ducks will be fighting the spring torrents that fall from the highland lakes and snow packs of Labrador. There the duck must dive to find the caddis flies that cling to rocks in the raging current. Here at courting time the male must be truly histrionic in his promises.

The show continues with more sedate diving to find and rip the weld that holds snails and barnacles to the underwater rocks. Keep your eyes on the empty surface and suddenly the compact bodies pop from the depths like corks. It is an entrance worthy of the most histrionic harlequin, and one you will want to see every winter. Sachuest provides drama as well as refuge.