We began our Little Year at midnight, hoping to spot an easy one and then quit until morning. Our first stop was a useless, birdless visit to the Lake Michigan shore at Evanston, a suburb just north of Chicago. We heard a faint gull cry from the lake, but neither of us knew enough to identify it.

Then we followed the shore north to Gillson Park in the suburb of Wilmette, which also seemed deserted. We didn’t see or hear anything until we reached the sheltered harbor at the south end. As we approached the water, Pole spotted a duck swimming away from us, but there wasn’t enough light to identify it. I walked up to the water’s edge and clumsily spooked about half a dozen MALLARDS, who burst off in a terrified medley of flapping, paddling, and quacking.

In a way, it’s not a very auspicious beginning to our Little Year to freak out a bunch of sleeping mallards. “Poor ducks,” was Pole’s sad comment. Still, they’re one of my favorite birds, and I’m delighted to have such a beautiful animal at the top of my list. I guess waking them is better than shooting them, which Audubon would have done. So I’m one up on him, too.