The Attack of the Killer Rhododendrons (24 page)

The three of us set off in our rental car, and I got my first impression of just how convoluted the situation was for the poor old White-headed Duck. We parked on a little hillside overlooking a number of small lakes where the ducks bred. When the area was colonized by Phoenicians, the region had been an estuary, but human activities closed the region off from the sea and the habitat
became a series of small lakes. One of these lakes was known to pirates in the sixteenth century.

The view for me was very different from what would have greeted the pirates. Paracuellos described the lakes as “water islands in a sea of plastic.” All around the lakes stretching as far as I could see were clear plastic greenhouse tents used to grow exotic fruits and vegetables. These
plasticos
even ranged up the hillsides where, I was told, they are illegal. They pushed right up to the margins of each lake, their distribution relieved only by access roads between them. Paracuellos explained that the
plasticos
of Almería can be seen by astronauts in orbit.
Plasticultura
interests in the area are keen to employ cheap African labour, but it is difficult for the companies to get contracts from the Spanish government to employ them legally, making the social situation all the more difficult for illegal immigrants. Racism haunts the region.

Along with the sea of plastic greenhouse tents come problems that are often associated with intensive agriculture, including the runoff of pesticides, herbicides, and fertilizer into the lakes used by White-headed Ducks and other wildlife. Rats are attracted by the agricultural produce, but also eat the eggs of birds. To further the ecological destruction of these lakes, mosquitofish, one of the most horribly invasive species in the world, had been introduced. They could be eliminated by poisoning the lakes, but that would wipe out everything else, including some endemic, globally threatened species.

Despite all of this degradation and destruction, these small lakes are among the most productive White-headed Duck habitat anywhere. A moderate excess of nutrients stimulates algal and plant growth, which increases the abundance of chironomid flies on which the ducks feed. The lakes are important, but they aren’t big; I could probably kayak across each of them in about ten seconds.

Paracuellos described White-headed Ducks as “silly.” In the presence of a male Ruddy Duck, White-headed drakes fly away, leaving all of the females for the invaders. Although it was just his impression, Paracuellos felt that the arrival of Ruddy Ducks in
Spain coincided with bad weather in other parts of Europe. A nasty storm in England could drive Ruddy Ducks to more clement Spain.

Paracuellos took the wheel to drive us to a number of nature reserves. He spoke to us about the environment with such passion that we cruised along at 80 kilometres per hour in a 120 zone, much to the displeasure of other motorists. At our first reserve, we looked down upon wetlands rich in Cattle Egrets and Greater Flamingos. The geography would have been familiar to the Romans, but human activity was profoundly altering operation of the local environment. At one time, the region would have been flooded only seasonally. Now, a lot of the water piped in for
plasticultura
finds its way into the wetlands, which are now deeper, less salty, and more polluted. This is bad for most wildlife but, paradoxically, suits the needs of White-headed Ducks.

At another nature reserve, we found brackish marshes separated from the Mediterranean by sand dunes. We spied stilts, avocets, egrets, flamingos, ibis, and the globally vulnerable Marbled Teal, which was breeding at the reserve. We also spotted feral dogs that are shot to protect the wildlife. We passed a spot where a female Ruddy Duck had been shot the week before. I was told that this isn’t an easy thing to do. The vegetation is tall, and a duck can evade pursuers for a day or more. Ruddy Ducks can dive for a prolonged period and are safe from guns as long as they remain near White-headed Ducks.

We stopped at a marsh for my first close-up look at White-headed Ducks. An adult female was foraging near a car full of people who were tossing bits of bread out the windows; they probably didn’t appreciate it when we leapt from our car and strolled up to the edge of the marsh. Two White-headed Duck drakes swam further out in the marsh, along with Mallards, Moorhen, Coots, and Crested Pochard.

White-headed Ducks expect three things from their habitat: they need water of just the right depth; they need brackish (slightly salty) water; and they need a belt of the right sort of vegetation, such as cattails. These conditions were apparently
just right for a portion of the gay community as well; this bit of wetland was a well-known meeting place, and the general litter of candy bar wrappers and water bottles was supplemented by used condoms.

We finished our tour at a wetland that had sprung up by accident when sand excavation for agricultural use had created a pit that gradually filled with water from an underground aquifer, creating a reasonably large marshy lake. With no warning, Paracuellos stopped the car abruptly, but resisted the temptation to leap out and disturb the event in front of us. Six adult male White-headed Ducks were displaying vigorously to an equal number of females. It was a beautiful courtship. We slipped quietly out of the car, although we could probably have been accompanied by a Dixieland jazz band for all the attention we got from the ducks. Each displaying male sat low in the water and made a whirring noise. Facing the hen at an angle, the drake quickly twisted his body to face her from another angle. I was astonished to find that the display of a male White-headed Duck was completely unlike the displays of male Ruddy Ducks in Canada. I cannot imagine how they ever manage to attract each other.

Carmen and I set off for the seaside resort of Alicante on the Costa Blanca.

S
PANISH GENEROSITY
of time and spirit continued. At nine o’clock on Monday morning, we were met by José Luis Echevarrias. We followed him to a neighbourhood that is very popular for purchase by foreign visitors keen on warm winters and a less hectic pace of life. We breakfasted at a café as we began our discussion of ducks in the El Hondo wetlands.

El Hondo is the region that most Spaniards first think of when the topic of wetlands comes up. Echevarrias explained that until the 1990s, White-headed Ducks did not breed at El Hondo, but when they did arrive, Ruddy Ducks arrived as well. Years ago, the region’s natural areas were not specifically protected, but the plight of White-headed Ducks made the region a conservation priority.

When the presence of Ruddy Ducks was brought to the attention of the local administration, the decision was made to kill them.

When White-headed Duck hunting was banned in Spain and efforts were made to protect their breeding habitat, their numbers started to increase. A survey in 2000 revealed 4,000 individuals. But there was some reason to doubt the resulting optimism. There was a drought at the time, but the El Hondo wetlands persisted because they did not rely entirely on rain; ducks may have moved to the region from drier areas, with no real overall increase in numbers.

Throughout Europe, wetlands are in danger, and one of the greatest threats is the encroachment of urban development and agriculture. In the El Hondo region, the government decided to take a greater responsibility for conservation, and a significant number of ecologically important areas were protected. Since then, EU regulations have resulted in the protection of even more spots.

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.