A female Mallard speculum. (Image: Brendan McGarry)

“Just Mallards.”

That’s a phrase I’ve uttered far more than I probably know and certainly too often. Mallards, Anas platyrhynchos (literally “duck with a broad bill”), the most widespread and abundant duck in North America, don’t generally elicit excitement.

Even on the Hill, where there are few ponds, I doubt most of us would be surprised by a few Mallards paddling around Waterworks at Cal Anderson.

Of course, I wouldn’t bring them up if they weren’t worth considering. (Then again, what species isn’t?) Being one of the most common ducks in the world, they are immediately recognizable. So much so that we often overlook them while simultaneously celebrating them with the likes of Donald and Daffy Duck who are both undoubtedly of Mallard stock. How many people reading this went to the University of Oregon but can’t share much of note about Mallards?

One of my favorite things about Mallards are their links to human history.

As a wild species, Mallards have probably been food for humans as long as our species has shared their space. Their domestication dates to at least 4,000 years ago in Asia and the ease with which wild Mallards accept our presence and handouts it’s not hard to imagine how this relationship started. Ducks are not raised for eggs or meat in the US on the level that chickens are, but they are still raised widely and billions are eaten every year across the globe. Though I am less enamored with the way ducks are commercially raised enmasse, I do find their connections to human development and culture compelling. Practically all domestic ducks, aside from Muscovy Ducks, were bred from Mallards.

Domestic ducks that come from Mallard stock. Some even look almost like a “wild type” mallard. (Image: Brendan McGarry)

Like many domestic species, domestic ducks have been the focus of breeding efforts which have brought out favorable colors, different sizes, and morphological surprises that have happened while seeking out other desirable traits.

Yet put a wild Mallard in with your domestic flock and you’d undoubtedly end up with offspring from their interbreeding. The resulting progeny would be fully fertile, demonstrating the lack of divergence of Mallards and their domesticated kin. Offspring of Mallard and other duck species closely related to them are sterile, but are common and notable mysteries that birders ponder over, (to be clear these mixings are not a Romeo and Juliet situation, Mallards are particularly well known for brutal, forced copulation when outside their pair bond). Domestic ducks also frequently escape and rejoin wild Mallards, which means that genes humans have perpetuated now intermingle with wild genes. You can see proof of this when a sometimes larger, sometimes partially white or black duck is hanging around with a group of wild-type Mallards. I grew up calling these ducks “mutant mallards,” which doesn’t sound kind, but I used the term because I just really liked X-Men comics (still do).

Almost everyone knows what a “duck” sounds like, and that duck is a Mallard. Except you might have assumed that this vocalization is a male Mallard, because well, the patriarchy. You’d be wrong. Every single Mallard you’ve ever heard quacking away was a female bird. Males have a much more quiet rasp. And youngsters are incredibly quaint peepers.

Mallards are one of three ducks that likely breed in the vicinity of the Hill and are by far the most obvious when they do. Besides Canada Geese, they are probably the only birds I have ever had to stop for in a car or on a bike, not out of frenzied bird excitement but because I didn’t want to run them over. It’s not uncommon for a line of ducklings to hold up traffic as they follow their mother wherever she deems necessary.

Though #notmallards, Muscovy Ducks are the only other ducks commonly domesticated in the world. They are native to Mexico, Central and South America and have a long relationship with indigenous people there. (Image: Brendan McGarry)

Mallards and their kin lay lots of eggs, which is a clue that they suffer frequent mortalities. Don’t mistake this for poor parenting. Only mothers are caregivers, but they stay with their ducklings until they can fly, even though ducklings can feed themselves almost immediately. To protect ducklings, mothers will feign an injured wing to distract predators or call out boisterous warnings. But when you have 13 youngsters trailing you and poking around the undergrowth for food, a few get taken from the rear no matter how good you are.

When it comes down to it, Mallards are simply beautiful ducks. Both male and females sport a beautiful iridescent blue wing patch (a common trait in their genus called the speculum), which is most obvious in flight. I love the orange lining of a female’s beak and the deep chestnut of a male’s breast. I even enjoy them in mid-summer, when adult birds molt and males and females become temporary lookalikes, cannot fly, and appear to be falling apart. They are just handsome and hearty birds.

Let the commonness of Mallards not be seen as boring but as testament to their adaptability. They don’t need deep water to dive in and are content with what they can dabble in the shallowest of ponds. Mallards have certainly stirred my emotions when I’ve seen them by their thousands in an estuarine bay. However, if I take the time to enjoy them in places like the Hill I find they are just as compelling and welcome neighbors. Clearly I’m not alone, otherwise you wouldn’t know a Mallard, from another thing with wings.

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