Common Goldeneyes: All I Want for Christmas

The first time in a very long time that I saw a common goldeneye was two weeks ago, in a flock of mallards dabbling along the Arizona Canal during my morning jog on the adjacent path. She was the lone representative of her species, a family of birds that migrates to warmer climates like Phoenix from their summer breeding grounds closer to the Arctic.

On my next run I noticed there were two of them, keeping to themselves a little further to the west on the same canal. One of the female goldeneyes croaked a warning to the other when it seemed like I was paying too much attention to them. However she had nothing to worry about because it was cold and I wanted to finish my jog and trot quickly home.

Not many days later, I discovered that the little group had become a threesome as a third girl had joined the tiny flock. Of course it made me wonder about their migration habits and the timing of it all. Do they fly together, at least at their journey's beginning, and do they have a destination in mind? Maybe there are rendezvous points like this waterway where stragglers and strayers can regroup? Or are they mostly on their own until they meet again on the longest day of the year back in the Great White North?

Perhaps the Arizona Canal and the man-made lakes nearby at Granada Park will be this year's seasonal home for these pretty ladies. After all, larger flocks of American wigeons and ring-necked ducks have already decamped there from the frostier climes of North America. I even saw several northern shovelers there recently, and then just on Sunday, a strikingly handsome lone male canvasback.

Intrigued not only by the journeys of these female common goldeneyes, I also wanted to photograph them, impossible to do on my long, unencumbered runs. Their namesake bright eyes adorn brunette heads that are demarcated from their dappled brown bodies by a white band around their necks. Floating low in the water, the petite ducks dive below the surface in search of food.

So on Sunday I parked my car at Granada Park, camera and zoom lens in hand, setting out to walk approximately one-half mile eastward to where I had last seen the trio of goldeneyes. It was a chilly day, but the warmth of the midday sun was inviting me to walk even longer. But I wasn't destined to bask in the sunshine long, as the birds were much further west along the canal from where I had last seen them a few days earlier.

One, two, three, four....FOUR? Yes, an additional bird had joined the small flock. Gliding swan-like, the troupe gracefully followed and turned in a sort of synchronization. As I approached them I heard a croak which I originally thought was a warning but maybe was actually a cue in their elegant choreography. Occasionally one bird disappeared, diving completely underwater to feed, resurfacing close to the tight group.

Clearly my gawking was disturbing them so I didn't linger and click my shutter for too long. But of course my head was filled with questions and anticipation: would I discover yet another goldeneye on my next morning's run? If they're so well organized on the water, they must have a method in their migration, right? And would a flamboyant male, which I have never ever seen before, finally join this winter gathering? Ah-ha, now I know exactly what I want for Christmas.