As I walk along the path, I can see activity right at the very tip of Sachuest Point.
And when I say “very tip,” I mean it.
If we were marching toward the North Pole, this spot would be the pole itself.
Plant a flag. Declare victory. Watch your hat blow into the Atlantic.
Out there—tiny splashes of motion against a backdrop of wind, waves, and rock—I can tell they’re sea ducks. Colorful ones.
But I’m not committing yet. Not without proof.
Because in my world… we don’t guess.
We confirm.
So I do what any self-respecting, slightly unhinged wildlife photographer does…
I take what I lovingly refer to as an ID shot.
Now, is it sharp enough to hang in a gallery?
Absolutely not.
Is it good enough to solve the mystery?
Oh, you bet your tripod it is.
I zoom in.
Pause.
Smile.
Ladies and gentlemen… we have a trifecta morning.
Harlequin Ducks.
Right here.
At the edge of the Earth.
Now these aren’t your average, polite, pond-duck types.
No.
These birds look like they were designed by a committee that couldn’t agree on colors and said,
“Fine. Use them all.”
Blues. Chestnuts. Whites. Patterns that look like they were stitched together backstage at a Broadway production.
And appropriately so—because Harlequin comes from theatrical characters.
And histrionicus? Same idea.
These birds don’t just show up.
They perform.
And then—just when you think you’ve got them figured out…
They squeak.
Not quack.
Not honk.
Squeak.
Like a chew toy.
Which is how they earned the nickname:
Sea Mouse.
A duck.
That looks like a circus performer.
And sounds like a mouse.
Nature… you magnificent lunatic.
But here’s the part that really gets me.
These birds live in chaos.
Whitewater rivers.
Winter surf.
Relentless waves smashing them into rocks like they owe the ocean money.
So much so… that most adults are basically walking—well, swimming—collections of healed fractures.
Broken bones?
Multiple.
Lifetime achievement award in durability?
Absolutely.
And yet there they are… bobbing around like it’s a spa day.
Now you have to picture this…
Because while all this is unfolding, I am not exactly traveling light.
One camera.
800mm lens.
Mounted on a waterproof tripod like I’m setting up artillery.
Second camera—cross-body strapped like I’m preparing for a tactical maneuver.
Fanny pack (yes, fanny pack—no shame) loaded with tele-extenders and “just in case” gear.
Wide-angle lens for my “rock shot” phase of artistic brilliance.
And—because patience is a virtue—a collapsible stool.
Which, moments earlier, I was proudly sitting on… waiting for a bird to land on a dead tree like I had personally scheduled it.
Enter: Random Guy.
He walks up.
Stops.
Looks in the direction of my lens.
Waits.
Removes one earbud.
“What cha taking a picture of?”
Without missing a beat, I say:
“If you were a bird… wouldn’t you just love to perch on that tree?”
He looks at me…
Like I just offered him a philosophical riddle wrapped in birdseed.
And in that moment, I realize something important:
I have crossed over.
I am now officially…
That guy.
Anyway.
Back to the mission.
Because now I’ve made a decision.
A bold one.
A questionable one.
A what-could-possibly-go-wrong one.
I’m going down.
About 60 feet.
Over jagged rocks.
Toward the ducks.
Because clearly… this is the logical next step.
Now, I take my time.
Very.
Slow.
Time.
Because my watch—my ever-helpful, slightly overdramatic iWatch—has this charming habit of assuming I’ve died every time I kneel too quickly.
So as I navigate these rocks, my internal monologue kicks in:
“Wouldn’t it be ironic…
if I actually fall this time…
can’t move…
and the watch…
shatters?”
No alert.
No rescue.
Just me… and a couple of squeaky sea mice judging my life choices.
This is what happens when I’m alone with my thoughts.
And cliffs.
And an 800mm lens.
Eventually, I find a flat rock.
A good one.
A stable one.
A “this-will-do” kind of rock.
I set up.
Look out.
And there they are.
Harlequin Ducks.
Riding the chaos.
Wearing their costumes.
Squeaking like toys.
Living harder than most of us ever will.
And me?
I’m perched on a rock… surrounded by gear… smiling like an idiot…
Having the absolute time of my life.
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