You have to understand something about nature photography.
You don’t necessarily see a new animal every day.
But if you keep showing up, paying attention, and pointing an absurdly large lens at perfectly ordinary creatures, eventually one of them will do something that makes you say:
“What the hell is THAT?”
This was one of those mornings.
I first spotted him emerging from the tall marsh grass along the river.
A Canada Goose.
Well, technically.
Because viewed head-on, this particular gentleman appeared to have been designed by Canada Goose engineers who accidentally selected the WIDE LOAD option.
He was enormous.
Round.
Substantial.
A goose who looked like he had successfully avoided cardio for most of his adult life.
I took the frontal photograph because I knew nobody would believe me.
Exhibit A: The Goose Who Ate Narragansett.
And then I noticed what he was carrying.
Salad.
Not a little salad.
Not an appetizer.
Not one of those ridiculous restaurant salads consisting of seven leaves artistically arranged around a radish.
This goose had apparently ordered the Family-Style Aquatic Greens with Unlimited Refills.
Hanging from his bill was an enormous, dripping sheet of bright green algae.
And he was eating the whole damn thing.
Canada Geese: Surprisingly Serious Vegetarians
Canada Geese are primarily herbivores, although they’ll occasionally eat insects, mollusks, small crustaceans and other animal matter. Their everyday menu can include grasses, sedges, clover, aquatic vegetation, seeds, grains, berries, agricultural crops and various submerged plants.
They are particularly accomplished grazers.
Watch a Canada Goose on a lawn and you’ll see a biological mowing machine with webbed feet.
Along the river, though, dining becomes more interesting.
They’ll nibble vegetation at the water’s edge, pull aquatic plants from shallow water, strip algae and other plant material from submerged surfaces, and tip forward in deeper water to reach food below.
You know the maneuver.
Head underwater.
Neck underwater.
Chest underwater.
And suddenly all that’s left is a goose butt sticking straight into the air.
It’s one of nature’s great indignities.
Millions of years of evolution.
Beautiful feathers.
Magnificent migration.
Extraordinary navigation.
And breakfast requires showing the entire neighborhood your ass.
But this guy had apparently decided dabbling was for amateurs.
He had located the motherlode.
The brilliant green material in these photographs appears to be a large sheet or mass of filamentous or sheet-forming green macroalgae, the sort of growth commonly called sea lettuce when it belongs to the genus Ulva. From the photographs alone I wouldn’t claim the exact species, but Ulva or a similar green macroalga is a very plausible identification.
Whatever its scientific name, the goose had another name for it:
Mine.
He grabbed one end and started swallowing.
And swallowing.
And swallowing.
It reminded me of watching someone eat a strand of spaghetti without using their hands.
Except the spaghetti was green.
About three feet long.
And attached to a Canada Goose.
Slurp.
Slurp.
Slurp.
There was no cutting.
No portion control.
No vinaigrette.
Just commitment.
At one point he seemed to realize that the entrée had become a little dry.
So he walked it back toward the river.
Apparently the chef had neglected the dressing.
He dipped the whole thing into the water.
A little rinse.
A little lubrication.
Perhaps a palate cleanser.
Then—
BACK DOWN THE HATCH.
I half expected him to look toward the waiter and say:
“Could I get some freshly cracked pepper?”
And that’s when the other geese began appearing.
One became two.
Two became three.
Suddenly we had spectators.
They weren’t attacking him.
They weren’t exactly begging.
They were simply standing nearby with the unmistakable body language of relatives who have noticed you ordered French fries.
“You gonna eat all that?”
Yes.
Yes, he was.
There would be no sharing.
No doggie bag.
No leftovers.
This was survival of the fattest.
And our hero had apparently spent years preparing for this moment.
One of the other geese seemed to be staring at that dangling green banquet as if contemplating a tactical acquisition.
But Big Boy maintained possession.
There would be no hostile takeover of Goose Salad Enterprises.
What made the whole scene wonderful was that I’ve watched Canada Geese feed countless times.
I’ve seen them grazing.
I’ve seen them pulling vegetation.
I’ve seen them dabbling.
I’ve seen the upside-down goose routine more times than I can count.
I’ve watched them nibble growth around rocks and forage along the river bottom.
But I had never seen one parade across a sandbar carrying what looked like the entire produce department at Stop & Shop.
That’s the gift of returning to the same place again and again.
Familiar animals don’t necessarily produce familiar experiences.
There’s always another behavior.
Another interaction.
Another little piece of natural history waiting to reveal itself.
And occasionally there’s a lesson.
This morning’s lesson?
Canada Geese eat an impressive variety of vegetation.
Green algae can be part of the menu.
Competition for good food is real.
And when you find a salad the size of a bath towel…
never make eye contact with your friends.
Because the minute you do, somebody is going to ask for a bite.
Another first on the river.
Naturally.
Today’s Sandbar Special
The Canada Goose Bottomless River Salad
Fresh marsh greens, tender grasses, locally harvested aquatic vegetation, hand-pulled green macroalgae and seasonal sedges, lightly dressed in genuine Narrow River water.
Served dripping wet.
Croutons unavailable.
Sharing strongly discouraged.
Reservations not accepted.
Price: One enormous goose appetite.
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