duckling rescue

So I’ve been meaning to write up this duckling rescue story for some time but only now have the chance to sit down and do it. Hope you enjoy it. Just goes to show you, you can have an adventure…even in Greenville, South Carolina.
It was a sunny spring day in May in Greenville, South Carolina. I decided to bring Paul and his son, Nikolaj, and daughter-in-law, Trine, visiting from Copenhagen down to the Reedy River to see the town. Walking across the pedestrian suspension bridge we stopped to look at the waterfall of the Reedy that used to power the textile mills that sustained Greenville for decades. Now, the area has turned into a local attraction for tourists and locals alike to come and enjoy the views.

As we’re standing on the bridge looking down at the waterfall Paul notices one, two, three tiny little ducklings at the base of the falls struggling to make their way to safe ground. Initially we thought they might actually live up under the rock they were swimming to for safety but then, when the third one got washed further down and tried to go back up the waterfall, we realized they might not be there on purpose.

Just then a woman approached us and pointed out the mother and six struggling ducklings at the top of the fall. They were being pulled down closer to the top of the falls by the current and then swimming with all their might to safety for a moment of reprieve only to be washed down again to repeat the cycle again and again. She mentioned that this had been going on for well over an hour. Oh no…something must be done!

I get on my cell phone and dial 411 to ask for the animal control but sadly when I call I’m informed that they close at 5:30 pm (it’s now after 6 pm) and I’m instructed to call the State Department of Natural Resources for “after hours wildlife concerns.” Back to 411 but unfortunately when I get the number, no one answers. It just rings and rings. Now I’m desperate. I dial 911 and blurt out, “this is not a human emergency but a duck emergency…there are ducklings being washed over the top of the Reedy River Falls.” To which the 911 operate gasps, “Oh no!” I explain to her who I’ve already tried to call and she struggles to think of another option.

She mentions that she could send some officers but they would be no help and then remembers a volunteer organization for wildlife rescue and rehab. She gives me that number. I dial it and encounter the most bizarre automated phone system that I’ve ever heard. “Please listen carefully to this message as it will direct you to the volunteer who can help you with your particular wild life emergency. If you’ve found a opossum dial 27. If you have a bird emergency, dial 40. If it has a sharp beak, dial 42. For a rounded beak, 47.” OK, those aren’t the real numbers but you get the idea. I finally get to the duck lady and explain the situation and she says she’ll be there in 20 minutes…with nets.

I rush back to the others and explain what has transpired. Paul says, “They’ll never make it that long. They are getting fatigued. Let’s go Nikolaj. We have to do something.” This is just one of the many reasons I love this man. I don’t think I know anyone else who would jump into the Reedy River to save distressed ducklings.

We cross the bridge, jump over the wall leading to the grassy area near the river and wade in. The next thing I know, Paul is at the ducklings. The mom is squawking like mad and Paul is catching ducklings as they scatter to get away from him. He’s downstream from them so as they lose the battle against the current he scoops them up and puts them into a green plastic shopping bag that Nikolaj had. He fills it with the ducklings he’s snatched. Nikolaj is behind him catching those he misses and Trine has scaled the 25 foot rock face to get down to the bottom of the falls in order to get to the ones that have already gone over. I’m standing on the banks…dumbfounded. I’ve re-arranged the contents of my purse for duckling carrying (Paul always laughs at my fascination with bags…I like to think of them as “gear” and this one is perfect for duck rescues as it is lines with some sort of waterproof lining).

Next, I see Paul about mid-stream chasing a stray that is making its way towards the middle of the river. At one point, he slips and falls at the very top of the falls and I think…oh my god, after all he’s been through in his life, he’s going to die in the Reedy River. Feet up, green bag held high so as not to squish the ducklings, and bam! He slams onto his butt and elbow into the rocks to break his fall. Undeterred he drags himself up with the stray duckling safely in the bag and makes his way to the other bank (it should be noted that he somehow hurt his back on our cross-country trip and has been in pain and on medication for it for the last several days).

I rush back across the pedestrian bridge. A stranger helps me get Paul’s attention by whistling and we make the transfer from the green shopping bag to my purse so he can go to the lower level of the falls and see if he can find any others. In the meantime, Trine has managed to rescue one from the bottom of the falls and scale back up the rock face using one hand. Nikolaj is up to his neck in the Reedy River trying to go to the location at the bottom of the falls we originally saw them and Paul is headed back out to help.

By this time, the wild life rescue and rehab people have arrived with a box and two nets. I dump the contents of my purse into the box. 1,2,3,4,5 and a 6th one that doesn’t belong with the others (it’s a different species!). The lower falls retrieval produces 3 more. A total of 7 from the original group with the mom and two of the second species are saved. We load the siblings into the box and head back up to the top of the river. I made sure to take a close look at the mom so I’d be able to return them to her if we caught them. I see her across the river on the other bank. She is squawking at the top of her little duck lungs, I’m sure she is in complete dismay about what has just happened. Her ducklings are peeping like crazy. I’m sure trying to find their mom.

I crouch near the bank of the river, tilt the box in the direction of the river, hoping to angle the sound across the expanse. She is going “squawk, squawk, squawk”…they are going “peep, peep, peep.” This goes on for what seems like an eternity. We are so close to a reunion but yet so far. Finally… she hears them. I see her head turn, she dives in the water and starts to paddle. “Squawk, Squawk, Squawk!” In unison they desperately reply, “Peep, peep, peep.” She paddles like mad. When she gets close to the bank and makes her way up the side, I slowly dump the contents of my box, her family, onto the bank and they waddle their way over to her. Success! I almost cry. OK, maybe I cry a little.

The whole time, as the events are unfolding, we’ve been watched and assisted by a variety of onlookers. Some are pointing out where ducklings are from the bridge. Others are peaking in my purse to see the tiny ducklings all hovered together. One group of teenagers has been here from the beginning. They were actually there before we arrived and saw the first few go over the falls. They’re the type of teens you might turn your nose up at if you saw them walking down the street. Their bangs are a bit too long and eye-liner a bit too thick. They look like trouble or at least like non-contributing members of society that you hope will someday “grow out” of this phase that they’re in. As I retreat from the scene of the duck family reunion one of them says to me a bit choked up, “Man, we were watching it all happen but we didn’t do anything. We just watched. We need more people in the world like you.” Perhaps we did more than just save some ducklings that day.