A lesser whistling duck at the Symphony Lake. I saw only five that day. Two were swimming amidst the reeds on the far side of the lake while the others were resting on the nearby islets. With their mottled brown plumage and pigeon-sized proportions, they would have been overlooked altogether save for the curiosity of passers-by who wondered what I was aiming at. The other side of the lake was lined with families and couples intent on feeding the turtles and carp that lurk in the murky waters. Where were the other ducks? I know some spend the day elsewhere (perhaps at Marina South until the day the marshes are drained) and descend upon the gardens in the evening. Are they nesting? I have never seen ducklings at the lake though. And for some strange reason, most people I overhear seem to think these are Mandarin ducks...
The goodly population of fish in the lake is a boon to piscivorous birds such as the stork-billed kingfisher. This was one of a probable pair hunting in the evening from the trees whose branches overhang the water. Intent on their prey, the birds were not too bothered by the presence and noise of walkers below, who nonetheless could not fail to notice the periodic streaks of electric blue that plunged into the lake to pluck out a fingerling.
The resident mute swans at the eponymous Lake sometimes engage in mock sex, but I haven't heard of any instances of actual nesting. The two were poking around under the Dillenia on the island though, picking up bits of debris and looking broody. The lake post renovation is again filled with giant gouramis, tilapia, sliders and the odd pacu. The tiger barbs and red-tailed rasboras that used to shoaled around the edge are gone though, and now that the water is kept weed-free, there is probably little cover for minnows in this peasoup of suspended green algae. The feeders aren't discouraged though, and spilled scraps from their bread bags are eagerly pecked at by bold mynahs and spotted doves.
Perhaps one who appreciates a fellow fowl, this male glossy starling came down from his usual haunt at the tree-tops to eye-ball my duck. Far shyer were the white-breasted waterhens which stuck to the undergrowth and banks of the artificial stream by the Symphony Lake. A number were immature birds, probably survivors from this season's nests.
The pink-necked green pigeons and hill mynahs remained too high up in the canopy of the rain trees for my length-challenged duck. The broad hill between the rainforest and Swan Lake is dotted with trees from distant shores, from African sausages to Brazilian monkey pots. The birds don't seem too concerned with these imported attractions though, and the resident squirrels have no qualms about helping themselves to some foreign fruit. To non-discriminating feeders such as these yellow-vented bulbuls, any berry's probably as fine as another. Just as for some, any tree is as good as the other, even meagre saplings planted in mock tribute to mightier woods felled to feed markets whose hunger for fuel starves both humans and habitats.
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