Quacker in the Crapper, or the Murderous Merganser

Ducks are often thought of as peaceful creatures swimming past a dock and slurping up bits of bread tossed onto the water by excited children. Due to the events of 40 years ago, I've come to believe that ducks are more like Donald Duck who was known for his nasty temperament, even to the point of being violent and unstable.

During a 1981 Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness camping trip with three of my high school friends, I encountered a perplexing latrine situation. This was back in the days of the sturdy wooden latrine with the heavy lid. On this particular campsite, the latrine hole was several feet deep and had standing "water" in the bottom. Unfortunately, and I am not making this up, it also had a merganser duck swimming in the bottom. Being late in the day, we were not in the mood to give up the campsite, but it was obvious something would need to be done. It was apparent the duck was unable to free itself so I conducted a rescue mission with a length of rope with a noose. After a few attempts, I was running toward the lake dangling an angry, filthy duck. I tossed the duck into the lake with the noose still around its neck. I was clinging to the clean end of the rope, and after an epic tug of war, the now somewhat cleaner duck tired. I was able to remove the noose from its neck and it swam off appearing to be in good health.

The story of the quacker in the crapper wasn't over yet. The ensuing events made me realize that this particular duck did not consider me a hero but, rather, the instigator of its malodorous imprisonment. Our latrine duck was a common merganser which is capable of flying at 50 MPH and possesses a sharp beak (not the typical flat duck bill). In fact, another name for the merganser is sawbill.

Later that evening, the merganser flew past our campsite and, upon seeing me standing near the water, went into a nose dive, or beak dive I suppose, with my head clearly its intended target. I managed to dive behind a granite boulder. The deranged duck with dubious intent then circled around for another pass but this time aimed toward my friend Bill who, having just completed a swim, was already running across a rock outcropping and headed for the tree line. He didn't make it and the duck implanted its needlelike beak into Bill's keister all the way up to its little nostrils. As I was about to laugh at the site of our duck dangling from Bill's backside in the last light of the day, it occurred to me that the situation was actually serious. There was no doubt that the beak of this brazen duck was sporting some nasty bacteria.

Our crew discussed the situation and, recalling advice to never remove a sharp object due to the potential for uncontrolled bleeding, we decided we would leave the now-unconscious duck inserted in Bill. Ironically, we used duck tape to strap the merganser to Bill's leg and then laid them both in the bottom of the canoe. We spent the night paddling and portaging back to our entry point and then made the long drive to the emergency room at the Ely hospital.

Bill was released the next day with several stitches, a jug of antibiotics, and a bag filled with ice plus a merganser. Bill's doting parents had driven up and were helping him to their car so I kept my distance. As Bill passed by, he held up the bag and quietly said "Vengeance is mine."

Bill's family is renowned for their willingness to eat any wild thing, and Bill is a good cook, so I knew he intended to eat that duck. However, mergansers are not known as good table fare. After four weeks, I called Bill to check how he was doing. I also asked him, "How did that duck taste?" Without hesitation he replied, "You know, it tasted a lot like eagle."