Although the 38^and Cape Cod’s annual waterfowl count took place this past weekend, we already have a good idea of ​​the results thanks to the diligent data entry by volunteers. And the result, I’m happy to report, is that we actually have waterfowl here on Cape Cod! You never know, so it’s always good to check.

If you’re looking for a little finer analysis of the results than that, well, you’ve come to the right place. So far, with some precincts not reporting, Cape Cod Bird Club volunteers have recorded 30 species of waterfowl in our freshwater ponds, including 22 species of ducks, 2 geese, 2 loons, 2 grebes, as well as the mute swan and the coot. It’s the American Coot — I know some self-proclaimed ‘old coots’, but they don’t get counted, mainly because they don’t like having binoculars peered through their windows.

Every year I go through the 13 ponds of Eastham, which I survey on Saturdays. My first stop was a small dark pond surrounded by private property – I access it from one of those little colonies of cottages that sleep in for the winter. Part of the fun (and frustration) of surveying is finding vantage points for ponds completely lined with yards and/or dense woods.

This pond always has dozens of Hooded Mergansers and an assortment of mallards and black ducks, but this year a handsome male Northern Pintail was paddling among the rest. Pintails are splendid and uncommon, making them a prime find for the poultry counter. With its sleek shape, long, pointed tail, and brown, black, and gray plumage, a male pintail looks almost foppish, as if he could wear spats and pull off a monocle.

At one of my next ponds, the ducks were all sparse before I could even lift my binoculars, but luckily I was able to spot the tiny form of a green-winged teal embedded in the fleeing mallards. I don’t get one of these miniature ducks in my area every year so that was a score. Another pond hosted a surprised black scoter, normally a sea duck, as well as my only Eurasian coot of the day and a small group of Pied-billed Grebes, lovely, hard to see, the little brown spots of ponds and marshes . This grebe’s most famous parlor trick is that it can disappear straight into the water like a submarine, rather than diving forward like other birds must.

As we dutifully count common species, we all hope to be rewarded with more whimsical finds. Some lucky observers set the record for the most wood ducks ever seen on the entire survey with 54, all on a single pond at West Barnstable, plus three hard-to-find Blue-winged Teals. Others have found a few rare, large schnozzed ducks called Shovelers in Orleans, and someone in Falmouth only revealed accounts of Redhead, an elegant relative of the Greater Pochard.

It’s not just the ducks, of course – like most others, I do my best to count all the birds at each stop, and my best bird of the day was no duck at all. As I scanned the other side of a pond, I noticed a small, lone bird fluttering through the bare shrubbery on the shore. I assumed it was a Golden-crowned Kinglet, the cold season default option in the “smaller-than-titmouse songbird” category. But when I got it in my scope I saw the blue back, yellow chest and bold white wingbars of a Northern Parula, our smallest warbler and a species that is not expected after early October – in fact, this bird represents the third last record for the Cape.

The duck count is a nice tune-up for the Christmas bird counting season, which begins in less than two weeks, believe it or not. Speaking of which, if you’re looking for a gift idea for the avid birder on your list, and you’re my wife, may I suggest a gift you can’t buy in stores, the gift of permission to spending several days the following month, from dawn to dusk, chasing birds without helping at all with the children. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving…