Life is always risky for wildlife. Most wild birds, mammals, amphibians, reptiles and fish are a potential meal for some other wild creature. Some have a fatal contact with humans. Relatively Relatively few die of old age.

But life is esp ecially risky for young ones just g rowing into maturity and often for the pare n t , o r parents, helping them to reach that stage of life. One of the survival dramas we watch each year is that of mother ducks raising their broods along the shore of the lake where the family cabin is found.

When a brood first appears as hatchlings, someone will announce a headcount. Even though it’s hard to be certain that you’re always watching the same brood, we always think we are, partly because duck nesting density on the shores of this mostly cabin-ringed, popular lake, is not particularly high. It’s a rare brood whose ducklings all make it to the juvenile stage, whereupon the odds that they will survive to full adulthood rise markedly. But before that time, there is a very good possibility that some will be lost to a musky or large northern pike, or the occasional heron or other predator.

This year, a mallard brood that numbered 10 ducklings at the outset has managed to remain undiminished from the first ball-of-fluff stage, to the point where the young are only slightly smaller than their mother. Good instincts on the part of the mother and the ducklings and a ration of good luck, are ingredients necessary to duckling survival.

As we were boating recently, we watched a flotilla of juvenile mallards and their hen “mom” scatter and rush for cover under docks and moored boats, as the shadow cast by an eagle passed over them.

Bald eagles are as much a

scavenger as a hunter, but – when in doubt – taking

cover is the best guarantee of a young duck’s survival.

Life close to humans is always risky business for wild creatures. It’s not always a case of intentional harm, or a human playing the role of predator. Often it’s the things humans build or operate that make life dangerous for wildlife. Along a county road leading to this same cabin is a shallow wetland that is tailor-made for ducks, geese, muskrats, herons, red-winged blackbirds and other marsh wildlife.

Unfortunat e ly, the county road is not only a major local traffic artery, but is just a scant few feet from the water’s edge. I’ve driven past this wetland numerous times this summer and have seen an entire family of geese loafing on the shoulder of the road. More than once while driving past I’ve slowed down, or stopped completely, to avoid running down one or more of the “gaggle.”

One weekend, however, a trip to the cabin brought bad news. Based on where their bodies were found, it was clear that both of the adults had been run down by a vehicle. One would hope that the deadly confrontation was entirely accidental, though the bodies’ position on the road’s shoulder – rather than in the traffic lane – raised just a hint of doubt. I’d like to think that no one would be cruel enough to intentionally run them down.

Their brood of goslings was nowhere in sight. Whether they will survive to adulthood is anyone’s guess. Unlike the aforementioned juvenile mallards, these young geese were still animated “fuzzballs,” and didn’t seem fully fledged. They may have been the product of a renesting attempt for this pair of adult geese.

A Canada goose family

and larger flocks, offers

one of the best organized “safety nets” in the animal

world. If you watch a group of geese feeding, whether in a cornfield after harvesting, or “tipping up” in a marsh to feed on plant roots, there is always a guard detail watching for danger. One or more of the geese will surely have its neck and head erect, alert for any potential threat as the rest of the family group or flock feeds in safety.

Who will play this role for the now-orphaned goslings? Sometimes, more than one brood of geese will band together in what biologists call a “gang brood,” two or more broods that travel, feed and loaf together. It would be nice to think that this sort of “adoption” might take place for these young geese.

Wild raspberries offer

a hint of fall

Recently, a friend and I stopped at a small lake that I like to fish in the fall. Fishing wasn’t on the immediate agenda, just a hike to this lake that can only be fished from a small carryin boat, from shore, or in waders. As we were hiking back up the trail from the lake, we spied the unmistakable specks of red that told us that wild raspberries – at least here – are ripe.

To me, wild raspberries are a sign of approaching fall. I don’t keep a phrenology notebook or calendar recording the timing of natural events from year to year, but I would guess that this is on the early side for wild raspberries. Our early spring, ample rains and normally warm summer temperatures probably combined to bring them to ripeness somewhat ahead of schedule.

I enjoy picking and eating them, though they always seem the “lite” version of this fruit, since they are usually much smaller than their cultivated counterparts that you buy at farmers’ markets and in the grocery store. Maybe it’s a good thing they require more effort to pick, pound for pound, than cultivated varieties. Fewer will be taken by humans and more left for the birds and bears.