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The world knows only four species of eider. These ducks are found exclusively in the Northern Hemisphere and are specialized for life at sea. The Steller’s eider is an odd one out because it’s suspected to have originated from hybridization between the common eider and the long-tailed duck. I saw this species last year on the island of Saaremaa in Estonia. I’ve also seen the king eider multiple times, most beautifully on Spitsbergen in 2016. I even had the chance to admire this stunning duck in the Netherlands. The common eider is easily found in the right places in the Netherlands, and I see this species several times a year.
Male king eider with female common eiders near Texel, the Netherlands.
Eiders as a genus are easily distinguishable from other ducks by their specific appearance and body structure, but the most striking feature is their head pattern. Male eiders have a particularly unique head pattern, which clearly sets them apart from the other species. In this way, they remind me of tragopans found in Asia: five pheasants, each with an elegant and distinct head pattern. Eiders are definitely worth going out of your way for.
So I had seen three of the four species. My experience is similar to that of many birdwatchers in Europe: seeing three of the four eider species is an achievable goal within Europe. But what about the fourth eider species? That would be the spectacled eider, the one with the most unique head pattern of all four. This species not only has the white eye ring on the male—giving the bird its name—but it also stands out because its head feathers partially cover its beak. It’s an utterly unique-looking duck! Just as special as the bird itself is its habitat: anyone wanting to see spectacled eiders must travel to Alaska in summer. There’s no other option.
Specifically, the males can realistically only be seen in one place: Utqiagvik (new name) or Barrow (old name) in Alaska. They come ashore there to mate and leave again after a few weeks. They spend the winter in the Bering Sea, practically inaccessible to a birdwatcher with a modest or even substantial budget. There have been a handful of sightings in the so-called Western Palearctic region, most of them in the Spitsbergen area, often chance sightings from ships. These can’t be planned. Additionally, a few sightings from before the turn of the century have been recorded in the far north of mainland Norway. In the U.S., the number of sightings outside the Arctic region can also be counted on one hand.
And then, suddenly, an almost fully adult male spectacled eider appeared along the coast of Texel in the Netherlands! A true (and literal) “WTF moment” for the Dutch and European birding community. Even the discoverer could initially use no more than these words—a completely understandable reaction! I was genuinely stunned when I looked at my phone screen.
The first report on Waarneming.nl!
A sighting like this is so improbable that thoughts of a hoax quickly arose. However, the report seemed credible, and fortunately, it turned out to be true. Confirmation soon followed, and many people rushed to Texel. The story of the discovery can be read in Dutch on Dutchbirding. Of course, full credit goes to Elian Hijne and Maurice Prins for the discovery!
I faced a brief dilemma: should I go immediately or wait until the next day? Even if everything went smoothly, I wouldn’t reach the bird until sunset. My workplace was about four hours’ drive from the location. I decided not to take the gamble, as it would leave me unable to take further time off and would mean only a brief, poor view of the bird. Moreover, it was a duck in the middle of winter, and I trusted that it would stay a bit longer. Another king eider had once stayed in that exact spot for a long time, and I’d had a great view of that one.
Plans for the next day were quickly made, and I ended up traveling to Texel with Jacob and Albert Molenaar and Bram Roobol. On the way back, we rode with Arie-Willem van der Wal. On the way to Texel, we missed the ferry from Den Helder by a minute, but it remained eerily quiet. The bird had not been reported when we drove off the ferry at around nine o’clock. We decided to start by checking alternative locations and thus prepare for a potential search if the bird wasn’t found at its discovery site.
We slowly approached the discovery site. Judging by the number of cars, we decided that our presence wouldn’t add much, so we drove on. A little further, we went up a dike, and then the message came through: the bird had been seen flying! The reported location was exactly where we had stopped! We quickly got out, and it turned out that indeed some birdwatchers were looking at the bird. There was no time to get the scope out, but I managed to find it quickly with my binoculars—just a pale-looking duck at first glance. Fortunately, the bird landed, and it became clear that all the tension had been unnecessary: the bird stayed in the same spot for the rest of the day.
My first view of the spectacled eider
That pattern repeated itself in the days that followed. I managed to take some record shots when I first saw it, but due to the distance, they weren’t of great quality. Most others had the same experience, as the bird stayed a solid 200–300 meters away, resulting in heavily cropped images. Despite the challenges, the international interest was immense, and many international visitors came to see the bird. Reportedly, even someone from Pakistan came because a flight to the Netherlands was cheaper than one to Alaska! I even heard of someone from the U.S. for whom the same applied, though I’d advise them to double-check ticket prices to Anchorage and Utqiagvik—it’s not that expensive.
The enthusiasm for this bird was entirely justified. Its rarity and uniqueness, especially as an almost-adult male, made it the best bird ever seen in the Netherlands. Understandably, many tried to photograph it well, returning to Texel more than once for the chance. Some were lucky enough to catch it within 100 meters, but most had to settle for distant scope views.
During the week, I no longer had any opportunity to go again, and my weekends were also filled. Coincidentally, I had absolutely nothing planned for the weekend of January 25 and 26. The thought of dedicating a weekend on Texel to this bird cautiously began to form in my mind. After all, it might very well be the last time I would ever see this bird. And, as I reasoned—just like many others had—a night on Texel was still much cheaper than a trip to Alaska! The bird remained very stable in the same location, and on Wednesday, I booked my accommodation.
With fairly low expectations, I set off on the journey to Texel. From the photos, I could already see that there hadn’t been any truly perfect moments captured, and all the pictures were significant crops that tested the limits of image quality. That said, for this distance, the results were certainly commendable. I wanted to make sure I had done my best, so I could make peace with the results even if they didn’t turn out as I had hoped.
Fairly soon after my arrival, I spotted the bird, and the waiting began. They were long, cold hours on the dike, with the bird staying at quite a significant distance for most of the time. Through the telescope, however, I could view the bird beautifully and really enjoyed watching the bird go about its business. I noticed that the bird foraged in a relatively small area, gradually drifting north with the current, only to eventually fly back and repeat the same pattern. I decided to wait until sunset to leave nothing to chance.
For most of the day the bird stayed at a large distance.
This strategy paid off when, around five in the afternoon, the bird began drifting closer and closer. Quietly but steadily, this bird paddled quite fast through the water, and before we knew it, it was floating at a relatively comfortable distance of fifty meters. That was much better! I took many photos, and I was particularly pleased with one where the bird was alongside a common eider: north meets south!
Spectacled eider and common eider
I also managed to capture some short video clips handheld.
Very satisfied, I settled into my hostel. Looking at the sightings from recent days, I realized I couldn’t expect much better than what I had already seen. But I still had another day! The next day, I took things easy and arrived around nine in the morning. I immediately recognized some familiar faces; it was clear that more people had shown up, hoping for a better view! I pointed out the approximate distance at which I had seen the bird swimming the previous day. Then I slid down the slippery stones and set up my telescope at the water’s edge.
Before long, I abandoned my telescope because the bird was putting on a great show again! Although it was farther away than the previous day, I couldn’t resist taking more photos. Just like before, I noticed the bird growing larger in my viewfinder—it was coming closer! The rising sun illuminated the bird from the side, so I tried to position myself as best as I could. The bird kept coming closer and closer. This all happened within just a few minutes!
At one point, the bird was really close to the shore. In my estimation, it was no more than five meters away. It even seemed as though the bird was planning to come ashore. For a moment, I was reminded of the puffin in Dordrecht that swam toward me and came ashore, only to be in such poor condition that it didn’t survive. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about this spectacled eider. The bird abandoned its plan to come ashore and continued its way. Apparently, 200 spectators—even for a bird not accustomed to humans—were a bit overwhelming.
The spectators, however, were all amazed by the show the bird had put on! In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have dared to imagine seeing the bird so well! It resulted in a series of photos that I am very happy with. I couldn’t have seen the bird any closer, even on the Arctic tundra.
Almost on shore!
Spectacled eider
Once again, I managed to capture a short video.
Afterward, the bird went back to its usual behaviour. It groomed itself extensively and had long feeding sessions. Together with many others, I continued observing the bird.
Quack!
We even managed to capture some nice images of the bird among a group of common eiders.
Common eiders with spectacled eider
I also managed to snap a few flight shots, although these required significant cropping. All of this was really just a bonus on top of that incredible moment earlier in the morning!
Spectacled eider
And so, my weekend on Texel came to an end. Never before have I written a blog on this site about a bird I saw in the Netherlands, but sometimes an exception is warranted! This spectacled eider absolutely deserved that exception. I’m curious to see how the bird behaves in the coming days. I hope that more people will have the chance to enjoy the bird from a shorter distance and that it will continue to do well. In the coming years, it will also be interesting to see whether this sighting remains an exceptional event or proves to be a precursor to more occurrences of spectacled eiders. Either way, this bird will forever be etched into the collective memory of Dutch birders!
