Jeff Durand has grown rice in St. Martinville Parish for decades, beginning in the 1980s when his family decided to clear the woodland surrounding his crawfish farm.
“We grew up eating rice,” he recalled.
Now, he takes pride in exporting the staple crop around the world.
“It sustains a lot of the poor,” he added.
Years of experience have taught him and his brothers to deal with the various pests native to the Atchafalaya River Basin–blackbirds, weevils, and even alligators chasing his farmhands over the years. Now, a new species of waterfowl has stumped him and other Louisiana farmers: the Black-bellied whistling duck (BBWD).
Their pink bill and legs, chestnut-colored plumage propped by black bellies, and trademark whistles make for an unassuming creature, one whose congregations have become a welcome sight to residents strolling through places like City Park in New Orleans, and Capitol Lakes in Baton Rouge.
Yet the duck’s population has exploded by as much as 4,000% in Louisiana, according to the most recent five-year surveys by the Louisiana Department of Wildlife (LDWF). While this statistic should be interpreted cautiously, given that Black-bellied whistling ducks were relatively unheard of in Louisiana just a few years ago, farmers like Durand say their recent expansion adds to the mix of challenges for rice farmers.
It's an unlikely rivalry, considering rice farmers and ducks have traditionally made a happy couple. In the winter, pintails, mallards, and gadwalls help clear waste from rice fields and boost profit margins for farmers willing to lease their land to hunters.
“The big difference here is the Whistling ducks migrate in reverse,” said Andy Brown, the public policy manager with the Louisiana Farm Bureau.
They come in the springtime from Texas, Mexico and South & Central America, flocking by the thousands to dig up rice fields after farmers till soil and plant seeds. They usually feed at night, making deterrence efforts difficult for farmers, and are increasingly staying year-round. Brown started getting complaints around three years ago when farmers described their exponential population growth and impact.
“They will eat some of the rice crops, but mostly they just make a mess,” said Brown.
On his farm, Durand pointed to a large swath of green, about 120 of his 1,100 acres he was forced to replant.
“They came here in one night,” he said. “You're talking a couple of thousand birds, they can do some real damage.”
In other areas of his farm, Durand said the ducks ate about 5 to 10% of his seeds, a significant hit but not enough to warrant replanting an entire field. He’s tried airhorns, shotguns, and whistling rockets to scare them off, but so far, the ducks have adapted to every form of deterrence.
The ducks are also finding their way into grain elevators, Brown said, and thousands hover near shipping containers on the Mississippi. If a single duck flies into a container and dies, all of its grain must be unloaded.
“To unload an entire panamax ship of corn because one bird flies in there,” said Brown, “The dollar figures are crazy.”
Research by the LSU Agricultural Center suggests Durand’s troubles are much the same for his colleagues. Dr. Kurty Guidry, an agricultural economist, surveyed rice farmers across southwest and northern Louisiana, the heart of the state’s production. Results showed the ducks’ behavior cost them about 5% of bottom-line production - nearly $3 million.
Farmers that responded to the survey only account for 14% of the state’s rice acreage. While Guidry cautioned against extrapolating his results, the total cost to growers in a state ranking third in the U.S. for rice production is almost certainly higher.
“It would be a pretty significant number,” he said
Though not an existential threat, revenue loss from the ducks compounds issues for an already struggling industry. Flooding in 2022 ruined the quality of many rice yields followed by a historic drought the next year. When combined with stubbornly high post-pandemic production costs–including fertilizer, chemicals, equipment, land values, and labor costs–the ducks could challenge the economic feasibility of rice production in many areas of the state, according to Guidry.
Some background
Starting in the mid-2000s, Black-bellied whistling ducks began expanding into Louisiana, Florida, and the Carolinas. Now they roam as far north as Canada.
Dr. Kevin Ringleman has researched the ducks for years at Louisiana State University.
“We’ve always had rice in Louisiana, and we used to have more rice than we do now, so why did things blow up in the mid-2000s?“ he said. “That is the million-dollar question.”
Theories include banning DDTs in the late 70s and the loss of wetlands in places like Mexico that may have pushed them north–though neither is particularly convincing to researchers. Climate change, a usual suspect, seems off the table because many leave Louisiana during the winter, said Ringleman.
“One of the things we realized in the past three, four years was just how strange these whistling ducks are, and how different from other ducks they are,” he said.
Also known as a tree duck for their nesting location, both male and female parents incubate and take care of their young. Occasionally they lay eggs in nests of different species, forcing others to raise their offspring in a process called brood parasitism. Ringleman also said the combination of their ability to thrive in urban environments and tendency to travel in family groups year-round puts them evolutionarily closer to swans. These behaviors might contribute to their exponential growth, as families return to thriving breeding grounds with larger numbers of offspring.
While a definitive answer to the ducks’ growth remains elusive, harnessing the power of the sportsman’s paradise presents one viable option for protecting farmers.
“I really would love to have the duck hunters shoot them before they leave,” said Durand.
In August, Gov. Jeff Landry and the LDWF recognized the demand. They sent a request to the U.S. Department of Wildlife and Fisheries proposing an expansion of BBWD hunting season from winter to fall, likely coinciding with teal season when the birds are more abundant.
Ringleman says more data is needed to assess what effect–if an–an earlier hunting season would have. He’s worked with graduate students to attach geolocators to hundreds of ducks over the past two years, which will soon reveal clues into migratory patterns that remain largely unclear.
Hunters like Jeff Deblieux aren’t sure either. Now 65, he’s spent time in duck blinds since he was 10 years old. Lately, he’s heard a growing adage in the community about BBWD’s ability to “read the duck pamphlet.”
“It doesn’t matter when you start shooting them… they flip a switch and say ‘let’s go’ and disappear,” he said.
Still, the prospect of a few extra weeks enjoying retirement in a marsh or rice field has him champing at the bit–literally.
“They’re really good to eat,” he said. “If anyone hasn’t tried them they need to.”
Deblieux is concerned with less experienced hunters mistaking the ducks for non-target species like mottled ducks, whose population has declined steadily over the past 20 years. Because mottled ducks hang out in the same areas as teal, Deblieux thinks a special season in October may help limit the opportunity for confusion in the early morning hours.
As research unfolds, any new hunting season will take at least a year before federal approval. In the meantime, as farmers look for new techniques to defend their fields, hunters like Deblieux eagerly wait to be part of the solution.
“You only get so many sunrises in your life,” he said. “If I’m not hunting I’m traveling to the next spot to hunt.”
