A Rare Encounter with the White-winged Duck?
By Maurizio Saroli
On 25 September 2025, two exhausted-looking ducks were spotted in a gully near Hoi An—what I believed to be Vietnam’s first confirmed sighting of the critically endangered White-winged Duck in 22 years. With only two previous records—Cat Tien National Park in 1993 and Yok Don in 2003—the encounter felt historic, perhaps influenced by the approaching Typhoon Bualoi, whose turbulent weather was sweeping across central Vietnam.
On the morning of 25 September, I set out for a routine survey of Hoi Aa Paddy Fields, just outside the historic centre. Conditions were perfect: still air, soft light, the usual promise of bitterns, bee-eaters and crakes. Then, against all expectation, two massive ducks seemed to wheel clumsily into a shallow gully.
They were striking: large-bodied, black-and-white speckled heads, pale bills swollen with red skin at the base, and wings showing pale panels. They moved sluggishly, seemingly disoriented, even as motorbikes roared past. At the time, their size, plumage, and behaviour seemed to align with Asarcornis scutulata, the legendary White-winged Duck. Convinced I had stumbled upon something extraordinary, I recorded the encounter, submitted notes and photos to eBird, and braced myself for scrutiny.
Why did I—and the eBird reviewers—take this possibility so seriously? Because the White-winged Duck is one of Southeast Asia’s rarest waterfowl, a species teetering on the edge of extinction. It is among the largest ducks in the world, reaching up to 81 cm in length with a wingspan of over 1.5 metres. Once widespread across the wetlands and lowland forests of India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and Sumatra, it has now disappeared from much of its range. Globally, the species is listed as Critically Endangered by the IUCN, with fewer than 450 mature individuals thought to remain. The drivers of its decline form a grim litany: deforestation, wetland drainage, hunting, egg collection, and the loss of old-growth trees that provide essential nesting cavities.
In Vietnam, the duck is effectively considered extinct. The last confirmed sighting was in 2003 at Yok Don National Park, following an earlier record in Cat Tien in 1993. No viable populations have been confirmed since. The species’ preference for dense, undisturbed forested wetlands makes it especially vulnerable to Vietnam’s relentless agricultural conversion and habitat degradation. For this reason, any possible report of White-winged Duck in Vietnam attracts intense interest.
When I submitted my checklist, eBird reviewers treated the report with great seriousness. For three days, I exchanged messages, field notes and photos with the local reviewer, and he with his team. At first, they too were intrigued. The unusual timing, coinciding with Typhoon Bualoi, made displacement plausible. Could storm-driven survivors have been forced inland? Could remnant birds still be clinging to existence here?
But after a couple of days, once the initial excitement had settled, I began to look again at the evidence with clearer eyes. Despite resembling White-winged Duck with their black and white speckled head and neck, pale yellow bill with swollen red skin at the base, iridescent dark green wings with white coverts visible when closed, brown belly, and yellow feet, ultimately there was one nagging feature which stood out. The red caruncles extended around the eye rather than being restricted to the base of the bill. The birds’ extraordinary tameness too pointed away from wild Asarcornis and towards domestic Muscovy Ducks. By the time eBird’s decision came back to me, I had already reached the same conclusion myself.
This episode holds value precisely because of its initial plausibility. Domestic Muscovies and White-winged Ducks share certain superficial traits—large size, dark plumage, bare red facial skin—that can mislead even experienced observers, particularly under unusual weather and lighting conditions. The fact that we were all momentarily persuaded shows how powerfully context and expectation can shape identification.
Though these ducks were not White-winged, the story underscores why this species continues to haunt conservation in Vietnam. Its effective disappearance reflects the larger collapse of the country’s wetlands—drained for agriculture, degraded by infrastructure, and stripped of forest cover. Even if the species is gone here, its memory remains a potent symbol of what has been lost. The excitement my mistaken sighting generated demonstrates the enduring fascination of the White-winged Duck. It remains a barometer for wildness in Southeast Asia.
Watching those two Muscovies shuffle aimlessly in the gully, I felt at first that I was glimpsing something rare and fragile. In a way, I still was. Not the birds themselves, but the fragile persistence of an endangered species in our imagination. For three days, I believed Vietnam’s White-winged Duck had returned. In the end, it was a case of mistaken identity. Yet the exercise was valuable: it brought me into dialogue with other experts, sharpened my field awareness, and reminded me that birding is not only about certainty, but also about humility and learning. So no, I did not rediscover Asarcornis scutulata in Vietnam. But I was reminded of why its absence matters, and why the wetlands it once inhabited must still be defended. And that lesson, even from two ordinary Muscovies, is worth carrying forward.
Maurizio is the contributing editor of DBC News, part of Danang Bird Club, a non-profit organisation focused on citizen science, education and advocacy for the conservation of Vietnamese avifauna. He is the author of Birdwatching in Central Vietnam; a guide to the region’s rich avian diversity. Originally from London, Maurizio was a member of the British Trust for Ornithology and took part in national bird surveys like the Nest Record Scheme and the Breeding Bird Survey before bringing his passion for ornithology to Vietnam. www.facebook.com/DanangBirdClub
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By Maurizio Saroli
On 25 September 2025, two exhausted-looking ducks were spotted in a gully near Hoi An—what I believed to be Vietnam’s first confirmed sighting of the critically endangered White-winged Duck in 22 years. With only two previous records—Cat Tien National Park in 1993 and Yok Don in 2003—the encounter felt historic, perhaps influenced by the approaching Typhoon Bualoi, whose turbulent weather was sweeping across central Vietnam.
On the morning of 25 September, I set out for a routine survey of Hoi Aa Paddy Fields, just outside the historic centre. Conditions were perfect: still air, soft light, the usual promise of bitterns, bee-eaters and crakes. Then, against all expectation, two massive ducks seemed to wheel clumsily into a shallow gully.
They were striking: large-bodied, black-and-white speckled heads, pale bills swollen with red skin at the base, and wings showing pale panels. They moved sluggishly, seemingly disoriented, even as motorbikes roared past. At the time, their size, plumage, and behaviour seemed to align with Asarcornis scutulata, the legendary White-winged Duck. Convinced I had stumbled upon something extraordinary, I recorded the encounter, submitted notes and photos to eBird, and braced myself for scrutiny.
Why did I—and the eBird reviewers—take this possibility so seriously? Because the White-winged Duck is one of Southeast Asia’s rarest waterfowl, a species teetering on the edge of extinction. It is among the largest ducks in the world, reaching up to 81 cm in length with a wingspan of over 1.5 metres. Once widespread across the wetlands and lowland forests of India, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and Sumatra, it has now disappeared from much of its range. Globally, the species is listed as Critically Endangered by the IUCN, with fewer than 450 mature individuals thought to remain. The drivers of its decline form a grim litany: deforestation, wetland drainage, hunting, egg collection, and the loss of old-growth trees that provide essential nesting cavities.
In Vietnam, the duck is effectively considered extinct. The last confirmed sighting was in 2003 at Yok Don National Park, following an earlier record in Cat Tien in 1993. No viable populations have been confirmed since. The species’ preference for dense, undisturbed forested wetlands makes it especially vulnerable to Vietnam’s relentless agricultural conversion and habitat degradation. For this reason, any possible report of White-winged Duck in Vietnam attracts intense interest.
When I submitted my checklist, eBird reviewers treated the report with great seriousness. For three days, I exchanged messages, field notes and photos with the local reviewer, and he with his team. At first, they too were intrigued. The unusual timing, coinciding with Typhoon Bualoi, made displacement plausible. Could storm-driven survivors have been forced inland? Could remnant birds still be clinging to existence here?
But after a couple of days, once the initial excitement had settled, I began to look again at the evidence with clearer eyes. Despite resembling White-winged Duck with their black and white speckled head and neck, pale yellow bill with swollen red skin at the base, iridescent dark green wings with white coverts visible when closed, brown belly, and yellow feet, ultimately there was one nagging feature which stood out. The red caruncles extended around the eye rather than being restricted to the base of the bill. The birds’ extraordinary tameness too pointed away from wild Asarcornis and towards domestic Muscovy Ducks. By the time eBird’s decision came back to me, I had already reached the same conclusion myself.
This episode holds value precisely because of its initial plausibility. Domestic Muscovies and White-winged Ducks share certain superficial traits—large size, dark plumage, bare red facial skin—that can mislead even experienced observers, particularly under unusual weather and lighting conditions. The fact that we were all momentarily persuaded shows how powerfully context and expectation can shape identification.
Though these ducks were not White-winged, the story underscores why this species continues to haunt conservation in Vietnam. Its effective disappearance reflects the larger collapse of the country’s wetlands—drained for agriculture, degraded by infrastructure, and stripped of forest cover. Even if the species is gone here, its memory remains a potent symbol of what has been lost. The excitement my mistaken sighting generated demonstrates the enduring fascination of the White-winged Duck. It remains a barometer for wildness in Southeast Asia.
Watching those two Muscovies shuffle aimlessly in the gully, I felt at first that I was glimpsing something rare and fragile. In a way, I still was. Not the birds themselves, but the fragile persistence of an endangered species in our imagination. For three days, I believed Vietnam’s White-winged Duck had returned. In the end, it was a case of mistaken identity. Yet the exercise was valuable: it brought me into dialogue with other experts, sharpened my field awareness, and reminded me that birding is not only about certainty, but also about humility and learning. So no, I did not rediscover Asarcornis scutulata in Vietnam. But I was reminded of why its absence matters, and why the wetlands it once inhabited must still be defended. And that lesson, even from two ordinary Muscovies, is worth carrying forward.
Maurizio is the contributing editor of DBC News, part of Danang Bird Club, a non-profit organisation focused on citizen science, education and advocacy for the conservation of Vietnamese avifauna. He is the author of Birdwatching in Central Vietnam; a guide to the region’s rich avian diversity. Originally from London, Maurizio was a member of the British Trust for Ornithology and took part in national bird surveys like the Nest Record Scheme and the Breeding Bird Survey before bringing his passion for ornithology to Vietnam.
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