I adore nothing so much as discovering the odd-ball birds. My latest favorite in this regard is the Anhinga, a bird noted for its peculiar looks and its unusual behavior as well.
     Anhingas are related to the Cormorant Clan, a scroungy-looking lot if there ever was one — large, lumpish, mud-colored waterbirds 2 or 3 feet tall. They’re often seen hunched on pilings or rocks near oceans and freshwater lakes. They have a surly demeanor and a long dark beak with a hook on the very end. Being opportunistic consumers of fish, Cormorants are much maligned by resentful human fishermen. Cormorants will spread their long wings when perched and hold them out to dry for long periods. In this they resemble vultures, which also spread their wings to dry.
     Anhingas are also known to assume this outspread posture, as like Cormorants, their feathers are non-water-repellant and they must air-dry them in the sun.
     But unlike their Cormorant kin, Anhingas have long tails, necks, and bills. From wingtip to wingtip is as long as from head to tail. Their sharp, yellow, heron-like bills are serrated on the edges, and their necks are kinked which allows a stabbing motion for spearing fish. Their dense bones and wettable feathers make them the same weight as water, and they can hunt for long periods submerged.
     Cormorants have stumpy ragged tails, but Anhinga tails are marvelous affairs: stiff, impeccable, fan-shaped tails in black with an edge of gold. Anhinga tails are fan-shaped because the feathers are wider on the ends.
     For its long distinctive tail the bird was once known as the Water-Turkey; Darter is another older name. Anhinga is a Brazilian Indian name for devil bird. Yet I'm certain that the name you’re most likely to remember is the Snake Bird, for if you ever see Anhingas swimming in the water, you will think you’re in a snake charmer’s dream. Anhingas swim with their bodies underwater, only their serpentine necks show above.
     Male Anhingas are black with silvery streaks, but females and young have necks and breasts in a shade of dirty-band-aid brown that underscores the snake impersonation.
     I saw my first collection of Snake Birds one evening in northern Oklahoma at the edge of the Great Salt Plain. I was there watching Pelicans swim in the water right in front of me, their feathers pink in the fading light.
     As I took in the sight of the Pelicans, now and then I seemed to hear a splash so indistinct I must have only imagined it. I looked around but saw nothing at first, no living thing in sight besides me and the Pelicans. But there it was again, another faint splash.
     I looked around again and finally saw a sight that gave me a chill, for there stretching out of the water was the long dark snaky neck of an Anhinga, like a cobra dancing to a charm.
     No other waterbird swims this way, so as soon as I saw that skinny neck projecting from the water, I knew it was a Snake Bird for sure.
     No sooner had I seen it than it slipped out of sight. I watched where it disappeared but it never surfaced. Each faint splash was the sign of another Anhinga — here, there and here again, disembodied serpents peering all around and then slipping suddenly down and out of sight. It took me awhile to perceive it in the sunset-colored light, but that entire inlet was crawling with nearly-silent, half-submerged Anhingas, my new favorite downright creepy odd-ball bird!

[Thanks to Birds of North America Online, where I learned all about Anhingas.]