The long, dark nights of January are favorite times for me to catch up on my reading and other small projects that fell by the wayside during the busy outdoor times of year. This year one (large) project was to keyword and categorize my photographs which just seemed to grow over the summer much more quickly than I was able to process them. It has actually been an immensely enjoyable task, as I get to relive my experiences with individuals, many of which have changed clothes, moved out, or otherwise become scarce.
I first met these loons on a foggy mid-summer morning. I had been hoping to find a moose with calf feeding on the edge of a marshy pond, and launched my canoe before dawn. This was a new lake for me, it was dark, and the fog almost totally obscured my view. I almost came out of the boat when a tremolo belted out of the darkness - one of the sounds used by loons to announce their presence, or let you know it is alarmed. I'm not sure which of us were more alarmed! I stopped paddling, and a massive (they can weigh in at over 12 pounds!) mature loon in breeding season appeared out of the fog within feet of the canoe. After a few more loud tremolos, it dove under the boat and reappeared on the distant horizon. Next, I heard a series of yodels - which is the male loon territorial call. I suspected I had stumbled on the nesting area of a pair - and startled them, but the loon had the "last laugh" by making sure I was aware this was his territory. I marked my location on my GPS, and proceeded along with my moose search, never forgetting about the loon.
Soon, the fog broke and the sun poked up over the horizon. Deep within a marshy area of the lake, this magnifiicant female moose shared her breakfast with me for almost an hour. Moose are highly motivated to eat aquatic plants in the summer because of their need to obtain sodium. Although this is available in the woody plant diet of leaves, twigs, and buds - submerged aquatic plants are roughly four times more nutritious than terrestrial plants, are more digestible, and have higher concentrations of minerals. Although there was no calf in tow, it was incredible to watch this moose consuming tremendous amounts of aquatic plants, seemingly unconcerned about the canoeist not far from the restaurant.
Within minutes of leaving the moose, I came across this white-tailed deer, similarly enjoying nature's bounty. She waded almost out as far as the moose did into search of greens, but also seemed to be content to spend time near the edge of the water in the first warm first light of the sun. Shortly, however, behind me a loud commotion ensued. I slowly turned the canoe, wanting to see what the excitement was about without scaring the source of the chaos.
It appeared that I had stumbled upon a small family dispute in a pair of Eastern Kingbirds. They were busy feeding young, and I was imagining that perhaps there was a squabble over whose turn it might be to get off the perch to hunt down the next dragonfly, a heavy staple of food for the nestlings during the summer months. But the loon wasn't far from my mind - the way it appeared like a ghost out of the fog, announced it's presence, and disappeared again. I retraced my path to the location where we met, and I saw it feeding further out in the lake. I elected not to pursue it, but did decide another dawn encounter would be in our future, loon willing. And I came back in the dark again, about a week later. And this time, my male loon had company.
When I first saw the small family, the chicks were riding on the back of one of the adults, and it simply appeared to be a pair of loons in the distance. However, as I slowly paddled closer, I could see an uncommon "bump" on the back of one of the birds - which then dove into the water! Loon chicks are able to swim right from birth, and very quickly start to learn the skills needed to feed themselves. Mom and dad dive and catch small fish to provide the young nutrition. And dive. And dive. In fact, it has been estimated that 2 adult loons with 2 chicks eat a HALF-TON of fish over the 15-week period that the family usually stays together. Loons have solid bones (unlike most birds, who have hollow bones which are actually part of their respiratory tract) which makes them heavy - and clumsy on land but excellent at diving. They can rapidly propel themselves down to hunt, and using rearward facing spikes on the roof of their mouths, catch and retain the fish as they surface. Because they are so heavy, they need a "runway" to take off -- up to 1/4 mile! -- but can fly up to 70 mph once airborne! I could see the parents were a little nervous about me near the chicks - dad did a number of tremolo calls to me as well as a bluff charge at one point in time - so I quickly backed off and enjoyed them from a distance. I could still hear the delightful "hoot" calls - short, soft sounds, used to keep the family together - as they fished in the distance. I kept my visit short, and returned a week later to see the progress.
It appeared that sometime during this week, the pair lost a chick. This is actually very common, with the majority of loon pairs bringing only 1 chick to fledgling. As a remarkably long lived species (the oldest known loon was at least 29 years, 10 months when her band was last spotted), loons follow the typical pattern of breeding late (average is 6 years old or later) and having small broods. I continued to make weekly trips to visit the small family, with the parents slowly coming to recognize that I meant no harm and allowed the chick to approach closely to my boat. At my last visit, the young chick was growing steadily and fishing for itself. When the chick leaves the parents at around 15 weeks, it will go to the coast, and remain on the ocean shores for several years before returning to - or near - the lake where it was born to set up its own territory. My last sighting of them was remarkably like my first - on a foggy, frigid October morning just before dawn. However this time, instead of the nervous tremolo that marked our first visit, I was treated with a wail -- the long, haunting, classic "loon sound" that pairs use to keep in touch with one another. One adult was on one side of my boat, and the other on the opposite side. The ghosts in the mist paced alongside my canoe, calling back and forth, until the fog broke, the sun crested the horizon, and the trio did an extended "running takeoff" - and with their departure into the sunrise, I sent along my well wishes for a safe winter and assurances that I would be waiting for their return in the spring to learn more from the next family they raised.
