The water was completely still & the wind hadn’t woken up just yet. Up ahead I saw the tell of a fish nearby with the ring being the only disturbance on the surface. We stopped the boat to cast ahead hoping for the release of a nice bass from its keep.
What happened instead was a glance to my left that had me putting my trusty reel & fishing pole down trading it for my camera and binoculars as off on the edge of the river tucked in on some small lilly pads was a sleeping loon.
With its eyes closed and head nuzzled into its wing, stretched a bit across its back a loon lay resting, taking a much needed nap (they take short naps - about 15 minutes in duration). For you see this, as it turns out, isn’t any ordinary loon but the oldest female loon known to inhabit this area.
The calm weather presented a photo shoot as she slowly awoke, eyes open she began to stretch and actually shared a good morning yawn.
We left her, a story of a different tale that’ll be shared under a different title for this loon encounter is of historical presence.
My loon
story, a bit later in the day, takes a twist from bliss to angst and unrest.
For while I was enjoying a pleasant day on the lake when a close friend,
Chris Adams an excellent nature photographer, reached out to Loon Preservation
Committee (LPC) sharing a picture of a loon she’d taken. It was only
after viewing it on her computer did she see what looked like fishing line
pinning the loon’s wings down.
I hadn’t seen the message Chris shared with me until the same moment when the
voicemail from LPC popped up on my phone alerting me to a potential loon in
distress back over on my own body of water. Luckily, we were on our way
back to the boat launch so I quickly replied that immediately upon my arrival
back at Akers Pond I’d set out seeking this lovely critter that potentially needed help.
The morning's non-existent wind had kicked into full gear holding near 10 MPH with some unfriendly gusts that threw occasional waves
with white caps across my kayaks bow. It wasn’t anything I’d not experienced
prior while out for a paddle but scanning the shoreline and open water certainly is harder when being
rocked back and fourth.
The sun was warm, the waves an annoyance but my persistence after almost giving
up proved fruitful as I know this shoreline and I saw something that didn’t
belong.
Upon on a spit of sand, on a tiny beach was a loon just sitting
unlike what a healthy loon would typically do.
I paddled closer for a better look and thankfully in this area the higher winds were
somewhat blocked. Holding the binoculars in my hands I let out a deep
exhale. Sadly, I witnessed what I’d never wanted to see; a loon caught in
fishing line.
As an avid outdoorswoman, hunter and fisherman I’m acutely aware of facets that
demand responsibilities of our human presence on land and water. Lead is
the enemy to loons and a host of other birds.
For example, California Condors, like many
birds and mammals, are highly susceptible to lead poisoning via buckshot containing lead, its ingested when they
eat carrion. For loons, it’s ingestion of sinkers and lures that contain
lead that often times is fatal. This loon however was in life threatening
trouble as without human intervention it would starve to death in an entangled snare.
A return call to John Cooley, senior biologist at LPC, I shared “I found it!”
followed by my inquiry “what do you want me to do?”
Hatched was a plan with steps that needed to happen. Reviewing the proper
safe handling protocol (protective eyewear, N95 mask & gloves) of a bird
like the impressive loon I awaited the summer loon biologist for the north
country, Lauren O’Malley, who was just completing surveys nearby on another
body of water.
The two of us, as a united front, we would hopefully be able
to capture the loon, remove the line and release it back into the wilderness.
That spit of sand no longer held the loon as it decided to leave before Lauren
arrived. As I sat, observing from my kayak the loon swam back out into the pond (after being on
land, the loons body will start to overheat in the afternoon sun).
In my
head, I wanted to dive in and tackle the loon like a fumbled football holding
it close until assistance arrived. I didn’t. I sat there
dumbfounded wondering how the heck were we going to catch this fast swimmer;
clearly its feet weren't yet tangled!
The good
news is that the loon was still able to somewhat dive but watching it attempt
over and over again to spread its wings unsuccessfully was heart wrenching.
With Lauren, myself and my husband, Eric (who is also very passionate about the
balance between humans and wildlife) we tried to quarantine the loon into a
smaller cove with hopes of it beaching itself again so we could easily net it.
Not realizing we were its lifeline the loon had other plans evading us
but stayed close by. The sun was setting and so were our chances of a
successful netting.
Chatting with John and Lauren we decided to leave the loon alone until early
the next day; time being of the essence but not super critical just yet.
On the water as a thin layer of fog was lifting Lauren and I headed back out
onto Akers Pond holding onto hope that we’d see the loon on that same spit of
sand.
Nope!
We couldn’t find it. We scanned the shoreline. Nothing but a
different pair of loons that were preening and enjoying the peacefulness of
this early Fourth of July morning.
The stumps, as locals call that section of the pond was searched, the southern area we searched, we bisected the pond
scanning with binoculars when a glint of white appears in the sunlight as it
rose higher in the sky.
Paddling a bit closer we both agreed that’s our
loon and it was over in that same area we’d been the evening before.
The loon was clearly getting more tired as it tucked itself up tightly against
the thick brush lined shore.
Actually, the loon was hiding making itself
super small and if we’d not seen that glint of white a passerby would’ve never
known a loon was there completely camouflaged against the shore.
Time for action, we agreed on a plan.
Lauren left her kayak as the water was only a foot or so deep with
the pond bottom not too horrid to walk. I stayed still in my kayak out a
bit trying to distract the loon as Lauren snuck, if you will, ever so
stealthily with the giant net at the ready.
The loon didn’t move as Lauren swooped the net over its body. Into the
net, the loon was in the net but mustered what was left of its energy and
twisted, splashing angrily and as quick as it was netted it was again free
swimming directly at my kayak as I, now standing, was helpless to help the loon
as it swam away.
The reality of how close
we were settled in as we retrieved Lauren’s kayak and watched the loon emerge
from the water with the pair of loons hot on its tail feathers.
It was interesting that while our backs were to open water the pair of loons
came over, into this space, to see what the ruckus was about.
We watched as the pair of loons chased away our wrapped in fishing line loon.
With its wings pinned the loon could still swim propelled by its strong
feet.
Earlier in our search, while back in the stumps, we’d seen another loon fly
in. After our failed attempt to successfully net our distressed loon we
set out to find it again. While we scanned for our distressed loon we saw
this solo loon. Initially, it tricked us into thinking it was the one we
were searching for. We thought maybe our failed attempt to capture, those
brief moments in the net, could it have loosened the line enough to allow for
freedom?
We were oh so very wrong.
Now midday we decided to leave the pond allowing for our loon in distress to
reset and once again beach itself.
A few hours later Lauren and I set back out. As we turned the bend, into
the tiny cove holding our breath we saw nothing, no loon on the beach.
Now thinking like a loon that’s not doing so well we changed our strategy
scanning each nook and cranny for a hiding critter that wants to be left alone …
to die.
We were determined to not let that happen. Another kayaker said he’d seen
a loon way back in the stumps tucked up on the tall grasses “on a nest” he
said.
Knowing our pond and that our resident pair aren’t nesting; just yet (fingers
crossed!!). We headed to the stumps, a very different location than the
loon had been staying. We scanned the tall grasses and sure enough waaaay back
away from all of the human summer Fourth of July water activities was our loon
still entangled floating sadly.
The bottom of the pond back here is a lot more murky, soft and not so easily
walked on unless you’re a moose munching on tasty vegetation.
Lauren was committed to the same approach we’d tried earlier but the inability
to walk up on the loon wasn’t going to happen. An attempt to net from the
kayak on water wasn’t successful as the loon could still dive and once again
swam toward my kayak and disappeared.
With its reemergence Lauren asked me to “cut it off” from the rest of the pond.
“We want to keep it back here if we can”, she said. Doing what we
never want humans to do I rapidly paddled chasing down the loon as I flanked it
putting my kayak in its path.
It worked!!
Feeling ok with my actions, for the greater good, I got super close to the loon
and it reversed direction back towards Lauren.
We both floated for a bit, once again allowing the distressed loon to reset.
Keeping a keen eye on it we sat on our kayaks about 300 yards away and as
luck, we hoped, had it the loon sought a mound and left the water to sit and
rest.
With the loon secured in Lauren's lap it was quickly discovered that the loon was
Healthy loons spend the majority of their time in water,
only coming up on land to nest. If a
loon is on land and NOT on a nest that is a telltale sign that it is in
trouble. Illness, injury and lead
poisoning are all ailments that cause loons to beach themselves. A beached loon many not have enough energy to
keep itself afloat or may be on shore in order to reserve its energy to allow
itself to heal.
If you see a loon on land that is not on a nest, that loon
is in distress and should be reported immediately!
If you see a loon in distress please call 603-476-LOON (5666) during business hours or you can use this link to report any time.
Please include the following key pieces of information in
your report:
1) The location of the loon—please be as specific as
possible. If the loon is on land, please provide the nearest house number or
another landmark that will help us locate it. If the loon is in the water,
please provide landmarks such as the name of a cove or island that it is in or
near.
2) The loon’s behavior: what is the loon doing? What is
making you think that it is in distress?
3) For tangled loons: Do you see fishing line on the loon?
If so, is the line wrapped around the loon’s bill, or is it on another part of
the loon’s body? Does the loon seem to be able to dive?
4) A picture (or video) is worth a thousand words! When
possible, please include a photo or video of the loon in your report. This
helps us to better evaluate the situation and develop a rescue plan.
Wait! One more second Lauren, we need a selfie of you and me successfully freeing a loon from nearly 30 feet of lead core fishing line, a moment we'll share for eternity.
