Ahhhh, the call of the loons. It is a sound that goes hand-in-hand with time spent on the lakes in Minnesota.
Across the small bay from our island campsite on Long Island Lake, a pair of loons were nesting in the tall grass between the rocks. They did not wander far, and were never gone for long. We assumed the nest contained an egg or two. While we were respectful enough to give the loons their space, and observe them from afar, other residents on the lake were not as considerate.
On the fire-burned island behind the loons’ home, an eagle or raven frequently would perch on a desolate branch, keeping a close eye on the nest below. The loons would nervously call out as the unwanted visitor hovered and lurked. Then, with little warning, the raven or eagle would swoop toward the nest and one or both of the loons would make a ruckus, flapping furiously and going after the intruder. We watched the loons tirelessly and vigorously defend their home and future offspring from repeated attacks.
One cannot not help but admire this handsome bird.
When the loons felt safe, we would observe them swimming by as they fished for their next meal, diving and popping up periodically at various locations in the surrounding waters. And in the evening, as we lay in our sleeping bags drifting off to sleep, the loons called out with a distant response from the next lake over. The long wailing calls, the more animated or alarmed expressions, and the soft murmurs between the dedicated parents-to-be, weaving into our dreams.
I will leave you with a brief example of the call of the loons, particularly for those who may never have had the privilege of sitting out on a summer evening listening to the haunting sounds float across a lake.
Ciao! ~ Kat
Other posts in this series:
- Gearing Up (Part 1)
- Getting Our Paddles Wet (Part 2)
- Our Island Home (Part 3)
- Exploring By Canoe (Part 4)
Coming soon: Part 6, A Change of Scenery