That’s me paddling with five, yes five, loons.

We had no loon chicks hatch on the lake this summer. Early rumor was one hatched, but we think not. We know at least one pair was nesting on Belly Button Island when a major tornado-like blow blew through. Shortly after, the nest was abandoned. It is so cool to watch the chicks grow to the point where they are ready to head south in early October, but it was not to be.

Instead, our lake seemed to be a loon party lake of some sort. We saw gatherings of 5 or 6 loons several times. They fished, chortled to one another, and sometimes did the vulture pose thing. But mostly they quietly swam around the lake, sticking pretty close together.

At the moment, we have one somewhat confused adolescent loon still living on Long Lake. He appeared about six weeks ago and still hasn’t left. We’ve seen the adolescent fly around so he shouldn’t be with us much longer now. He’s been flying north, but hopefully he gets it that those are just his practice flights. We wish him a safe passage. South.

The twins have thrived.

But we are concerned about the lone chick born on Belly Button Island. He seems a bit runty. Hopefully, he’s got the proper feathers to fly. And the necessary stamina because it’s a long trip south. He was doing a lot of fishing and diving this day. Bulking up for the trip? We gave him the wide berth he prefers.

The loon genders look alike, though sometimes the females are smaller.  So, the runt’s gender is unknown. To me, anyway.

In 2009, no Long Lake Loons nested successfully. At least one pair, and it seemed a few  unpaired adults, summered on the lake. But no chicks. Two couples got a bit of an early start this year on their nests. Male and female alternate sitting on the eggs.  By June 25th, this pair’s two chicks had hatched and they were off their parents’ backs. (They only get to hitch a ride for about a week.)  The chicks were already diving for food, though I didn’t see them catch anything. They were “viewing” just like their parents–putting their heads into the water and peering around looking for tasty bits. Their loony foot waggle is already perfected. This family group paddled by my kayak, accepting my presence without any sign of stress or agitation. They came so close I could hear the chicks cooing. There is something so compelling about these creatures.

A second pair seems to be sticking to the bigger north section of the lake. Their nest was probably the one on the west side of Belly Button Island. There were two eggs in that nest, but only one chick survived. Unlike the family group to the south, the pair with one chick is acting very wary. The mother and chick still came quite close to our dock, though. The  male is yodeling off intruders and repeatedly going into “vulture pose,” where he pulls himself up out of the water and makes himself look more fierce.

Good. They need to keep that one chick safe. There are big snapping turtles, pike, and hungry Bald Eagles on Long Lake.

We need to keep the loons safe too.  One easy thing we can do?  They all eat little rocks from the lake bottom to aid digestion. But if a loon eats a lead fishing sinker instead of a rock, they are toast.  They die of lead poisoning.  There can’t be a better reason to get the lead out, anglers!

May all three chicks make it to their October adolescence.

Out in the kayaks for the first time, on an unseasonably warm first weekend in April, this guy was yodeling up a storm, even though we were careful to keep a respectful distance.  He was answered by another loon on the lake.  A mate? We hope.  A Canada Goose pair is hanging around the island–as if working on a nest.  They are aggressive and hopefully the loon pair will stand their ground.   At one point, the loon went into vulture posture: rising up out of the water and making himself look like something to steer clear of.  Something had him agitated, but I don’t think it was us, floating quietly in our kayaks.

For each of our first two years on the lake, the loon couple that nests on what we’ve nicknamed “Belly Button Island” raised two chicks. This is the Summer of 2008 family.  We watched them from April to October, often at close range in our kayaks.  The chicks were born at the end of June.  Sometimes we could be floating nearby, figuring we should keep a respectful distance, when the loons would swim toward us to as close as about 8 feet.  We’ve seen the chicks riding on their parents’ backs and, as here, paddling along in a family group.  We’ve heard the adults suddenly sound their alarm calls when a bald eagle circles overhead.  We’ve seen the adults stash the chicks in Ghost Bay while they visited with other loons near the island.  At times like that we hope the big snapping turtle isn’t hungry.  The attentive parents feed the chicks all summer long, but the chicks fish on their own from fairly early on also.  We’ve fretted when the parents leave in September for their migration, leaving the adolescents alone for another few weeks.  And then, the lake goes silent.  To hear what it sounds like living on a lake that loons call home, click here.