Three loons live on this lake. They've claimed it in the way water birds do. They share it with three geese, who mostly do flyovers.

I like them. Their ownership does not prohibit me. I watched them swim hundreds of nautical lake yards this morning, coming closer to me, with their tiny but distinct wake. I haven't heard them, their wobbly cries, usually a hallmark of the morning music. I observed their quiet, unassuming loon-boat-ride, as it were, black-and-white maritime flags.

Usually, I see only two loons per lake. A lover's pair. I'm going to guess this third loon is their baby, though midsummer it looks quite grown. Family, nevertheless. Giving me a good vibe.

Two loons on a lake are the signature of Alaska's lakes. Most of my canoe trips were in spring. Now, at the end of July, I see the egg that's hatched.

I envy these loons. The geese, too. God's creation has no worries.  They take their time with life and food. Jesus was right. They don't fret the next meal, the next dollar, assured of the bounty in the lake from which on the surface we don't see.

Ever watch a pair of loons fish? One disappears, it's gone for 10 seconds, going on 20 seconds. Then the second loon plops down its head and submerges. Both of them now gone. Ten fishing seconds later, the first pops up over 30 yards away from where it last surfaced.

They be catching fish in that invisible water park below. The second one pops up but not before the first one had already dove again for more feeding.

I like loons. They add character to a lake.


July 28, 2006   9:42 AM 

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