His Compass Is Broken

  It is not unusual to see the common loons around the Bay and Bayou during the winter months but by early spring they make their way back up north to spend their summers.  There, they do all sorts of "loony" (and I mean that as a bird way not a crazy way) things like finding a mate, nesting and raising their young.  In fact, I cannot remember ever seeing one around here after the first of April until recently.  Once that warm weather sets in, they make haste in their migration.  

  Last year, however, one very young loon was injured and opted to stay on the Bayou a bit longer.  The bird rested, fed and healed but since there were no other loons around, its migration was put on hold for the entire summer.  Its plaintive wails could be heard ringing out in the night in hopes that at least one other loon was in the area.  Nary a return call could be heard.  So the bird spent the summer in "solitary confinement" of the Bayou.  When the weather started to chill a bit, I thought sure other loons would migrate here and our local bird could find its family.  It was saddening to know that the other loons never made it to the Bayou at all this year.  Our winter was far too warm, I suppose, and the birds never came this far south.  The resident loon spends its time wailing and wailing.   "I am here.  Where are you?"  Wait...wait...no answer.  Silence.

  While it is still early in the spring, it does not appear that the bird is going to migrate.  It is happily scooping up minnows and little mullet.  Unless, by some odd chance, other loons fly over, the bird will most likely spend yet another summer here.  Obviously, it has no idea where "home" is other than here.  While I am good with the bird hanging around, it has to be extremely lonely for my friend.  Perhaps his "inner compass" is broken!  Poor, sweet bird!  Here's to hoping the bird heads north!

Saddening News

   About a week ago, my cousin sent me a video of a bird swimming in the shallows of a small inlet by her house.  "What is this, Cuz?" she asked.  Looking at the bird, it was hard to identify positively but once the bird called, I knew right away.  "A loon! Rather a Common Loon." was my answer. Knowing that these birds should have been long gone from the area, she and I fretted over the health of the bird.  This past December, a loon had been seen with a fish hook lodged in its bill and another in its wing.  The two hooks were connected by a steel leader so there was no breaking loose.  All efforts to catch the loon were futile and the poor bird suffered greatly.  Now, this bird appeared to be having problems.

  As the week progressed, the loon stayed near.  Some mornings, it was at our pier and others, it was back at her place.  She and I both worried that something was not right with poor bird. Never did we witness that the loon was fishing.  It could dive well and did preen but we never observed it feeding.  We were both in hopes that perhaps the bird just needed rest before heading northward to be with the other loons.

  This morning, however, my cousin sent another photograph.  This one was saddening as the bird had perished during the night and its lifeless body was floating in the inlet at her place.  While neither of us could call this bird our "pet", we were both disheartened to learn of its death.  If only there was something that we could have done to preserve the bird's health.  While I do not believe the two loons mentioned above were one and the same, I do find it strange that we lost two of these fine birds within a matter of months.  Hopefully, this death was just a fluke of nature and not something that could have been prevented like the one in December.  That deathtrap was caused by the sheer stupidity of some so-called fisherman.  Rest in peace, Little Loon, rest in peace.  Your plaintive wails will be missed during the nights on the Bayou.

 

Leading "Like a Boss"

  It is my way of thinking that a good leader has to sometimes take a step back to check on those behind the line.  The leader must know what is happening far down the line in order to keep moving forward.  In other words, it is best to let those under your supervision be aware that you care about their well-being. This not only will improve productivity but, also, is good for morale.  If the boss takes the extra effort to check his underlings, then they, in turn, will be more likely to do the same.  It just makes sense.

  I was watching the loons as they were swimming about near the Bayou at sunset.  A whole line of the birds were making their way out from the shore and into the deeper water.  As they paddled along, the leader could be heard whistling out "orders" and the others took the time to answer.  This assured that each was still following. It is a matter of safety. After a bit, the leader turned and made its way toward the rear of the line. Each of the followers "spoke" to the leader but carried on in the same direction. Once the head bird was at the very rear of the line and had made contact with the final bird, it headed back to assume its leadership role.  This way the bird kept check on its flock.  Once all were accounted for, the leader was satisfied and could continue.  Several times during my watch, the bird did the same thing...always checking with each following.  This loon is, in my view, a good leader.  It cared about all of its underlings or followers.  Smart bird.

  I thought about how this would be a good business practice.  Bosses and owners of businesses should care enough about their workers to check not only if they are doing their job but if anything is needed to improve the workplace.  I have always said that we could learn a lot from our critter counterparts but it never occurred to me that loons could be bosses!

Spirit of the Bayou

  There is nothing like the call of a Common Loon to stir thoughts of living in the wild for many of us.  I love to sit in the mist of the early morning to hear their calls to one another.  The almost haunting sound echoes across the Bayou evoking that spirit of the wild and unknown. To be honest, there is nothing "common" about this bird.  Although, its usual strikingly beautiful plumage has already been molted before their migration, the loons are still some of my favorite of the water fowl that visit the area. I think they are just as beautiful in their non-mating plumage as any other time but it is not their appearance that draws me to them.  It is that eerie set of calls that fills the night and pre-dawn hours that stirs my imagination.  I can sit for hours and listen to the wails of the loon.

  Several tales are attached to the loon.  I have written several times about the loons and my love for them.  Now, I find a tale that warms the heart a bit.  According to one Native American legend, a blind man was granted sight by a loon and in return the man created a lovely necklace of white feathers for the bird. All loons now wear this gift in the form of their plumage. While we all know that the bird cannot perform these miracles, the point of the story is more of helping one another, giving from the heart and showing appreciation for kind acts.  The world needs this now more than ever.  

  Another tale relates how the loons' calls inspired the creation of the flute.  I can fully understand how this might have been possible and there is a "loon" flute that does indeed mimic the calls.  I am so tempted to buy one.  I am not a musically inclined person but hearing anything resembling the loons would be nice.  Maybe this will be a gift to myself and I can practice down on the pier at dawn!  At least then, no one would be disturbed by my attempts to duplicate the birds' calls and my lack of musical talent.

  I thought of all of these things while on the pier this evening.  The loons have started their migration to the area.  Where in recent years we have only had a single visitor, today Mark and I counted nigh on fifteen!  I do hope they stay for a while and grace the Bayou with their mystical serenades.  

Call of the Banshee?

  For the past four years, we have had a lone Common Loon visit the Bayou. At the first of the season, a dozen or so loons migrate here but most move on to other parts.  One stays.  He swims about in his winter plumage during the colder months.  This is of a nondescript buff-colored gray.  His calls are hauntingly beautiful but give me the idea that he is lonely.  I never hear another answering.  After the weather starts to warm, the plumage changes almost immediately to the breeding colors and my friend basks in all his splendor.  His head is almost black ending with a white streaked neckband.  His back is black with white polka-dots and the underparts are white.  The bird's bright red eye is like a ruby that completes his stunning outfit. He is absolutely gorgeous!  It always pleases me to find the loon near the pier.  

  I know it is about time for my friend to take flight to wherever he goes for the summer months.  I will miss his eerie wails in the night.  (Those calls do make for some interesting tall tales!  I have fully convinced some folks that the wails and "laughter" are coming from a banshee!) I will miss seeing him dive silently for fish and preen in the sunshine. His home-away-from-home will always welcome his arrival come next October.  Fly safe, my friend, fly safe and have a happy summer!

A Wee Bit Loony...or The Call of the Will-o'-the-Wisps!

   In winter here on the Bayou, it is not an uncommon occurrence to hear some mighty strange sounds coming over the water.  Most folks up north who live near lakes will quickly recognize the noise as the call of a loon.  Some find the call a bit unsettling but I, on the contrary, find the wail more comforting.

   Although the Common Loon has several different calls, it is the wail that I hear the most often. Loons most often sleep on the water and very rarely come ashore.  Their large feet and heavy bodies make them almost clumsy while trying to walk.  On the water, the birds are most graceful.  Since they doze while floating, the wail is a way to keep tabs on each other if they drift apart.  The "hoot" is another method of tracking. This is a softer, shorter call than the wail.  (Also, just because it is called a hoot, don't think it sounds like an owl. To me it sounds more like some lonely puppy than an owl.) Male loons do a "yodel" as a territorial call.  This I rarely hear as it is more prominent during mating season when the birds are far north of here.  

  Like I said, I love to hear the loons and only wish that they would hang around during summer. Then I could keep the windows open at night and listen to the loons' haunting calls.  In the meantime, I listen to the wails as often as I can and know that the loons are near.  These wails give substance to another of my tall tales of the Bayou.  I have a tendency to tell unsuspecting folks that the calls are those of the Will-o'-the-Wisps that live in the marshes.  Ahh, yes!  Will-o'-the-Wisps...those fairy beings that lure folks into the marsh with their wee lights and hauntingly beautiful songs!  I LOVE MY BAYOU!

The "Screatures"!

Years ago, I remember my grandfather telling me a story about the "Lost Boys of the Swamp".  His tale told of how two fishermen were doing a bit of late evening fishing near the Bayou.  As the sun started to set in the west, the fishermen heard what sounded to them like a couple of young boys that had lost their way in the swamp.  With darkness falling, the boys became frightened and started wailing.  Their mournful calls filled the fishermen with despair and they searched the swamps.  This was done to no avail as they could not find the boys.  After searching for quite some time, the men sadly left the Bayou and went home.  From that day on whenever they fished late in the evening, they could hear the woeful calls of the lost boys.  Grandpa's story went on to explain that the calls were that of a bird known as a Limpkin.  This bird is found down in the Everglades of Florida so I am assuming that his story took place somewhere other than my Bayou.

Still, there are calls at night that anyone with a vivid imagination (who else..me?), might construe as being lost boys.  Starting in late fall and running through the winter, mournful calls can be heard echoing across the marsh.  I have told (scary) folks that these are Banshees!  Or that these are, indeed, some poor lads that lost their way in the marshes and walk the Bayou forevermore.  I must admit, there are a lot of folks out there that listen to my fully fictional tales and believe every word!

The calls do happen but they are far from being lost souls.  These are the Loons that migrate here during the late fall. They will spend winter filling our Bayou with great tales of eerie things!  Just let one yell across the marsh at the opportune time!  Any folks that happen to be in the yard look at me with big eyes and ask the obvious question.  "What was that?"  A year or so ago, one niece posed that very question and received the well-prepared answer of "Banshee!"  She was a tad nervous and rambled on about bayou creatures that screech.  Her next sentence came out a bit twisted and she called them "Screatures".  Well, it makes sense!  Since that time, Screatures have visited the Bayou every winter!  I love the name!  It is perfect!  Kammie always makes me smile with her visits and with her charm!

Once Again...

Once again, we wait for this fickle storm name Karen.  Now barely hanging onto its tropical storm status, it has become stationary.  Stationary storms tend to make me a tad nervous.  I would much rather them move on their merry way than linger around with the outside chance of strengthening. Under better circumstances, a stalled storm means trouble. Hopefully, this one will decide to zip on out of here or at least come on in to shore.  This storm is also hampering my everyday business!  Michael and I went out today and cleared the garden of all old plants.  It now sits bare..raked clean and smooth.  We opted to wait before sowing any seeds just in case Karen moved in with lots of torrential rains.  Our seeds would have wound up in the Bayou instead of the garden patch!  Another day will pass before our cabbages, turnips and beets ever get planted.  The sun beamed down, the slight breeze cooled us and there was nary a hint of a storm ripping the Bayou.  We wait..once again.

My sister-in-law, Cynthia, came late this evening and she and I headed to the pier.  We scanned the horizon for any sign of incoming bad weather but other than a few clouds all was quiet.  There were not even the usual splashes of pelicans diving for mullet.  Either all of the seabirds had already eaten supper or they had "evacuated" the area!  One lone loon paddled about the Bay.  We stood there for a good twenty minutes or so watching the clouds and enjoying the breeze..and watching that loon. I told Cynthia that I thought the bird was early.  The Common Loons do not usually visit the Bayou until cooler then they hang around until spring.  As soon as the weather warms, they fly off northward to nest.  Just as we were heading back to the house, about thirty ducks flew southward from my cousin, Michelle's, house. She feeds most any critter that begs at her door and the ducks come from all parts to get their share.  I pointed toward the sunset so Cynthia could see the ducks.  At the same time, our friendly loon decided to let out a loud call.  "Oh, my gosh!  What was that?"  To her question, I smiled and pointed.  Mr. Loon was flapping his wings feeling quite spunky with himself!  Loons have the eeriest of calls.  Their call resonates throughout the Bayou with a crisp clearness that sounds not unlike some imaginary Bayou Critter!  I do believe I could actually convince some visitors that a banshee was strolling along the marshes if this bird would call at the opportune moment!

After our interesting visit with the loon, we just managed to scoot back inside before a bit of rain started pelting the rooftop.  Perhaps this is the beginning the long-awaited Karen..the storm that forgot to come.

The Passing of a Season

My time today was totally consumed by the training of the new pup. Sunny has made great strides in the one day that I have spent working with her. She now willing goes into her crate, comes when summoned and for all practical purposes can almost make it all the way down the hill to her assigned "latrine". (Sometimes, those little short legs just cannot make the distance before nature calls. She tries but occasionally loses the battle!) All of this training kept me from the pier and my normal hiking route. She and I made innumerable trips down the hill but none that required the camera. Plus, I have found that taking photographs with this pup along, is not possible....yet. The bumping, jumping and thumping will all have to come under control before any wildlife will ever be in range of the lens again. Sunny is just that hyper. I have become so used to Ezzy and her soft stride and patient "stays" that this new pup is quite the experience. She so reminds me of a "Little Ezzy" with her hyper ways and cute innocence that at times I almost make the mistake of calling her Ez. It will take a lot to calm this one enough to make her the photographer's best friend but she is just so darn cute that I am willing to make the effort!

The day before this little dynamo hit the Bayou, I did notice a lovely loon on the Bayou. For most of the winter, the bird has hung close around the Bayou and pier. Each morning, I watched as it fished for its breakfast and then much later I would watch as it settled in for the night. The bird and I became familiar with each other and I think it watched my movements as much as I watched its. I noticed during the last trek to the pier that this Common Loon was already filling out with its breeding plumage of black and white feathers. This made me a bit sad as I knew that soon my bird friend would be leaving the Bayou area to head northward. I am only blessed with the loons' presence during the winter months. Migration brings them in during late fall and then takes them out during early spring.

The next morning, I noticed three large birds flying over the Little Bayou House. The darkness of the early morning sky made it difficult for a sure identification through anything other than their shape and flight pattern. I am almost positive that these were Common Loons. They were heading northward. The season was changing for sure and the birds had started their migration. My heart sank a bit. "Have a safe journey, My Friend! I hope to see you this fall!"

Crazy as a Loon!

Last night I heard the eeriest sounds imaginable! If I had not known better, I would have assumed that there were banshees on the roam in the Bayou! Banshees! The mournful wail that resounded in the Bayou for the better part of an hour just after dark was being answered from the nearby creek. No, I am not crazy! Maybe a bit loon-ey but not crazy! The wails were the calls of the Common Loon that I had photographed just a few hours earlier on the Bay. These haunting wails are more prevalent at night and are not "alarm" calls but are more a way of the loons to keep track of other Loons in the area. The Common Loon alarm call sounds much more like insane laughter that the mournful wail that I heard. My birds must have felt safe through the night although their wail could be heard for miles around echoing through the marshes.

It took me a while to recognize the birds as Common Loons since this pair was dressed in their winter plumage of browns and did not have the black and white patterned back. Still, Common Loons they were and I was thrilled to have them as winter visitors to the Bayou! Loons cannot take off in flight from the water like some of the other water fowl. They have to have a long "runway" and a tad of wind to airlift them! They are just too heavy without the extra boost. It is quite comical to watch them "run" on the water to gain speed..flapping their wings the whole way!

The loons I photographed had just flown in and I imagine are only here as a stopover on some migration journey as I never see too many during the summer. In a way, I wish they would stay..I do enjoy the haunting sounds of banshees in my Bayou!

Speaking of the Bayou, I trekked to where it joins the creek on the North side of the property! I have not journeyed too far into this area since the year after Hurricane Katrina. There was just too much debris to feel safe in climbing around in there at that time. Now, I was sort of taken aback at just how much lumber still remained in the creekbed. It is totally blocking off the flow of water and causing it to flood the area, making it one big, mucky mess. My son and I have decided that now is the time to start making our way down to the main creek and give it a major overhaul. I am not sure how in the world we will ever get some of the beams from the creek but we shall try. It is not going to be an easy task, but at least now we do not have to deal with all of the smaller trash that floated in with the tidal surge. This has all decomposed and has left mainly clear

lumber. The threat of snakes will increase tremendously in the next few months as they come out of hibernation so now is the time to tackle the job. I did come across one humongous snake skin shed as we were trying to pull some of the smaller limbs out of the water. I have a feeling that this monumental undertaking is going to take years!