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!
It seems that Mother Nature has a lot of things in a state of upheaval. Not only has the weather been a tad....ummm...different as of late, critters are acting a bit strange as well. Just a few weeks ago, I was confused by the fact that we had a lone loon seemingly staying the summer with us. The bird had not flown north with its other loony (heehee!) friends and was evidently intending to make this its year round home. I have no problem with that and actually was looking forward to having the loon around the Bayou. Sad to say, that one perished from some unknown malady. Now, I find we have another juvenile loon lurking about the place.
Loons are not supposed to be in the area except during the winter months. Come early spring and they fly northward to nest. Both of the loons that have been spotted nearby this summer are juveniles. Why these did not make the migration is questionable. One appeared to be maybe injured or ill but the newest sighting seems to be of a healthy bird.
Yesterday, the loon came up to the pier. It almost seemed to be trying to make friends with us. This, in itself, is unusual. The loons are usually rather skittish. The familiarity that the birds have shown makes me ponder if these were both "released" birds. Perhaps they were injured, rehabilitated and then released back into the wild. In which case, the birds both may not have the fear that wild birds would and, also, may not have been associated with a migrating flock.
Whatever the case may be with the crazy loons being on the Bayou, I am happy with it. I like the birds and it would be nice to have a mating pair call the place home. It would be strange...but nice. Their haunting calls give a certain ambiance to the Bayou that is missed during the summer months when they usually take their leave of the area. Oh, Mother Nature, make up your mind!
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.
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.
