Monday, January 24, 2011

Jack and Lily, Part II

(Jack and Lily, Part I)

It seems like we waited forever, watching for signs that the loon eggs would hatch.  Being new to baby loons ourselves, none of us knew exactly when that was supposed to happen.  The internet told us that loon chicks usually hatch in mid- to late-June, unless the pair lost their first nest or bred later for some other reason.  The latest date I could find for successful hatches (and subsequent migration in the fall) was early July.

When July came with no sign of a hatch, we started to resign ourselves to the fact that the eggs were no longer viable.  I was bummed- I know that some folks don't like loons because they compete with the fishermen (sometimes literally, but that's another story), but in my opinion, the loons just keep the trout on their toes.  I don't think any of our guests come here with the burning desire to catch fat, lazy fish; they can do that at a fish farm.  Folks come here because it's real.

Stepping off my soapbox and returning to July, though, after the first couple of weeks came and went, we were pretty sure that our hopes of having Island Pond's first loon chicks were dashed.  Lucky for us, we were wrong.

On July 14, exactly one month after I took the picture in Part I of this story, the loon pair started acting crazy and calling in a manner I hadn't heard before, and two of our guests came in off the water after basically being attacked by the male.  That was good enough for me- I grabbed my camera and a kayak, and I went to see what I could see.

Out by the island, the male was calling up a storm and generally making a nuisance of himself.  I didn't get close enough to see the eggs, but the female wasn't on the nest.  I swung back around the Island, and the guests who had been attacked earlier pointed me to where she was swimming over by the shore on the other side of the rock pile.

Thank goodness for a decent zoom lens on my camera, because this is what I didn't quite see with my own eyes:




If you look close, you can see the little black fuzzball riding on mama's back.  Call me sentimental, but it was a good day for Red River.

I'll pick this story up again in a later post.

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