Editor's Note: As the author of this column rarely has a chance to write her observations of the natural world, MAM has decided to accept an occasional guest column. Ellie George, resident of loon country, agreed to let the Beat post her stellar photos and detailed observations. (The usual author of this column is fascinated with loons and especially their evening calls.)

Photos and Article Courtesy of and by Ellie George

Patience on my part eventually led to trust, as the Johnson Pond male
loon, Wrinkly, for the first time allowed me to remain close to him and his
two one-week-old chicks. But then an even bigger surprise happened, and
Freaky, the female loon parent who in previous years used to start wailing
the moment she saw my canoe on the pond, even if I was on the other side of
the pond (I named her that because she used to freak out whenever she saw a
boat or human when she had chicks), also developed trust and allowed me to
be near the whole family. I was blessed with watching the parents feed
and guard the chicks for over two hours today, and I learned so much.

I learned that loons, at least this pair, "park" their chicks in
shallow water, right up against the shoreline. Then one loon parent watches
over them from a few feet away while the other one fishes to feed both the
chicks and itself. Then the loons occasionally switch jobs so each loon
gets to fish. I saw the chicks parked in 4 different locations, two along
brushy or wooded shorelines, and twice along a log that jutted out from
shore. When they were "parked" at the logs, I was able to tie my canoe to
another log about 30 feet away, parallel to the chicks' log, and watch many
trips by the parents with food for the chicks. The loons were most relaxed
when my canoe was as still as a log and not drifting with the wind. The
chicks often climbed on the log to rest, and the parents would swim right up
to a chick on the log to feed it.

I learned that loon chicks, even one week old ones like these,
attempt to feed themselves, perhaps picking up insects on plants like
ducklings. I saw them pick at plants and eat things I couldn't see, but I
also saw and photographed them eating some pinkish-red plant parts that
might have been pieces of watershield leaves. They definitely did eat
plants, maybe like human babies putting everything into their mouths. But
mostly the chicks were fed fish by their parents, and at Johnson Pd. young
sunfish and baby largemouth bass were on the menu today.

I learned that loon parents are incredibly patient, attentive,
gentle, and caring. I watched numerous times when a parent would bring a
small sunfish to the chicks which was at the upper limit of their ability to
swallow. The parent would sink down to the chick's level, gently offer the
fish to the chick, and when the chick took the fish, the parent would watch
the chick carefully to see if it swallowed the prey or not. If it dropped
the fish, the parent would retrieve it, bite it a few times to soften the
fins, reposition it in its bill, and then offer it again to the chick. I
saw this happen up to 10 times, and once Wrinkly actually climbed over the
"parking" log to get the dropped sunfish. If the fish was refused more than
that, finally the loon parent would eat the fish itself, and head out to
catch another fish for the chicks. I did see the loon parents catch some
large fish, including one very large sunfish, which the parent, Wrinkly,
subdued and swallowed out in the middle of the bay, instead of trying to
offer it to the chicks. So they do appear to understand what size prey the
chicks can handle.

I also learned that Johnson Pond, and probably every pond, is so
alive with splashes, glurps, slurps, insects flying, fish swimming under the
lily pads, and animals hunting the shoreline, that there is rarely a slow
moment, which means that the loon on guard has to listen and be alert all
the time. At one point early in the morning, when we were still
establishing trust, Freaky started to wail and tremolo, and I thought she
was upset with my presence, although I had not moved. But then Wrinkly, who
was further away from me and had the two chicks, also started to tremolo, so
I thought maybe there was another problem. And then I heard three loud
noises along the wooded shore which sounded like long exhales or huffs. It
had to be a decent-sized mammal, possibly even a bear, because it was a
sound that I did not recognize. The loons had heard or seen the creature
long before I did.

I plan to go back tomorrow morning, because the chicks will only be
small for another week or so before they begin to grow very rapidly, and
then develop feathers. The chicks are unafraid of my camera clicks and my
presence, and if Wrinkly and Freaky can continue their trust in me, and if
the chicks survive the natural dangers that abound, then I may have one of
the best summers of my life, watching the loon family grow up.