The Loons

“There are baby loons on the lake!”

I texted my mom one early summer morning. I had just moved to northern Minnesota the previous December, and spent my first months weathering one of the most brutal winters the area had seen in a while. I had been equal parts snowed in, questioning my decision-making skills, and worried that I may not find whatever it was that I came here looking for. And then, there they were—one of my favorite creatures floating in the lake with two fuzzy babies.

Juvenile loons

Minnesotans will tell you all about Common Loons. They are our state bird, and you will find their image everywhere–from clothing and kitchen wares to our professional soccer team, to the giant statue in Saint Paul by Scottish artist Andy Scott. There is very little that most Minnesotans are prouder of than being Minnesotan, and so these birds, with their dapper plumage and iconic calls, are the symbol that connects us in many ways. They are the symbol of Us.

Just a small sample from my kitchen

Hearing loon calls from a porch on my home was one of the very loose yet sometimes long-reaching items on the list of “want to haves” I made before moving my life up north. Long-reaching not just because there was no way I could afford a property on the lake, but because I didn’t even know where I would be living, or whether there would even BE a porch. The lake was a given - it is Minnesota after all, and there are over 11,000 of them. Even once I had found the home (and the lake), I had no idea how many hours I would later spend there, observing these birds and deepening both my understanding of them and my relationship with this place along the way.

Video of young loons learning how to fish with a parent.

Over the next few months, I would wander down to the lake several times a day and look for that little family I had seen. Then one rainy morning in June, there they were right by the dock, fishing and feeding their babies. I would spend the rest of the summer visiting them almost daily, and enjoying the privilege of watching them raise their young, make loud warning calls about other loons and the local nesting eagles, and swim curiously up to the humans by the lake.

And then one Sunday evening, when the wind had stilled and the neighborhood had settled into silence, I was sitting on my porch when I heard it. From a mile away on the lake, the faintest but absolutely unmistakable calls of those loons carried all the way to my home.

Adult loon swims up to the dock

For now, the icons are leaving the lake. It’s late October, and the adult loons have changed their plumage, their calls have softened to tremolos, and most have started their journey south. The young will soon follow. In the coming weeks, the lakes will freeze over, and the snow and silence of winter will blanket the north. In the meantime, I will enjoy the changing colors, the colder weather, the crunch of fallen leaves, and then snow under my feet - and wait for their return in the spring.

NOTE: All loon observation was done with the strictest respect for these creatures. They are curious and will swim up to docks, which often allowed me to get close to them for a time before letting them get back to their business. If you are on the water, please stay at least 150-200 feet away from loons. If you like to fish, please do not use lead tackle, and make sure you take all line and lures with you. For more information on observing loons safely, see this article from the American Birding Association:

The space I’m building here will chronicle the story of my life in northern Minnesota. I will share stories along with what I’m learning from and about this place. I hope to share the gateways the natural world can open to help us understand ourselves and our purpose, and to turn our love of these places into a force for good. Subscribe and join me on this journey!