Bert's Travels: The Loon Trio

The Loons of Red Rock Lake;

Since I am alone during this trip I allow myself to take the water taxi from the south end of Lake Opeongo, all the way up to the 16 km distant North end.

Opeongo is a comparatively large body of water and with a stiff breeze blowing from the North, a solo paddle would be difficult and time consuming.

Having arrived at the beginning of the portage, leading from Opeongo to Redrock Lake I, assisted by the water taxi driver, place the Canoe into the water, drag it up onto land, unload all paraphernalia, tent, sleeping bag,food, cooking gear and, most important, three cameras, 6 lenses, tripod and what-not and sort it all out, ready for a difficult portage.

Being alone I simply have to do the portage twice, since I cannot carry everything in one go.

Over rocks and roots, always careful, so as not to slip and break a leg, I make my way through dense forest, along a well marked portage and finally I arrive at the shore of Redrock Lake.

What unadulterated pleasure it is to finally, at about 10 O'clock in the morning, see the water again, put down canoe, paddle, and camera gear, return for the tent, sleeping bag, food and utensils and, truly tired and sweat soaked, go for a quick, refreshing dip in the lake, swim a few strokes and then, having loaded the canoe, dip the paddle into crystal clear water and head for the island to pitch camp in the known, wind protected little bay on the North end.

Fan a little fire, make a cup of tea and sit on the rock, overlooking the lake. This is Paradise, right here on earth. There is no other.

In mid afternoon I prepare a soft cushion with the life jacket for my cameras and lenses in the canoe and carefully I cast off.

With a few strokes of my paddle I am out of the little bay and in open water.

The gentle breeze has lost its “gentle” but has not yet become “stiff”.

I hear a Loon calling from far off. The almost uncanny sound, one of three I can differentiate comes closer with each call.

Then there is an answer from quite close.

I stop paddling and sit almost motionless with cameras at the ready.

The wind takes me ever so slowly in a southerly direction.

Sunlight reflects in the water and I can barely make out the shape of two Loons. Their black dress with white dots, the white rings around their necks tell me that I am looking at a pair of “Common Loons”.

(How can anything that beautiful be called “common”?)

I try to lift my camera as slowly as I can. The wind still pushes me closer and closer. The Loons and I are on a dangerous collision course.

Why, I wonder, are they not fleeing?

Normally they would dive deep, only to come up hundred meters away.

Then they sometimes would call each other, dive again or fly away.

Then I see the reason for their odd behavior:

Between the two Loons is a tiny Loon-chick. It can neither fly nor dive. It just drifts in the water. The parents will not abandon it, but stay with their offspring come what may.

One of the parent birds offers the chick a fish, as large as the chick itself.

The chick pecks at the fish and Mom seems to say:
“Yeah, taste it! It's what you'll eat for the rest of your life.”

It is wondrous! This otherwise so shy bird allows me to come to within a paddle length. They seem to ignore me and seem to be oblivious to the clicking of my camera.

With a few backward strokes of my paddle I back away from this wonderful trio and allow the lesson in dining to continue without further disturbing their peace.