One of the most amazing creatures I find on a lake, and something that is dear to Minnesota, are the loons. Their call echos over the lakes in such a chilling call that it sends goosebumps racing along your arms. But it would not be summer on the lake without that chilling call.
I look for them every time that I go fishing. If you are still enough they will often come up
close to your boat as they hunt for small fish and other water critters to eat. Often, they will pop right up next to you without you knowing. They are master of stealth and move through the water with nary a sound. On the constant search for food to eat or to feed their young.
Every time that a loon surprises me and shows up close to the boat, I feel blessed that they have given me the opportunity to take in their beauty. There are moments where I do not even lift my camera to take a photo, that I just want to take in what I see before me. The gleaming black beak, the neck so dark that at times it seems green. The spots and designs in their feathers and how the water runs off of them.
But that is not all that makes the loons special to me. Once, long ago, I listened to a co-worker, who is of Native American decent, tell the story of how the Grandmother Loon came to be. It may be different than others out there, but this was the one she told the students we were working with. She stated that a Grandmother was picking berries along the beach while her two grandchildren played in a canoe. She warned them to not go past the break water as they would get lost. The children promised their Grandmother to stay safe and for a long while they
paddled the canoe back and forth in the bay. But after awhile, they wanted to try the big lake and so they paddled out, but when they got past the break water the fog rolled in and they couldn't see. The Grandmother looked up from her berry picking to see the grandchildren and canoe were not to be seen. She ran into the water yelling "Where are you?" "Wheeeeereee arrrrrrrre yooooooou?" With each yell she got deeper and deeper into the water until it rose over her shoulders, but still she yelled. The children, scared and alone in the canoe, heard the call and turned the canoe towards the sound. The call beckoned them home, and they soon found the bay and were safe on the shore, but they could not find their Grandmother. All they could here was her sad plaintive call from the great Lake of "wheeeeere aaaaaaaare yoooooou?" And that is how Grandmother Loon came to be.
It has been many years, since I sat with those young students while that story was told to
them, but every time I see a loon it sings in my head. And every time I hear the sad call of the loon asking where are you, I think of the Grandmother looking to bring her Grandchildren home and it makes me smile. And I cherish the call of the loon even more.
