By Julia Lillian

Through the nocturnal music of the owl, the drumming of the woodpecker and the changing song of the chickadee we are given subtle reminders that, despite the landscape, the species of the world are about to spring into life. I too feel an awakening, a sort of restless excitement at the impending arrival of some of my dearest summer friends and the prospect of making a new acquaintance or two.

One never knows when a chance encounter may occur and the spring migration has bird lovers everywhere dusting off binoculars and scouring air, trees, sky and water for some new or different species. The spring migration is serious business for our feathered friends. They fly with purpose; eager to get back to their summer homes, stake their claims and begin the arduous task of raising a family.

Preoccupied with a hasty return, our friends aren’t as likely to dawdle and hang out with us as they are during their more leisurely travels each fall. Yet as I welcome the sandhills, mallards and Canada geese back to the marsh, I am always on the alert with the hope that some weary traveler will stop by for a drink, snack or short rest on the water.

For the past four years, as I’m treated to a symphony of bugling quacking and honking I have harbored a secret wish. In that part of my brain that lies beyond reason, logic, or common sense I have longed to hear the call of a distant, yet not forgotten, love. Among the familiar voices of the springtime marsh I have secretly yearned to hear the hypnotic tremolo of the “great northern diver” – the common loon.

Was this really such an irrational dream – that this bird I’d admired from afar, who stirred my soul during warm summer nights in the north woods, would pause on his journey home and once again send chills up my spine and warmth to my heart? After all (the illogical, romantic part of my brain argues), “we have water,” “countless other water birds stop here” and “ in the bird world anything is possible, after all just this month a varied thrush (a Pacific Northwest bird!) visited Oshkosh and stayed quite a while at that.”

While I do believe that anything is possible, the rational functioning part of my brain knows that all my waiting, longing and listening is in vain. After learning about the true biological and behavioral nature of the common loon, I am more convinced than ever that a visit from my noble lost love is about as likely as my favorite blue jay turning down a peanut.

The common loon, or Gavia immer, is one of only five species of loons and the one we think of as the symbol of the wilderness. When all decked out in his summer finery he is impossible to miss. Both male and female are striking birds with black heads, white necklaces, black and white checkered backs and deep red eyes. The loon owes his common name to a Scandinavian word meaning clumsy. It is difficult to imagine such a graceful stately creature as being clumsy until one sees him walk. With the placement of his legs set far back on his streamlined body; this bird, who amazes us with his skill and agility on water, appears to struggle with each step on land.

Loons, sometimes referred to as feathered fish are consummate water birds. Second only to the penguin in their adaptations for a predominately aquatic lifestyle, the loon’s whole body structure is designed for swimming and diving. The loon is a relatively heavy bird, weighing 8-14 pounds, with a density nearly that of water.

Unlike most birds their bones are solid, they have comparatively reduced air sacs and their wings are relatively short for their body size. They have developed special flaps in their nostrils and back of their throats that close when swimming or diving. Loons can dive up to 200 feet and stay under water for 5-10 minutes. Even the red pigment in their eyes appears to be an adaptation to the aquatic lifestyle as it aids in sight while diving. Loons are accomplished fishermen and prefer deep, clear lakes with and abundance of prey, which they catch and eat underwater.

When not engaged in fishing loons spend their time on water preening, relaxing or defending their territory. It is fascinating to observe some of the loon’s posturing such as the penguin dance, splash dives or surface rush, all of which give notice to intruders to “keep out.” An adult loon will spend almost his entire life on water, coming ashore only to mate and nest.

With limited mobility on land the loon must perform his take-offs and landings on water. Here he appears to run, wings flapping, along the surface of the water for at least a quarter-mile until he is airborne. When he is flying one might hear the tremolo – the only one of the four basic calls of the loon used in flight. The other three calls include the hoot, yodel (made only by the male) and the haunting wail. It was the wail of the loon on those warm summer nights that first drew me in and hypnotized me.

Their eerie mesmerizing calls and mysterious underwater nature has made great material for myths, legends and superstition. The loon has been credited with everything from accompanying the dead to the afterlife to forecasting the weather. One tribe believed the call of the loon was an ominous prediction that someone would drown. The loon is mentioned in many creation stories, told by early peoples, as the creature who first brought mud up from the depths of the sea to create the earth.

Even today countless others share my fascination with these special birds. And although I know it would take another “great flood” to have these birds grace me with a stop on my land, there are many great places to enjoy the water antics and hypnotic calls of the common loon. While loons are sighted nearly every March and April on Lake Winnebago and a few larger lakes in Waupaca County, the best bet for viewing these glorious birds is of course the north woods.

Mercer, Wis., has been named the loon capitol of the world. In this area and most all of northern Wisconsin loons arrive as soon as the ice thaws. Here they can be seen swimming and diving all day while serenading us with the most chilling, yet soothing, calls ever imagined. It is here the loon has won over many fans as one can see his image plastered everywhere. He is the symbol of the untamed and untouched wilderness we all yearn to be connected with deep in the recesses of our subconscious minds.

While our love of the loon hasn’t waned over time, man has neglected to care for that wilderness the loon so aptly represents and depends upon for his very existence. With development, “progress,” and recreation comes pollution, destruction of nesting sites and poisoning. The use of lead in fishing tackle has caused the deaths of countless adult loons. Only one lead sinker, ingested by a loon who mistakes it for a pebble he needs for digestion, will kill an adult loon in 2-3 weeks, bringing an early demise to a creature who can normally live 20-30 years.

Fortunately the five-year survey, last taken in 2005, shows the loon population in Wisconsin is in no immediate danger. This gives us hope that there is still time to change our destructive habits while the call of the loon still echoes magically over the deep clear lakes against the backdrop of the towering pines. We must take note now so that future generations won’t find loon lovers everywhere waiting, longing and listening in vain for the call that never comes.