Loon Ranger

We saw the eagle first, his white head and tail feathers backlit by the early morning light.

Kayaking along the shore of a northern Wisconsin lake, we slowed our paddles and gazed at his regal beauty perched high up in the feathery boughs of a tall pine.

"There's another one!" I whispered back to my husband kayaking a short distance behind me. "He's just a few branches down and to the left."

We couldn't believe our luck. Although eagles are making a comeback from their daunting decline several decades ago, it is still a thrill to see one so up close and personal in the wild. To see two together was like a gift dropped from heaven.

As we watched the eagles, they watched us, their eyes clearly focused on our progress as we drifted closer to their tree. Now we could see the alertness of their black eyes, the yellow of their beak, the elegantly sculptured detail of their beautiful brown feathers covering their powerful bodies like a work of art.

As we looked up into their faces and they looked down into ours, a sense of sacred space settled between the distance. To be included in the eagles' circle of sight, if only for a moment, was a rare and privileged gift, a shared spiritual connection to all God's creation that was humbling.

Then, just as we glided under their branches, the spell broke.

First one eagle lifted off before us, his wings wide and wonderful; and then the second one took flight in a matched replica of fanned feathers, the two beating a slow song into the blue sky like the graceful rhythm of a holy hymn.

Suddenly, just when we thought the moment could not be more magical, a whoosh of wings fluttered from behind us and a third eagle, huge and magnificent, flapped the air just feet over our heads in close pursuit of the other two.

As the three flew off across the lake toward the horizon of the pine forest, we sat in stillness, savoring the blessedness of the moment.

But then, a sad, suspicious thought entered my mind.

Why, I wondered, had the three eagles been together in such proximity? Slowly, I turned and looked back at the shoreline.

My heart dropped.

There lay the loon in lifeless repose, its white belly still whole and pure against the rocks, its black and white wings rocking gently with the waves, its head and neck stretched out beneath the water.

I wept.

Just the night before while out on a sunset cruise on our pontoon boat, we spotted a large, dark object bobbing in the water and motored over to investigate. My whole family gasped when we saw it was a loon floating face down in the lake, its wings spread eagle.

"Oh, no!" I said. "It's a dead loon!"

In silent, sad reverence, we admired its beautiful body; for once close enough to see the elegant detail of its black and white wings.

"Let's leave it alone," I said.

And mournfully we moved away to give dignity to its death as we looked back in quiet tribute.

All of a sudden, to our surprise, the loon abruptly lifted up; its wings flapping in a desperate act to take flight over the water.

"It's alive!" we shouted happily.

Like Peter Pan characters clapping at Tinker Bell's revival, we watched in disbelief as it settled back on the water and appeared to dive under. With a hope and a prayer, we continued on our way.

But it was not to be. The eagles confirmed my suspicion.

For those who have never seen one, the loon is one of the most majestic symbols of pristine wilderness still remaining. For those who have never heard one call its song of magic, you have missed one of the most glorious sounds on earth.

Sigurd Olson, the great conservationist, described it best:

"The loons were calling, I can hear them yet, echoes rolling back from the shores and from unknown lakes across the ridges until the dusk seemed alive with their music."

For the past three summers, I have been a Loon Ranger volunteer for the Sigurd Olson Environmental Institute's LoonWatch program located at Northland College in Ashland, Wis. My job when I am at our cabin's lake is to help monitor the loons spring arrival, their numbers, their nests, their chicks, their fall departure.

Because I am often out kayaking, sailing, or boating, it is an added delight to document my sightings. And because it is my first foray into the scientific field of observation and recording, I am fascinated by the patterns and the process.

So as a lifelong lover of loons, my discovery of the dead loon not only brought a personal sadness but also the worst possible news to record in my report for this continually struggling species.

According to LoonWatch, extensive research shows that direct anthropogenic factors lead to 52 percent of adult loon mortality, with ingested lead fishing sinkers and jigs being one of the primary factors. Drive-by boat hits and lawn fertilizers that pollute the lakes are also contributing factors to loon deaths.

Ironically, much of the fishing tackle that is widely used today contains lead which, when ingested by wildlife, causes nerve damage that atrophies neck muscles causing loons and other water fowl to drown. By all appearances, that is probably what happened to the loon we found.

According to the Minnesota Office of Environmental Assistance, eagles are also at risk from lead poisoning due to the ingestion of lead shot found in big game and also by lead fishing tackle exposure. The Raptor Center a the University of Minnesota, which has monitored injured bald eagles for lead contamination since 1980, reports that 23 percent of the injured eagles brought in suffer from lead poisoning.

I shuddered to think that the lead in the loon I found could also kill those three magnificent eagles, a quadruple wildlife homicide so to speak.

So what can we do to help? It may be too late this summer, but we can get a jump-start on next.

The No. 1 priority, of course, is to replace lead tackle with a variety of alternatives such as tin, stainless steel, or bismuth. A close second is to educate family, friends and especially children to the dangers of lead tackle to wildlife so that they might learn early on about responsible fishing.

Other protective measures include staying 200 feet away from loons and their nest sites, avoiding lawn fertilizers which contaminate lakes, and preserving native vegetation along shorelines so that loons can build their nests. Further educational information is available from loonwatch@northland.edu.

So had the eagles been there to feast or to stand as an honor guard in sacred salute? I like to think it was the latter.

In a kindred spirit of gratitude, I rested my paddle on my kayak's bow and paused to give thanks for the loon's life of beautiful music and to ask God to help us protect them so that their joyful voices might multiple like choirs of angels.

On eagles' wings I sent my prayer.