After growing up (at least in the summers) on a small lake in NH, I finally got to dive into my master's thesis work on loon behavior and interactions with humans during the 2014 breeding season.  I learned a lot about loons and local lakes from loon-watchers, and I observed many, new-to-me loon behaviors.  It was impressive to watch a fiercely protective loon "penguin dance" across the water, with loud tremolos - in one case a Canada goose was the hapless victim of this aggressive display.  It was equally impressive to watch a gently protective loon cooing to its day-old chick, encouraging it to climb up on "moms" back for a lift.   

Photo courtesy of Kittie Wilson.

For my thesis work, I am interested in how human lake use impacts these behaviors.  Do such activities stress loons?  Do motorized water craft stress loons more than non-motorized water craft?  Is there a correlation between such human activity and lower loon reproductive success?   In June, as the nesting season got into full swing, I spent time observing nesting loons, and then adults with chicks, both at a safe distance that did not stress the birds.  By July, the seven successful nests of my 15 monitoring territories became my primary focus.  On one lake, where motor boats are prohibited, a loon pair with chicks allowed kayakers to get within 30' or so, but the same pair got extremely upset when a sculler appeared.  One loon, in between tremolos, dove towards the sculler repeatedly in an effort to chase it off - and it succeeded!  On a different lake, loons with a chick swam off if kayakers got within 200'.  And on another lake where motorboats are prevalent, I watched a loon pair dive, leaving the chick on the surface, as a motor boat with water skier in tow approached.

Loon nest photo courtesy of Isabel Brintnall.

One nest I monitored was on a hummock about ½ mile or so from the adjacent lake and could only be accessed by a long channel through the middle of a marsh.  I had to negotiate three beaver dams - easy to deal with if the water was high, a little "dicier" if the water was low - and as I paddled down this channel I passed five beaver lodges, at least one of which had been commandeered by a muskrat family.  I returned to the nest site once the chick hatched and just as I arrived one adult loon, with a chick on its back, swam down the channel out of sight.  I paddled after them and as I rounded a corner, suddenly from behind a dense patch of highbush blueberry, a huge black bear lumbered out into the channel.  It was 25' in front of my kayak, splashing slowly through the water, plowing through the shrubs to get to the shore and the safety of the forest beyond.  I was very happy it chose to keep going without even looking at me.

As I write this, I am looking at several feet of snow outside my window, but I know the loons will be back soon enough.  I look forward to kayak trips this summer to follow-up on the loon pairs I watched so closely last year. 

* Isabel Brintnall is a graduate student in Environmental Studies at Antioch University New England.  She worked as an LPC field intern in 2014.