Monday, October 15, 2007

Loonacy

My husband and I caught the last half of On Golden Pond when it was on TV recently. It's a problematic movie, very uneven in tone, switching as it does from deeply moving scenes that ring so true to some downright melodramatic, even unintentionally silly scenes. Even the title is all wrong. I know we're dealing with acting royalty here, but excuse me Mr. Fonda and Ms. Hepburn, that's no mere "pond" you're on, that's a full-fledged lake. And a huge mother of a lake at that!

But there's one thing this movie gets absolutely right: the loons! And Norman and Ethel's reverential love for them--that's absolutely true to life too.

When they arrive at the beginning of the summer to open up their cottage, and their ears perk up and they get those blissed-out looks on their faces at the sound of the first loon call of the season, well...that isn't sappy melodrama, that's reality! In fact, it's exactly how my husband and I react whenever we hear them calling. Call us loony if you will, but we stop whatever else we're doing, and just listen intently. If the kids are talking, we hush them and demand that they listen too, until the last strains die down and we know this particular loon moment has passed.

And calling it a "loon moment" isn't hyperbole either. When you're fortunate enough to be staying at a lake that's got a resident loon family floating and diving around in its waters, you feel as if you've been blessed, that nature has given you a rare gift. You fully appreciate that you're being graced by their presence.

And this is not just because they're fairly rare birds, who live within a very limited range in North America. It's also because they're such special birds. They look, sound and act like no other birds around.



Once you've heard the lonely, hauntingly beautiful wail of a loon late in the night on a Northwoods lake, or its crazy tremolo warbling as it flies across the sky at sunset, you never forget it. If you've never been lucky enough to hear one, this is what it sounds like:

http://www.birds.cornell.edu/AllAboutBirds/audio/Common_Loon.html

Loons have held an almost mystical attraction for me since I heard my first mournful but beautiful loon call as a child, while whiling away some idyllic summer days at relatives' cottages on Minnesota lakes. This was the "old days" of the '60s to early '70s, before cottages became "summer homes."

So I'm not talking about those palatial, fancy log homes with their second-floor lofts, prow fronts and huge banks of windows. No, these were honest-to-goodness, rickety old spider-web shrouded cottages. The kind with screen doors that squeaked when you opened them, and banged shut with a nice, satisfying slap when kids ran eagerly out the door after breakfast or dinner to explore in the woods, or fish from an old wooden pier, or skip stones on the lakeshore (looking for the perfect, nice flat rock in the crystal clear, shallow water along the shore was half the fun), or go for a swim out to the diving raft that was often anchored offshore. (Sometimes we made it home from our wanderings in the woods for lunch too; other times not.)

Now those were some happy, magical times, some of my best childhood memories. And the compelling call of the loon was the perfect soundtrack to accompany them.

It wasn't until I'd heard them for years, felt their unseen presence on many a Northwoods vacation, that I had my first actual sighting of one (or at least, the first one I remember). Finally it was my turn to wake before dawn and join my dad for an all-morning walleye-hunting expedition on his boat. We kids had to take turns, because there were 7 of us. Way too many to fit safely on his little rented motor boat at one time.

As we coasted along in the chill gray of dawn, a loon appeared ghostlike out of the thick mist that floated over the lake's surface. My dad pointed it out to me as we drifted silently by, not wanting to scare him.

To my untrained eye, it looked like a duck. But once you're familiar with those iridescent black/dark green heads, thick necks, long pointy beaks and red eyes that somehow don't look ugly or creepy (as you might think red eyes on anything would), and those black and white checkerboard feathers, you can never mistake a loon for anything else. They're magnificent birds!

And their calls...I can't quite express in words the primal hold they have on me. They're one of earth's oldest bird species, which might at least partially explain why their tremelos, hoots, and especially their signature wails, reach an ancient place deep within my heart and soul.

Heaven to me is two loons calling to each other on a full-moon summer night, their haunting cries echoing across a quiet lake aflame with silver ripples in the remote and wild Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

Yes, I know Yoko Ono would have a field day with this one, but I'm talking loons in June under a full moon. But somehow I think Paul McCartney--who Ms. Ono famously scoffed at for such simplistic rhyme schemes and his sometimes saccharine expressions of emotion--might understand the overpowering emotions that can get stirred up by the haunting call of the loon.

9 comments:

Jim said...

Great post! Years ago, I spent a week in the unspoiled wilderness of Isle Royale National park. One of the great memories was sitting by the lake at sunset, listening to those lovely loons out there. Your right...once you hear them, you never forget. Perhaps on of natures most evocative sounds.

Julie said...

Thanks infonistacrat! Will definitely put Isle Royale on my list of natural places to visit before I die.

"Evocative" is the right word for the sound of a loon calling all right! Right up there with falling rain, an owl hooting late at night, the most beautiful, soulful music, the laughter of a child you cherish, etc.

And as much as I love all those sounds I just mentioned, I'd still say the call of the loon surpasses 'em all! :)

aufderheide said...

yet another wonderful essay, how do you do it? Must be some fine brew of coffee you have!

When I was very young, my family used to rent one of those types of rustic, a little beat up cottages on Lake Superior. Those were good times, even if that lake was freezing cold even in summer.

"Norman, the loons!" (Well, that's how I remember that line, anyway.)

Chris said...

WOW! You really made the cabin come back to life, I love cabins and most of all I love loons, however I have never seen nor been able to hear one. Thank you for the beautiful pictures and sound link, I just love them!!!!

Julie said...

Thanks Kirsten! Glad to know you enjoyed it. And LOL about the coffee. Yep, as we were discussing relative to your great coffee post, there's just nothing like a good, brisk, unpretentious cup of diner-style joe to help a writer attain clarity. It's those flavored coffees that can lead to confusion and cognitive dissonance. Your taste buds are expecting coffee, but instead are hit with almond mocha swirl or raspberry hazelnut delight. :)

How lovely that you spent time on the shores of "Gichee Gumee" (sp?)as a kid. Absolutely beautiful beaches up there, or so I'm told. Though we camp quite often in the U.P., we still haven't made it all the way up there. It's still the Great Unknown to us. But we will soon. Everyone's got to see the world's largest body of fresh water at some time in their life, right? And you're so right about the cold. You get about two months of honest-to-goodness summer if you're lucky when you're that far north. But nothing like that clean, cool, refreshing air--nature's air conditioning. Whenever we're in the grip of one of those hot muggy spells here in the Chicago area, we can't wait to escape "up north."

You've been on a roll yourself. Some great stuff over at your blog. Been meaning to leave a comment on your post about currants, but I just started a new job, and my shift begins in about 15 minutes. Will stop by there again later.

Julie said...

Thank you Chris! So glad to know you enjoyed the photos and my loony post.

Also glad to be of service in helping you hear your first-ever loon call. :) Of course, you'd have to magnify the beauty of that recorded one by about 10,000 to get the full idea, you'd have to hear a real live loon call echoing across a remote Northwoods lake (preferably on a moonlit night to make the experience even more magical).

But at least it gives you an idea of the haunting beauty of that sound like no other.

Thanks for reading AND taking the time to comment. :)

Anonymous said...

Em qualquer momento da história, em qualquer país do mundo e em qualquer mundo do Universo, não existe nenhuma diferença nos erros cometidos pelos que têm sucesso e os que têm fracasso. Naturalmente, a imagem que fica dos vencedores é aquela do podium, mas é somente uma cena do filme da vida dos vitoriosos.

Peter said...

Thank you for sharing that and what fantastic photos. You should be working for National Geographic.

As for Australian birds, the Kookaburra laugh call can be found at this site. Thought I might share this one with you. Hope you like it.

http://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/npws.nsf/Content/The+laughing+kookaburra

Regards
Peter

Julie said...

Thanks so much for the link, Peter. Unfortunately, I see it didn't come through completely when I published your comment. So I've copied and pasted it below in its entirety.

For some reason I wasn't able to listen the first time I tried. Whenever I'd click on the link, Internet explorer would shut down and reopen.

Will definitely try again though. The only time I've ever heard a kookaburra "laugh" is in the slightly bizarre Russell Crowe movie "Heaven's Burning." (I'm a huge Russell Crowe fan, so I try to be a "completist." I think I've seen almost every movie he's ever been in...the good, the bad and the ugly. Well, he wasn't in THAT movie, of course. But I think you know what I mean.)

Anyway, I'll be glad when I can get the kookaburra link to work, as I'm sure I will.

By the way, though most of the photos I post in my blog are my own, I can't take credit for those beautiful photos that accompanied my "Loonacy" post. (Though I sure WISH I could take credit for such stunning nature images!)

But thanks for inadvertently reminding me of the importance of ALWAYS giving credit to the photographer, which is something I like to do whenever I can. Will go back to Google Images--where I found all those stunning loon photos--to check the names of the photographers and give them their proper due.

Anyway, here's the full link that Peter was kind enough to share with us.

http://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/npws.nsf/
Content/The+laughing+kookaburra

(For some reaon it kept breaking off after "Cont" for me when I tried to publish it, too. So I've split up the link on different lines. Be sure to copy and paste the entire link [with no spaces between any of it] in your browser window.)