Column: The majesty of a midsummer morning

Midsummer morning. First light comes at five. I wake just enough to see the clock. I notice there is no wind, no sound. With eyes closed, I see the lake. It will be calm, mirror-like. Then I hear the soft call of loons and go back to sleep.

Long before the sun rises, the gulls make a racket that wakes me. The loons chime in, giving their territorial call, a warning, a reaction to some threat.

They fiercely defend to the two balls of fluff that hatched just a week ago. Are the gulls threatening them? Or is the eagle gliding overhead?

The first sliver of sunlight slips above the northeast horizon around six. It reaches through my window, and I wake up again. This time I get out of bed, put on a warm robe and go outside.

Six months ago, and six months from now it will be dark for hours yet. And frigging cold. No chance of enjoying the early morning sitting outside in winter.

The lake is glassy. Songbirds are well into their morning concert. The forest is alive with their chatter. As the sun rises a bit higher, a little mist forms in the tiny bays. The water is a little warmer there, and the morning is cool. The mist doesn’t stay long. It’s summer, and the sun quickly heats the air.

Just one of the loons calls out now; oooOOOO, ooOO, oooOOOO, ooOO, oooOOOO, ooOO, oooOOOO, ooOO. “Where are youuuu, I am here - wondering where you are?” I think that’s what he’s saying.

Not long after, I hear (his mate?) calling back as she flies; whoowhoowhoo, whoowhoowhoo “Here I am, coming back now.”

The stillness of the lake is a welcome relief after five straight days of strong south winds. I relax with each breath. Calm lake, robin’s chirps, raven’s raw caw, chipping sparrow, and every now and then something disturbs the gulls and they rise from their small islands and raise an alarm. The family of loons drift quietly by.

Why are the loons so much admired, while the ravens and gulls are less so? I think it is their majesty. There is a simple beauty to their silhouettes; while they swim, when they call, as they fly swiftly overhead, and when they rise up on the water, spreading their wings.

Loons struggle so, just to nest. It is the only time in their lives they need to be on land. It’s a long month while incubating the eggs. As soon as the little ones break free of the shell, they are on the water.

Both parents are devoted, to carry them on their backs, to feed them, to protect them from gulls, eagles, turtles and big fish. And we all love to hear them call.

Viki Mather has been commenting for Northern Life on the natural world and life in Greater Sudbury since the spring of 1984.