Trail Time – Glittery Loon Poo
It’s been great weather for ducks, loons and frogs and I bless every rainy day that helps keep the Gunflint Trail area out of wildfire danger. It’s worth noting that 80% of wildfires are started by humans. Lighting causes most of the rest. So humans being careful about fires and being extra diligent about putting them all the way out helps the forest more than anything else.
It hasn’t been all rain; there’ been some beautiful sunshine too. You know the old saying: If you don’t like the weather, jut wait five minutes. That is certainly been the case this last week. It was a gray damp morning yesterday; chilly at 47 degrees. By early evening it was sunny and gorgeous and the lake was calling to me for swimming or canoeing. But the puffy white clouds scudding across the blue dome above me called louder so I sat and stared at the sky for a while before dusk — and the mosquitoes — chased me inside.
I wonder if this weather — either the earlier drought or the cool temps, or a combination — is the cause of the leaves of some trees changing color earlier than usual. I’ve seen both moose maple and pin cherry showing early fall colors. While we chill out up here, other places in Minnesota and around the country are experiencing the hottest weather ever recorded.
It’s warm enough for the food-making of the forest to continue: hazelnuts are forming, though the harvest looks smaller than normal. Blueberries are plentiful this year — if you know where to look. Juneberries — or Saskatoons, or Serviceberries — are big and juicy and everywhere. I know I should pick some to make a pie but I just stand there under the tree and gobble them before continuing my walk. Bears regularly break the branches of Juneberry and Chokecherry trees, bending them down until they snap so the berries are more easily reachable. The raspberries are ripe now too. My dog Ursa loves to go raspberry picking with me. She won’t take them out of your hand, preferring to pick her own, nuzzling into the bushes snout first, picking the berries delicately with her lips and happily chomping away.
Before I had a dog with me all the time, in the early years, I saw bears on the other side of the raspberry bushes. Makes sense. We predators are competitors, after all. When I would see a bear in the berry patch, I would make loud noises and move away. Usually black bears back off but once I tried to convince a bear grazing on long grass to move elsewhere and it stood on its hind legs. It was on a little hill in my backyard, so it looked especially large stretched out to full height. It didn’t charge me or act aggressively. It just seemed to me that it just wanted a better look at this noisy hairless creature (me). I finally banged two tin plates together, chanting “Bears should go elsewhere! Bears should go elsewhere!” It finally took the hint and skedaddled. Now, understand that I love bears. The reason I scare them away is because I want them to be afraid of humans. If they were not, if I encouraged them to hang around houses and people, they can so easily become nuisance bears. Nuisance bears get destroyed (killed) to protect people, pets and property. I scare bears away so they can live.
It’s not all berry-picking around here. There’s also fishing and canoeing and swimming! I like motor boats too, but one of the reasons I love canoeing is the quiet. Last week Lars and I went on a beaver lodge recon across the lake, paddling into the wind. We floated around a particular tiny island where a loon had been reported as nesting, but saw no signs of a nest. Further down the lake, we watched a pair of loons fish and dive around us, but with no baby in sight. One of my very favorite things is when a loon swims under the canoe. They are such beautiful strong creatures: those red eyes, that gorgeous black and white back, that powerful neck and long ebony beak. They are just so themselves.
Once we watched a loon float in the same spot for a strangely long time. Lars and I paddled our canoe nearer — not too close; we didn’t want to harass it — to see if it was tangled in fishing line. I figured I could call a ranger for help if that was the issue. But, nope, as we approached the loon, there was a mini explosion in the water underneath. Fish scales sparkled as they sunk in the water. Basically, the loon had vented some magical glitter poop after enjoying a large meal of fish. After relieving itself, the loon then swam off unhurriedly to see about some loon business elsewhere, while the sparkling fish scales fell slowly into the dark water below.
— Marcia Roepke
