Lighthouses and Loons

The transpiring of Father's and Mother's Day leaves me contemplating none other than my father and my mother. I am incredibly lucky that I have two amazing parents. I grew up in a house where I felt loved and appreciated, and I was taught things; I would say that thanks to my parents I came out to be an entirely decent human being. 

As is, I believe, typical, my parents instilled in me a love for certain things. The things they appreciate, I also learned to appreciate. This isn't to say that I haven't become my own person with my own passions; I certainly have. However, there are things that I love which are direct descendants of the loves of my parents. 

From my father, lighthouses; from my mother, loons. 

Let's begin with lighthouses. 

Portland Head Light, Cape Elizabeth, ME

At first glance, lighthouses seem to be virtually extinct. GPS and satellite navigation have provided the mariner with a much richer base of sensory input while navigating in adverse conditions. Although some lighthouses have gone dark with the widespread implementation of the aforementioned technologies, most are in fact still shining. While most ships and boats do have GPS and other technology with capabilities which seem to far exceed what amounts to basically a candle on a tall stick, those other technologies are also run by computers. And computers are the most reliable invention humans have ever created. Wait, that's not right. Oh, yeah. Computers break a lot. So, when you're out to sea and your navigation equipment shit's the bed, you can rely on a big candle on a stick to safely guide you into the harbor. Even when the navigation equipment is working properly, lighthouses are used as a sort of backup, to verify you actually are where the computer says you should be. 

Lighthouses have had a long history. The first was built in 285 B.C. in Egypt. Before the addition of computers to seafaring vessels, and, for that matter, to lighthouses themselves, they required tending by actual human beings. Lighthouses by their nature are placed in somewhat nefarious locales, and are required to work precisely when the weather turns and the going gets tough. For a time, lightships, floating lighthouses, were assigned to keep station in places where it was too expensive or dangerous to build an actual lighthouse. These have now been replaced by buoys that accomplish the same task with lower cost, and no endangerment of human lives. The stoic nature of lighthouse life has left an imprint on the minds of many romantics. I fear the image of a lighthouse keeper is far more interesting than the actual reality of being one. However, there is still something about these structures that draws me in. 

Perhaps it is the metaphor; a guiding light, ever present, no matter the conditions, that may always be relied upon. It's Kipling's If. The lighthouse is an unobtainable goal. A human could never be as resilient as stone, and so it's an ideal to endlessly aspire towards. Perhaps it is the introvert in me that thinks there would be nothing greater than to be with my partner alone in some rugged seaside (or lakeside) location tasked with keeping a giant candlestick lit at all times. I'll admit it: I'm one of those romantics. 

The one thing that is certain is that this love affair with lighthouses was instigated by my father, who brought us to visit them on the carolina coast when I was young. I have been to the tallest lighthouse in the United States, the Cape Hatteras light in North Carolina. I now happen to live near the first lighthouse to be completed under the guidance of the United States government, Portland Head Light in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. As it happens, my partner's family were the longest running lighthouse keepers at Portland Head Light. Their names can be seen on a plaque attached to the wall of the building that lists every lighthouse keeper and the dates they served. Odds are, if we're driving along and have a few minutes to spare, if we see a sign for an old lighthouse, we are more likely to stop than to pass it by. 

Let's talk about loons. 

Two Loons on Arrowhead Lake in Limerick, ME

If you've never laid eyes on a loon, I pity you. If you've never heard their haunting calls echo across the lake as you lie in your sleeping bag looking up at the stars, it's truly your loss. Loons are some of the most mysterious, enchanting, mesmerizing creatures that grace the surface of the earth. 

They are, in actuality, water fowl. You can see them peacefully floating on a north woods lake early in the morning, late in the evening, or really, at any time of day. Their tuxedoed bodies are unmistakable. If you have the chance to safely approach one, their red eyes are as ominous as they are beautiful. 

They dive down below the surface of the bodies of water they inhabit to catch and eat fish. They in fact have solid bones, unlike most birds, which allows them to be more adept at diving and maneuvering underwater. As a result, when they do fly, they require a runway almost as long as an actual airplane (any where from 30 yards to a quarter of a mile.)

Loons have a wide range, covering most of Canada during their breeding time, and most of the United States during their migration. They are known to travel over 600 miles in a day, and over 800 miles over two days. 

At first, loons seem to be enigmatic, although, I think this is largely due to their haunting calls and red eyes. Adult birds do have some natural predators, and are legally hunted for sustenance by the Inuit tribe, however in general the population thrives and is of low conservational concern. If you've ever paddled a lake in the northern US, you have probably seen a loon; any creature so easily spotted must be present in some number. This is not to say that we should start hunting loons or any other ridiculous thing, rather, it is to say that their secrets may be surmised if one simply has the patience and presence to be aware around them. 

This is precisely what The Loon Project is about; a group of scientists and volunteers that are studying common loons in Northern Wisconsin. This group has learned much about the species, such as the fact that male loons select the nest site, loons are monogamous, but do not mate for life, and that male territorial battles are fatal roughly a third of the time. (Female disputes, interestingly enough, are much more civil and rarely end in death.) 

I have to admit I did not know many actual facts about loons prior to writing this. I had a love for the birds instilled in me by my mother, who would always point them out on family paddling adventures. When I was old enough to paddle a canoe by myself, my parents would get up early (as parents do) put the coffee on, and set out on an early morning paddle over the glass water. I would wake up only slightly later, pour myself a cup of steaming, black heaven, and take the second canoe out from our campsite to join them. We would sit out on the water drinking our coffee and watching the loons bob on the water before diving down to find their breakfast. 

While they are possibly not as idillic as lighthouses, I will always point one out when I'm on the water, and I will always take pause and listen to their haunting calls echo over the lake at night. 

So these are my two loves, handed down from my parents. I've learned other things from them as well, like how to drink black coffee, how to paddle a canoe, how to generally not be an asshole...the list goes on. These two things though, lighthouses and loons, are by far the most iconic. 

For now, all I have to say is thanks Dad, and thanks Mom. To you, my intrepid reader, go find yourself a lighthouse to look at, and possibly climb up if the mood strikes you and it's not going to break any laws, and then get in your canoe and paddle out to a secluded lake to look upon some loons. I promise, you won't regret it.