A Tough Science Lesson: The Sudden Disappearance of Breeding Habitat Preference


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LMG_8014 Fall Molting Loon

Some months ago, I reported with excitement that loons that leave their first territory — usually because they are evicted from it by another loon — have a strong tendency to settle on a second territory with similar water clarity to the one they left. It was a striking finding and one that would have added a fascinating story to ecologists’ limited understanding of how animals choose where to settle once they reach adulthood. That pattern, which initially seemed a robust one, has turned out to be trivial.

Let me explain. When loons are forced to shift from one territory to another (or do so voluntarily), they typically settle on a second territory very close to their first one. Often they move to the lake next door or even settle on a different part of the same lake. What we thought we had found was that those “resettlers” carefully choose to settle on second lakes of similar clarity to their first lakes. But such a pattern is tricky to show conclusively. In order to do so, one has to determine how similar 2nd lakes would have been to 1st lakes if loons had settled at random and compare the actual pattern to random settlement.

The problem we ran into was spatial autocorrelation. Spatial autocorrelation simply means that within a large area, two points that are physically close to each other resemble each other more closely than two points that are farther apart. It turns out that lakes of similar clarity tend to be clustered. That is, if one lake is clear, then its neighboring lake is likely to be clear also. The same is true of murky lakes. So while we thought that loons were purposely choosing to settle on second lakes of similar water clarity to their first ones, they were merely settling on lakes near their first one which happened to be similar in clarity to their first because of proximity. In other words, we have no evidence that choice of lakes is non-random.

It took us a long time to discover the error. In fact, Mike Palmer and I had written up this finding and submitted it for publication before we realized — after running a new analysis requested by a reviewer — that spatial autocorrelation was solely responsible for our result.

Naturally, I am feeling a bit like the female on Muskellunge Lake, photographed recently by Linda Grenzer. A month or so ago, this bird and I were on top of the world — she because she and her mate had just fledged two chicks (a bumper crop for loons) and was in her showy black and white formal attire; I because I had an exciting finding that I could not wait to share with colleagues. Now the luster of the recent past is gone. The female’s chicks have dispersed to fend for themselves, she has lost her gaudy summer plumage, and she is about to resume survival mode during migration and winter. I have lost my thrilling discovery and will have to pick myself up, dust myself off, and attack some other scientific question.

Luckily, the Loon Project supplies an endless string of questions. One that tantalizes me at the moment: do chicks that fledge and leave their natal lakes to forage on other lakes nearby favor those that resemble their natal lakes? Such a result, if it occurs, would dovetail nicely with our finding that the first lake a loon ever settles on as an adult (at 4-7 years of age) tends to be strongly natal-like in size and pH. This result (he adds quickly) is not confounded by spatial autocorrelation, because first lakes tend to be far from natal lakes. At any rate, I shall let you know what I find.

A Rough Week for “Fledged” Chicks


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When loon biologists measure reproduction, they often count chicks older than five or six weeks of age as having fledged. This is reasonable. Even though loon chicks remain dependent upon their parents for 11 weeks or more, almost all chick mortality occurs in the first few weeks of life. If a chick makes it to five weeks, it is almost certain to make it to adulthood.

Not so during this past week. As the unpleasant photo by Dan Pagel shows, one of the the Blue-Southeast chicks died quite violently several days ago after a sudden attack by an adult. Based on the photo and the swiftness of the death, we suspect that severe heart or liver damage caused the death. Since Dan was a few hundred meters away when the murdered Blue-SE chick IMG_3960vicious attack occurred, he was unable to identify the perpetrator. Regardless of what loon committed this act, it comes as a shock. The departed chick was over twelve weeks of age, healthy, and off by itself feeding when it fell victim to the brutal assault. Twelve weeks is much older — I believe as much as eight weeks older — than we had ever observed a chick to be killed by a foreign adult. In light of the tempestuous territorial scene at Blue-Southeast recently, it is tempting to view this chick as a casualty of the conflict that caused its father to lose his territory. Certainly, the new, unmarked male that had taken over on Blue-Southeast and had already been observed to peck the chicks in his first weeks of ownership is a suspect. A second possibility is that the chick carelessly strayed into the west territory on Blue Lake and was attacked by a member of the West pair for territorial reasons. But territory defense is scant and subdued at this time of year, so that explanation is problematic.

I was still coming to grips with the events at Blue Lake a few days ago when I received a second piece of news, equally discouraging. One of the chicks at Buck Lake, near Rhinelander, had died. The cause of death in this case is less clear; the chick’s leg became injured a few weeks ago — a lake resident reported that a snapping turtle latched onto it! — and the chick was not able to move about effectively afterwards. Like the Blue chick, the Buck chick was far past fledging age, having reached 11 weeks.

What can we conclude from the co-occurrence of two deaths in very large and healthy chicks? I think these two unfortunate events simply remind us that, while chicks that have reached near-adult size are far more likely than 2-3 week old chicks to survive to adulthood, they are still young animals. As we have reported in a scientific paper, loons suffer a higher rate of mortality during their early years. Adult loons have had years to hone their ability to feed themselves and cope with environmental hazards, including conspecific attacks; youngsters are still getting it down.

From the Ridiculous to the Sublime – The Season at Crystal Lake


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LMG_7851 Walter n Sammy

The season began inauspiciously at Crystal Lake in Lincoln County, which is along the southwestern fringe of our study area. Though it is a pleasant, rather clear lake, Crystal offers no nesting habitat for loons. Loons love most of all to place their nests on islands but also make use of boggy or marshy areas, which seem to provide safe havens from egg predators like raccoons and skunks. Crystal offers none of these options, as its shoreline comprises upland habitat and is thus easy for a hungry mammal to patrol. In fact, Crystal is such an inhospitable place for loons to breed that loon eggs vanish from its shoreline almost as soon as they are laid.

So I had mixed feelings to see a six year-old male hatched on nearby Muskellunge Lake settle to breed on Crystal in 2012. On the one hand, I was pleased that the young bird had found a territory after wandering around the local neighborhood of lakes for the three previous years. On the other hand, a settler on Crystal seemed doomed to reproductive failure. But the male and his parade of mates (three females in five years) persisted in their breeding efforts. As I reported earlier this summer, the male and his new mate in 2015 (she still licking her wounds from a recent eviction from neighboring Deer Lake) took a new approach to nesting in 2015 by choosing to place a nest on a swim raft off of a resident’s dock.

LMG_6672 dad n chick on raft

Once the egg had been protected from rolling off of the raft with a ring of rubber cut from an old tire and some natural nesting vegetation (thanks to quick thinking and skillful craftsmanship from Linda and Kevin Grenzer), things began looking up for the breeding pair. Although it was a bear for the male and female to clamber up onto the swim raft to incubate the egg, the setup seemed little different from the artificial nesting platforms that many lake residents place on the lake each year for their nesting pair to use. Given the virtually impregnable location, the probability of hatching a chick had gone from almost zero to near one.

As expected, the chick hatched successfully, and though it had trouble maneuvering around the rubber-reinforced nest (as Linda’s photo shows, above), it left the nest with its parents within a few days. Only when Linda reported that Crystal was experiencing a burst of territorial intruders — one of whom, by chance, was the mother of the Crystal male and hence the grandmother of the chick — did she and I become panicked. Intruders pose a grave hazard to small chicks. Would the pair that had so miraculously pulled off a hatch turn around and lose the chick to an infanticidal visitor? The threat was not trivial. As Linda’s remarkable and chilling photo shows, the Crystal parents broke a very basic rule of loon parenting: never permit intruders near your chick when it is less than 2 weeks old.

LMG_6709 Two intruders approach parent n chick2

Yet the chick survived this brush with death. Nourished by a healthy supply of fish from the lake, the chick grew so rapidly that we were able to band it at three weeks of age, much younger than is usually possible for loon chicks. It has continued to flourish since capture. Now, at roughly 8 weeks of age, it looks like a 10-week-old, as the opening photo attests.

I have a tendency to dwell on disasters. Confronted with a large set of events — some positive, some negative — the latter seem to stick with me longer, leaving me with a sense that things are not going well at present and might not go well in the future. Yet at the end of a season when many breeding loons flirted with disaster — and one died — the story of the plucky Crystal chick stands as an odd and memorable exception.

Our Thirteen Oldest Loons


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Screen Shot 2015-08-20 at 1.20.25 PM

Recently, Eric, a second-year team member who is experienced at reading colored leg bands, ran across our oldest loon. This male, evicted in 2007 from Little Bearskin Lake, has been cooling his heels in Bearskin Lake since his displacement and shows no indication of regaining a territory. “Blue over Silver, Yellow only” produced 14 fledglings during his breeding career, 7 of which also bred in the study area. That level of chick production places him among an elite few in our study population.

Blue over Silver, Yellow only’s age sets him apart from all others. He is at least 28 years old, because he was banded as an adult breeder, which means he was at least 4 in 1991. He may be in his 30s. But a number of other loons that we have marked during the study approach this male in age — and three exceed him in productivity. The female on Upper Kaubashine (“Silver over Yellow, Red over Green”), for example, is 27 years old at a minimum. (Females first breed at no younger than 5 years of age, so her estimated minimum age is one year older than if she were a male.) She can boast having bred with four different partners on four different lakes, spanning two counties. The 25+ year-old Townline male, “Silver over Red, Orange over Green”, is unrivaled in terms of stick-to-itiveness, as he has held the Townline territory since at least 1994 — and still owns it. He has reared 16 chicks to fledging during his tenure, if we throw in the two from this year. Only two loons have raised more young: the current Oneida-West female (19 fledglings and counting on Oneida-East and Oneida-West) and the former Hancock male (17 fledglings from 1993 to 2009).

Although it is fun to gawk at the age and breeding success of certain star individuals, my quick analysis of the study’s oldest loons reinforces another point that I have made before — and one with substantial scientific importance: females are the ones that generally live to a ripe old age in loons. The reason(s) for this gender disparity are becoming clear. Males seem doomed to die young because of their participation in dangerous battles, and perhaps also their unfortunate proclivity for attacking fishing lures and baits. Inspection of the table above certainly makes one wonder whether males should rethink their high-risk approach to both territory acquisition and foraging. Then again, maybe there are compensating benefits that offset the costs.

Blue Recovery



If you are following the events on Blue-Southeast, you will recall that the male there, who was caring for two large, healthy, 5-week-old chicks, was evicted and seriously injured by an unbanded male, who drove him off and seized territorial control. The new male was an indifferent stepfather, initially pecking at his stepchicks and then simply ignoring them. Meanwhile, the displaced father licked his wounds on the west side of the lake and waited for the situation to improve. Things did get better; after a few weeks of limited interaction with the female, who was preoccupied with rearing her two voracious youngsters, the new male drifted away, permitting the displaced male, who quickly regained his health, to resume parenting and rejoin his mate.

While I am delighted to see the old, evicted male pick himself up, dust himself off, and recover his position, the behavior of the usurping male on Blue-Southeast presents a puzzle. Why would an outside male hurl himself into a violent, dangerous battle, win a new and productive territory, and then relinquish it shortly afterwards without a fight? We do not understand such behavior well. However, it is possible that a young male that is physically superior to a another male with a territory can battle and defeat that male without great danger, settle and live within the territory for a time, and then decide that the breeding space does not suit his needs. I think that the preferences of loons for natal-like lakes and, later, lakes of certain clarity, might hold the key to understanding this curious behavior.

We will keep collecting data in an effort to understand why loons fight fiercely for territories and then sometimes give them back to owners. Meanwhile enjoy this video of the Blue-Southeast female enduring relentless begging by one of her chicks as she forages for it.

Why Fishing Entanglements Might Hurt Loons More than We Think


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Two days ago we learned that the male on Hilts Lake and the female on the East Central territory on Nokomis Lake have become the latest angling casualties in our study area. The Hilts male swallowed a lure or bait and is dragging line from his bill; the Nokomis-East Central female has line wrapped around her left leg, which she now carried behind her. We are dismayed for the two loons involved, of course. The male on Hilts is among our tamest; since 2007, he and his mate have permitted us to approach them closely without alarm so that we can record an hour of their lives every week or so during the breeding season. Each of us looks forward to visits to Hilts because of the relaxed pair we encounter there. The Nokomis-East Central female too permits us to view her and her mate and young from close by. She contrasts markedly with her mate, who forces us to view from a distance of 50 meters or so to avoid getting an earful of alarm calls. When we spy a lone adult and chick from a distance on Nokomis-East Central, we keep fingers crossed that it is the docile, approachable female, not the male, who happens to be guarding and feeding the chick. (Good news: Seth reports that the Nokomis-EC female leg appeared to be dragging no fishing line yesterday, so perhaps she is out of danger.)

The list of loons ensnared in fishing tackle is longer each year. Observations and reports of this kind have become an unrelenting and disheartening drumbeat. In the early 2000s, close encounters between loons and fishing tackle were anomalies that I wondered about almost dispassionately. Each angling casualty brought sadness and frustration, of course, since one becomes attached to the loons. But such events were so uncommon that I shrugged the losses off as the inevitable consequence of habitat overlap between loons and humans. The steady increase in entanglements in recent years has sensitized me. These days I brace myself for the several – perhaps I should change that to “many” – that will occur during the season and wonder how we can assemble a team to rescue victims without compromising the behavioral and ecological goals of the research. In fact, I have begun to prod Project LoonWatch in hopes of encouraging them to put together a loon rescue squad – a group of 3-5 folks that can remain “on-call” during summers to assist birds injured by human activity.

And I have begun to worry about the loon population. Loons are clearly getting caught on fishing lines more often than before. This makes sense, as fishing activity continues to increase in northern Wisconsin. (It might also be the case that the proportion of inexperienced anglers – those likely to lose lures and fishing line in the water and not make efforts to retrieve and discard tackle that they lose – has increased.) Loons did not evolve in an environment with monofilament line, live bait and lures that mimic small aquatic creatures. Hence, they have developed no system for avoiding these hazards. If the number of loons swallowing and blundering into fishing tackle continues to increase, will so many adults die that the population cannot sustain itself?

A quirk of fishing entanglements makes the situation a bit more severe than it might first appear. As the cases of the Hilts male and Nokomis female illustrate, males and female loons are differentially affected by fishing. For reasons that we do not understand, males appear much more likely than females to ingest lures and baits, as the Hilts male did. We do not understand this difference, although one might speculate that males, having larger bodies to sustain, are less picky in chasing and consuming underwater creatures than are females. In any event, both sexes seem to be equally prone to getting monofilament wrapped around their wings or legs, but males are more threatened by lead-based tackle (sinkers and jigs) — which poisons them and kills them quickly – and by hooks that damage their throats and prevent them from opening their bills and feeding themselves. In short, males are more apt than females to fall victim to fishing tackle and in a way that is likely to kill them.

Why should we care if adult male loons are more vulnerable to anglers? Because, weirdly, males choose the nest site where eggs are to be laid and cleverly reuse nestsites where they have hatched eggs successfully in years past. So males are a reservoir of information about how breeding pairs can best use the nesting habitat within their territories to produce young. When an established, experienced male from a productive territory is replaced by new male (because of death or eviction), the new male does not know where to place the nest and must learn by trial and error. In constrast, when a female is replaced, efficient reproduction can continue uninterrupted, because the identity of the female has no impact on nest placement.

Thus, I grieve for the Hilts male not only because he is a sweet bird who permits us to watch him without complaint but because his demise will cause a new, ignorant male to settle, who must blunder from one failed nestsite to another before he discovers a good one that he will use year after year. And his years of inept breeding will subtract many offspring from the population.

Not Out of the Woods, but…..


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image1Chris checked in on the Flannery-Velvet chick today. The chick, whom lake residents call “Houdini” because of his ability to escape certain death, continues to inhabit this odd world where it is necessary to hide under piers and avoid adults — rather than fraternize with two parents who feed him to satiation. When his mom is not bonding with a new male up on Flannery so that she can prepare herself for future breeding attempts, she spends time with him down on Velvet. Today Houdini begged from his mom repeatedly, but he also foraged for himself during a considerable period.

The photo above, generously supplied by Hugh Jones who lives on Velvet, is notable for two features. First, it shows a chick that is in full adult-like feather. That is, it has outgrown its chicklike, downy plumage and assumed adult attire. This fact, of course, is comforting, as it shows that the chick is getting the nutrients it requires to mature and prep itself for independence and migration to the wintering ground. Second, however, the chick continues its retiring ways. It has learned to avoid adults, because of the occasional beatings it had received from its stepdad. So it seeks protection, using whatever piers and pontoon boats will give it cover.

We have never witnessed a situation like this one. In all other cases, chicks that lost their fathers were either: 1) several weeks old and recipients of abundant feedings from their mothers, or 2) summarily ignored by their stepfathers and permitted to grow and mature without interference. Since we are in uncharted waters, we can only be cautiously optimistic. All we can say is that Houdini — whom LP personnel know attactionately as “white over white, pink over silver”, from his leg bands — continues to pass developmental milestones despite daunting obstacles.

A Mother, a Son and Ten Years


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“Wow”, Lainey said, “that band number is right next to the female we caught last night on Sherry”. She was right; the adult male from Skunk, which we had just netted and whose band number I was reading aloud to Lainey for data entry during banding, had a number imprinted on his aluminum USGS band that followed immediately after that of the Sherry female from the previous night. The reason for consecutive bands is that the Sherry female is the mother of the Skunk male and was caught and banded with him a decade ago (less two days) on Sherry Lake. I remember July 31st, 2005 on Sherry vividly, because I was equipped with a video recorder on top of a helmet with which we recorded the capture process for research presentations. But the recapture of mother and son on back to back nights ten years after we had first marked them has also caused me to reflect upon several key features of loon biology that have become familiar to me through my work.

First, loons live a long time. In this twenty-third year of my work, I still encounter birds in the study area that were on territory, as adults, when I first started covering them. Females, in particular, are survivors. While males have rather high mortality –partly owing to their proclivity for battling dangerously — females linger. When their mate dies, females find another; when a female is evicted unceremoniously from her territory, she stoically moves to a new lake nearby and awaits a chance to re-insert herself back into the breeding population. So it goes with the Sherry female whose worn-out band from 2005 is pictured on the bottom in the photo. She was “widowed” suddenly in 2009 (a possible eagle kill) but hung onto her territory and was joined by a new male in short order, who has been her mate since.

Second, young males do not disperse far from their natal lakes to breed. The Skunk male, from whom we removed the top band in the photo last night, moved about 15 miles from his natal haunt, Sherry. That dispersal is, actually, a bit longer than average for males, many of whom settle to breed on a lake adjacent to where they hatched years earlier. Short-distance male dispersal is essential to my work; without it, I would not have a large marked cohort of 2 to 5 year-olds of known age and natal origin in the study area at all times whose territory settlement strategies could be investigated. (At last count, we had seen 295 adult loons in the study area that were marked originally as chicks.)

Third, loons vary tremendously in their behavior towards humans. My assistants and I dread the Sherry female, because she is the most skittish individual we know. She cannot be approached easily within 100 meters on the water; she tremolos (i.e. alarm calls) incessantly when a chick is present and a canoe appears on the water. In fact, my assistants tell me that she begins to tremolo in anticipation of a canoe being placed on the water and that they have begun a strategy of hiding behind bushes and trees along the shoreline in order to make observations of her when she is with the chick. (Fortunately, Sherry Lake is tiny, so this observation strategy is workable.) I joked that we should wear camouflaged clothing when visiting Sherry; my assistants did not find this funny. Oddly, the Sherry female’s mate is among the tamest loons we study and never tremolos at us when we collect data there.

The great variety in loon tameness is a topic of great interest to us, as I have mentioned. It amazes me that an adult such as the Sherry female could react so strongly (and, it would seem, maladaptively) to humans, which she encounters constantly. Doesn’t she waste energy with her fruitless calls? Shouldn’t skittish birds like her leave fewer offspring and live shorter lives than other adults who tolerate humans without constant complaint? If so, she is not a good example of the pattern, as she has behaved this way for the ten years we have known her while cranking out chicks. Indeed, the Sherry female and the Oneida-East male, another vociferous but fecund individual with whom my staff has to cope, make me wonder if I have got it backwards. Maybe loud-mouthed loons warn humans away, lessening the likelihood of injury to themselves and their brood, and are rewarded with high evolutionary fitness.

Double Trouble on Alva: Male and Female Both Entangled in Fishing Line


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2015-07-27 22.02.28

It is human to overgeneralize based on the chance co-occurrence of rare events.  As a scientist, I know this. I spend a good deal of my research time sorting through quantitative patterns in data, fending off the tendency to infer a meaningful biological pattern where only chance trends are present.

And yet, the events at Alva Lake last night shocked me. The Toussaints, dear friends who live on the lake and kept me alive during my first year of loon research in 1993, had informed me before my team attempted capture of the breeding pair and their month-old chick that the male had been holding his leg strangely, as if injured. My crew had reported no abnormal behavior of the pair; indeed, I had seen only normal territorial and parental behavior when I had scouted the lake for capture at noon. Still, the Toussaints are careful observers of loons, so their statement gave me concern. I told them as we cast off from the dock that we would try harder than usual to catch the male, just in case.

Capture was swift and uneventful. Both pair members sat protectively on the lake’s surface as we approached slowly and scooped them into our net. After catching the chick as well, we headed back to the dock feeling good about ourselves. Not until we inspected the female’s legs on shore did we detect anything amiss. As the photo shows, the female’s left leg was encircled tightly just above the foot by Dacron fishing line (used commonly in Wisconsin for muskie fishing), and a 5cm-long thick snarl dragged behind. The line had become tight enough to bite into the leg and cause a painful wound. Taking great care not to worsen the wound, we cut through the super-strong line and removed it. Fortunately, the entanglement appears to be recent, the wound superficial. The female should recover fully within a week.

Surrounded by three generations of Toussaints and still jittery from seeing the female’s leg, we were ill-prepared for the sight of another, more severe injury on the male. In this case, monofilament line had become wrapped around the leg just below the ankle joint. Again the line was constricted tightly around the leg, but this entanglement had occurred many months ago and the skin and keratinized scales of the loon’s legs had overgrown and surrounded the monofilament strands, leaving the circle of line protruding to the outside via two holes in the skin, like an earring. Though absorbed and surrounded by leg tissue, the line had caused local inflammation, as revealed by the irregular swelling in the adjacent portion of the leg. After an emergency consult with Mark Naniot of Wild Instincts, we resolved to pull out the line if we could do so without doing further harm to the bird. Fortunately, once cut, the line slid easily out of the holes, revealing infection but an injury from which the bird should recover.

Shaken as I am by seeing back to back angling-related wounds, I chalk up the discovery of two such similar injuries within a mated pair mostly to chance. That is, there is no reason to suppose a sudden, devastating impact of fishing line on the health of common loons. After all, we have captured dozens of other loons this summer that showed no ill effects from having lived in waters plied constantly by all manner of fishing lines, lures, baits, bobbers, and sinkers and riddled with tangles of line left behind by grouchy anglers. All but a few loons we have seen have thrived for many years in Wisconsin waters, despite this piscatory onslaught.

So what can we learn from the events of last night on Alva Lake? Two lessons, I think. First, loons are tough. Designed for maximum strength and minimum thickness, fishing lines bite deeply into animal tissue when forced against it. The Alva pair, no doubt, experienced severe discomfort and some loss of circulation. Yet they completed two months of incubation, chick-rearing, and territorial defense and stand to survive their brushes with fishing line without permanent damage. Second, angling exacts a steady toll on loons and other wildlife. Loon populations are stable or perhaps even increasing slightly in northern Wisconsin. It is becoming obvious, though, that sustaining loon populations in areas where anglers are more abundant every year will require concerted efforts of those who love loons.

A Young Male Seeks to Improve His Lot; An Abusive Stepfather


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We are riveted on the happenings on Flannery/Velvet Lakes. On these two lakes –united through a narrow channel so as to be a single waterbody — a tense scene is playing out with elements of a Shakespearean tragedy. A 13 year-old male, hatched on Townline Lake and a frequent intruder into various lakes in and just west of  Rhinelander, is opportunistically seeking to replace the deceased Flannery male. If he succeeds, he would shift from a territory on the Wisconsin River, where he has failed to fledge chicks despite three years’ of nesting attempts, and settle on a new lake that just this year produced chicks, breaking its own eight-year skein of nesting futility. In other words, this would be a step up for the male.

This male’s effort to relocate to a more productive breeding site has taken a dark turn. While visiting Flannery and bonding with the widowed female there, the male encountered her young chicks. One of those chicks the male killed weeks ago by pecking it to death when it was quite small. The surviving chick too has suffered repeated beatings by the male to the point where the chick now spends much of the day hiding underneath piers on Velvet Lake to avoid the abuse. This grisly spectacle has had severe consequences, as the chick is only about 60% of expected body mass for its age. Clearly the physical beatings the chick has suffered, the presence of only one parent, and the inability of the female to feed her surviving offspring to satiation while defending him from intruders threaten his survival. It remains highly uncertain whether the chick will reach adulthood.

I had expected that the dreadful treatment of the Flannery/Velvet chick by an intruding male would make me feel a gut-level hatred of the intruder. Indeed, I was horrified by the fiasco unfolding there. But knowing that the male wreaking this havoc is an old friend of ours — one that I watched as a chick on Townline Lake back in 2002, a young floater on Langley, Julia and Hanson lakes, and finally a failed breeder on Wisconsin River — has complicated my perspective. I am rooting strongly for the chick to survive the vicious onslaught, start to forage for itself, and fledge. But I am also cheering a young male loon who is trying to turn his life around by moving into a new territory that offers the promise of abundant fatherhood.


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