John Picken photo
It’s that time of impending fall when young loons, not yet mated for life, gather in adolescent gangs around Maine’s lakes and ponds. During the day they practice take-offs with flailing wings and loud inexpert splashing. Some day, they will surprise themselves and actually lift off the rapidly chilling water, embracing their ancient migratory urges. At night their calls to absent parents and the lake’s night time sky are so loud they wake us even when dawn is a hint of gray. Read more . . .