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By Eric Hanson, Loon Biologist
Editor’s note: On Dec. 26 Loon Biologist Eric Hanson, from the Vermont Center for Ecostudies, plus two others, rescued a loon trapped in ice on Berlin Pond. These are Hanson’s notes from the event.
On Dec. 15, John Jose, an avid birder from Montpelier, reported two loons in open water surrounded by ice on Berlin Pond. The next day, North Branch Nature Center program director Sean Beckett checked on the loons when one of them took flight. He was pretty sure it was a red-throated loon. Red-throated loons pass through the region occasionally on their way from Northern Quebec and Labrador to the Mid-Atlantic coast, where they overwinter.
The hole opened up on Dec. 17 and Dec. 18 with near 50-degree temperatures, and Jose reported the loon actively diving (and hopefully feeding). We hoped the remaining loon, likely a chick that hatched on the pond in mid-June, would figure out the migration thing. It did not.
The average loon chick will depart in late October or early November. Some leave their natal lake as early as late August or mid September, while others stay right up until ice formation like our Berlin Pond loon. Loons need a runway of open water for take off, the longer the better; without that, and without yet having migrated, this loon got stuck.
Phil Gentile, a volunteer with the Vermont Center for Ecostudies, heard the loon calling from his house. We discussed the need for safety on this newly formed and melting-refreezing ice, so everyone knew we might not be able to go out safely in the near future. By Christmas, I had not heard from anybody, so thought maybe the loon did not make it. Eagles frequent the area and have been known to make a meal of a loon.
Gentile contacted me on Dec. 26 saying the loon was still there and still diving, a “Christmas miracle.”
The colder temperatures over the weekend made the hole very small. Eloise Girard, a loon technician with the Vermont Center for Ecostudies, and I headed down that morning to check on ice thickness. The loon was nervous at our presence, diving constantly and surfacing for one or two seconds even when we were 300 feet away. Using an ice-climbing ice screw, I checked ice thickness; 4 to 5 inches to within 100 feet of the loon. The newer ice near the loon dropped to 3 inches thick, it still safe for us.
Gentile and Girard draped out a 125- foot gill net while I checked the ice. Girard and I took the net and slowly moved it over the hole, both us about 40 feet away. The loon dove and disappeared and we stopped and waited. Had our actions with the net caused the bird to go down and not find the hole again for air? It seemed like minutes but then we saw a flash of a head and then it was gone again. Whew. We let the loon surface several times before moving the net again. We both inched closer to the hole, flicking the net to create slack so it would drape into the hole. We had maybe three feet of net exposed underwater, but the loon kept popping up on either side of it.
This was our first use of a gill net for an ice capture. Biologists in New York, Maine, and New Hampshire have been using this method in recent years, which allows the rescuers to stay a safe distance from the hole. We waited and waited, but it did not look like it would work. I could see the net easily, which meant the loon could too.
Plan B: Girard went to retrieve the canoe, which we could push or pull out to the hole, with one of us in it with the 8-foot-handled salmon dip net. Or plan C and D, the presence of the boat might cause the loon to panic and hit the gill net or jump out of the hole. All possibilities. While Girard was gone, the loon stayed on the surface longer. Gentile and I held our breath as it swam close to the top of the net. It dove and surfaced on the other side. Then it did it again, but this time a wing or bill became snagged in the net. I quickly grabbed the end of the net and pulled the bird onto solid ice. Thirty feet of pulling later it was in my hands. Girard placed the bird into our travel box and off to Lake Champlain we went.
The release was pretty simple at the ECHO Center, where there is almost always open water. The bird wing-rowed out a bit, swam about, dove, and called out. Within a minute it was out in the bay diving and, soon, preening. Good luck bird
