Was it just a duck? I peered hard at the dark bird maybe fifty feet away from my kayak, hoping for something else. The black-and-white stripes, black head… yes, it was a loon! As close as I’d ever seen one. Then, a dive underwater. My son and I each paddled along, carefully scanning the lake for where it might emerge. Our search was complicated by a large, intervening motorboat with a roof. I can’t see, you big obnoxious boat! I thought. And you’ll scare it off! After some time, though, there it was, beside and slightly in front of the motorboat. But now the loon seemed to be going the opposite direction from us. So we turned around, as did the motorboat. (Really?) Next time we looked, three more loons had joined the first. Another adult and two kiddos. A whole loon family! What a sight! The motorboat didn’t seem to scare them after all; the driver seemed to be taking care to go as slowly and quietly as possible. Okay, you just want to see them too. I’m sorry I judged you. We let the loons lead the way, watching as much as possible, paddling just enough to keep on course. The birds dived for food and talked to each other in their beautiful, haunting language. What were they saying? I felt a little like we were peering into the private lives of these mysterious creatures, but I couldn’t look away, and they didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually the lake opened up, and we all went our separate ways. My son and I kept looking over at the loons until we couldn’t anymore, until we had to keep our eyes fixed on our destination. As we paddled our way back to the dock, our time with the loons transitioned from an experience into a memory, a story. We grounded the kayaks as quickly as possible and rushed inside to tell it to the others.