Recently I experienced the realization of a long-held dream, and looking back over the circumstances that led up to it, on one hand it seemed almost impossibly complicated, and on the other it seemed elegantly orchestrated as everything fell into place and I was whisked along like a leaf in a stream.
It began innocently enough when, on May first, I took my car to The Tire Guy to have the summer tires put on, and while I was waiting, my Lyra went up to greet a gentleman who was also waiting for his vehicle. Lyra has won over many a person with her canine charm, big brown eyes, and soft blue merle fur. And so I met Ted, who-as it turned out-likes dogs, and has shared his life with a few, over the years. We were soon chatting while Lyra fetched the tennis ball I tossed for her into the snow patch nearby. I discovered that Ted lives on the shore of Fish Lake, and our conversation turned to the ecology of the marsh and lake, and our awaiting the Springtime arrival of the Trumpeter Swans to the area.
For several years I have observed the swans on Fish lake, keeping track of how many pairs are nesting and how many cygnets are produced. Most of this has been done from the shoreline with binoculars. It’s a big lake, so it has been through the grace of the swans bringing their families out of the marsh and along toward the West end of the lake that I’ve been able to see them from the shore closest to the Spur road. Usually by the time the cygnets can make the trip to that end of the lake, they are a few weeks old. The parents nest in the marsh at the East end of the lake, and going back there by canoe would be an invasion that would not be well tolerated when the cygnets are young and vulnerable.
Ted told me that his homestead is on a point of land where the marsh joins the lake and even overlooks a swan nest site. He kindly invited me to come out and observe the swans from his home, whenever I wanted. As we stood talking, I heard a familiar sound-one I had not heard since last Fall. We both stopped talking and looked up; yes-there it was: a lone Trumpeter Swan was winging North, passing over us, calling as it flew. It was my first sighting of a swan for the Spring, and I considered it a good omen.
As it turned out, Ted said the swan pair had already returned to the lake. He had been observing their nest and the cygnets had hatched the night before. He invited me to come out to photograph the family, if I wanted. The challenge was that the swans stayed on the nest at night, but left soon after the morning sun topped the trees at the Northeast end of the marsh, around five-thirty am. The family spent the day in the marsh and the lake, returning to the nest around ten pm. It would take me a good forty minutes to drive out to Ted’s homestead. So, he suggested that I come out some evening and spend the night in his guest room, then I would be able to set my alarm and be able to go down the hill to the shore to photograph the swan family in the first light of dawn.
So there it was: my dream was to photograph very young cygnets. I had never seen cygnets younger than a few weeks old, and I had never been to Fish Lake early in the morning. I made the plan to go to Ted’s homestead the next night. I fed my dogs, put my hen, doves and budgie to bed, then packed up my sleeping bag and camera gear. When I arrived after ten pm., I could see the swan family on the their nest from the upstairs guest bedroom window. After I got my dogs settled in, I left them and walked quietly down the hill trail and hid behind the tall spruce on the shore opposite the nest. The swan parents knew I was there, so I stood as still as possible, to be non-threatening. The female was laying on the left end of the nest, and male to her right. Two little cygnets climbed up onto her back and settled down. They laid on her back while the other cygnets laid next to her, on the far side, out of my line of sight. I snapped a few photos, but the sun was below the Northwest ridge at the other end of the lake, so the lighting was not good, and I knew the photos wouldn’t be great. I retreated back to the house to let the family get their sleep.
I had set the alarm for five am. When it went off and I sat up to look out the window, I was delighted to see the golden dawn sun just beginning to light up the marsh. Down on the nest I could make out the white forms of the parents resting on the mound of grass. I dressed quickly and assembled my camera gear. Leaving my dogs in the house, I made my way down the steep trail, listening to the various birds singing in the new day from the forest. The swan family was getting ready to move off the nest and into the silky water of the marsh. I stood behind the spruce, snapping photos as the family slid into the water and began to move out into the channel that would eventually take them to the lake. Mist was rising off the water, back-lit gold by the morning sun. The white birds were a study of pearl and amber, their black beaks and eyes in stark contrast. The fluffy cygnets glided between their parents, their little bodies barely making ripples in the milk-chocolate water. I made my way up over the knoll, following a well-worn moose trail. As I came to a space in the trees where I could see the swans clearly, I heard the parents begin trumpeting. They weren’t in full voice, and the tiny cygnets were bunched close together, in- between the parents. I soon saw what had caused the alarm: an adult Bald Eagle was passing overhead and swooped low over the family, then ascended again, continuing on its way towards the lake. As soon as the Eagle was past the marsh, the swan stopped calling and didn’t make any other sounds. When they got to a wide area of water in the marsh, the parents stopped and began to preen and feed. The cygnets paddled from one parent to the other, snatching little pieces of aquatic plants the parents brought up as they foraged under the water with their long sinuous necks. At one point two of the cygnets grabbed one piece of plant and a tug-o’ war ensued for a few minutes until the bit of breakfast finally broke and each baby swan got a piece to eat.
The parents gradually made their way to edge of the marsh where it joins Fish lake. The lake beyond the marsh was cloaked in gray mist. I could just make out the form of a Common Loon through the shifting curtain, its head tucked into its back feathers as it dozed on the clouded water. Swallows dipped and wheeled, flashing when their white undersides were caught by the morning sun. They would come by the swans in a tight flock, attracted by insects stirred up by the feasting birds. For a few minutes it was a mesmerizing sight of small violet-green and white swallows zipping and swooping around the large gold and cream swans, the six little fuzzy cygnets paddling in circles and figure-eights, the entire scene bathed in silvery mist rising off deep-brown silky water. Then the swallows flew farther out over the sparkling golden marsh grass, the small birds disappearing into the mist. A few Ring-necked Ducks glided into the pond with the swans; two pairs of males and females, and one lone Green-winged Teal drake flying in to land near them.
When the swan family began to move on out into the lake, I made my way up the ridge, turning to take one last photo of the scene below me. To make it even more wonderful, a male Rusty Blackbird flew low across the marsh grass and headed toward the forest, sounding its clear single-note call as it flew.
Each Spring, for so many years, I had hoped-somehow-to see young cygnets, but I had no idea how to accomplish that. Now, suddenly, through a chance meeting led by my dog, and by the gracious invitation of a magnanimous man who is fortunate enough to live near a swan nest site, I finally saw my long-held dream come true. I couldn’t have imagined a more magical experience-a perfect morning, beautiful weather, and a swan family giving me a gift I will never forget. Sometimes it just all falls into place for one shining moment.
Susitna Writer’s Voice, KTNA
“Natural Observations”, Robin Song
Photos by Robin Song
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