The Common Loon 



figure on land and a sorrier still in the air, but we do not allow ourselves to 

 be disturbed by such comparisons. Viewed strictly as a water-bird, as 

 Nature intended, the Loon is a paragon of beauty. Alert, supple, vigor- 

 ous, one knows himself to be in the presence of the master wild thing, when 

 he comes upon a Loon on guard in his native element. The bird seems to 

 move about almost without effort, a single backward kick of one of those 

 immense paddles serving to send it forward at any desired speed, while 

 the head is turned inquiringly from side to side as if to take your measure. 

 A shout, a false motion, the flash of a gun, and the wild thing has van- 

 ished, leaving scarcely a ripple to mark its recent resting place. It reap- 

 pears, if at all, at a surprisingly great distance, and if really alarmed, only 

 the head is thrust out of water to take breath, get bearings, and disappear 

 again. 



A Loon is not invulnerable, but an educated bird must be secured by 

 stealth or guile, if at all. Generations of gun practice have made the bird 

 such an expert diver that, given room enough in which to dive, it is all but 

 impossible to shoot one. Once on a northern lake, when I was really desir- 

 ous of securing a specimen, I concealed myself behind an eminence with a 

 Winchester rifle, and shot down at a supposedly unsuspecting Loon. After 

 the first shot the bird turned and paddled slowly toward the ambuscade, 

 with what seemed like an amused smile playing about his features. After 

 the seventh shot, the disappearing target tired of the game and vanished 

 altogether. Poor marksmanship? Not a bit of it. Expert diving! On the 

 other hand, I shall never recall without a surge of shame another bird just 

 offshore, which was only to have been frightened. I was in full view and 

 brought up the shot-gun without attempt at concealment. The bird never 

 flinched. Sheer butchery! But how is one to tell an ingenu from an old- 

 timer? I have done with Loon shooting. 



Under water the Loon moves with great rapidity, using its wings to 

 assist its progress. It is able, thus, easily to overtake a fish, which it trans- 

 fixes by a stroke of its dagger-like beak and brings to the surface for con- 

 sumption. When the water is clear enough to admit of it, it is a delight to 

 watch the air-bubbles which cling to the diver in the translucent depths, 

 like a silvery coat of mail, and which he shakes off only upon emerging 

 at the surface again. 



In singular contrast to the Loon's facility and grace in the water, is its 

 behavior upon land. Since the feet are placed so far back, it must stand 

 nearly upright, penguin-fashion; and its walk is an awkward, shuffling 

 performance; or else, as is more likely to be the case, the bird flounders 

 along on all fours. It is said not to be able to take wing from the ground 

 at all. In rising from the water the bird humps over in an agony of effort, 

 rising only by slow stages, first by threshing the surface of the water with 



20J2 



