Loons bobbed on the early morning ripples as our pontoon boat sped across the open waters of Lake Jocassee, South Carolina. “First loon!” someone exclaimed gleefully, but otherwise we ignored them. At least for the moment.
When Brooks Wade, our host and pontoon captain, crossed an imaginary line at the divide between the big, round lower lake and the narrow arms of the upper lake, he cut the engine. The sudden quiet gave Jay Mager a chance to explain our task. “We’re counting all the loons in our half of the lake,” he said. “The other pontoon will count the lower lake.” Brooks pointed out the imaginary center line of the upper lake, and we began puttering up the west side, counting all the loons between the center line and our nearest shore. We’d tally the east side on the way out.
Looking at a map of Lake Jocassee, it’s easy to tell that this was once a watershed of steep stream gorges cutting deep into the “Blue Wall” or the southern escarpment of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Eons of water erosion—not glaciers—carved deep wrinkles in the landscape.
Then, in 1968, when Duke Energy began building the Oconee Nuclear Station, they dammed the confluence of four rivers to create a reliable source of cooling water for the plant. The 350-foot-deep-lake filled, and the atoms began splitting, in 1973. The plant is still providing electricity to one of the fastest growing states in the nation, and today, a network of dams in this watershed creates hydroelectric power, too.
The outstanding water quality of Lake Jocassee also provides excellent winter habitat for Common Loons. Brooks got a major case of loon love in February 2010, when he began his job as a campground host by walking down to the edge of the lake and hearing a loon wail. Although they were newly married and had just moved from Florida, he told his wife Kay that they were never leaving.
Scientists used to think that almost all of our Common Loons spend the winter on salt water. From across the northern lakes, loons migrate to both coasts and the gulf each fall to avoid ice-up. After starting a business giving pontoon tours, Brooks began to think that the number of loons he saw each winter on this freshwater lake was significant.
In 2016, Brooks searched out LoonWatch at Northland College online and sent then-coordinator Erica LeMoine photos of wintering loons on Lake Jocassee. She put him in touch with former Northland College professor Jim Paruk, who by then was working for the Biodiversity Research Institute in Maine. Within a matter of weeks, Jim flew in and partnered with Brooks to capture and band the first Lake Jocassee loon, which someone named Bob.
The next year, Jim brought in his colleague, Jay Mager, an expert on loon vocalizations teaching at Ohio Northern University, and together with Earthwatch they hosted week-long loon research experiences for adult volunteers for three years. By then, Brooks and Kay had started their own non-profit outdoor education program, and they took over the organization of the “Jocassee Loon Camp,” with Jay Mager and Jim Paruk each leading a different week of research.
The first day of Jay’s week begins with a count of all the loons on Lake Jocassee, which is why I was now puttering through the upper lake on a pontoon boat with Jay, Brooks, and seven other “loonatics.” With eyes scanning and binoculars at the ready, we spotted solo loons fishing in the deep water, rafts of loons preening near shore, and gaggles of smaller waterfowl like horned grebes, too. Jay kept the tally on his data sheet, and we were free to be amazed by the loons.
Here, on their winter habitat, the loons are finishing up a “catastrophic molt” where they replace all of their feathers, including flight feathers, and are water-bound for the duration. As a result, the loons here can look pretty scruffy. Many of their heads are grayish brown, and their black checkerboard backs are uneven. Stray feathers stick out at funny angles, and discarded feathers float on the waves after strenuous bouts of preening each day.
One particularly avid preener’s antics showed off red and yellow bands on his legs. This was Bob, the first loon banded here in 2016! He was back again to demonstrate that at least some loons return to the same winter habitat each year.
The hours ticked off as we counted a dozen…two dozen…then eight dozen loons! We’d wound our way up and down every single narrow passage in the upper lake, admired cascading waterfalls, and enjoyed a calm winter day with ample sunshine. But the count of 97 loons just wasn’t enough for Amanda, one of the volunteers. “We’ve got to get to 100!” she insisted, and scanned the sun-dappled waters relentlessly as we approached that dividing line between the upper and lower lakes.
“Ninety-eight!” she cried triumphantly, pointing through the sun glare. And then, “Ninety-nine!” someone else called as that loon’s companion was spotted. Our count ended there, but with the second pontoon boat’s count of 31 loons, we’d tallied about the average number of loons.
All eighteen of us loonatics headed to shore—wind-burned and happy—ready for the next day’s task: observing and recording loon behavior. I’ll tell you about that next week!
Emily’s award-winning second book, Natural Connections: Dreaming of an Elfin Skimmer, is available to purchase at www.cablemuseum.org/books and at your local independent bookstore, too.
For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. The Museum’s current exhibit “Anaamaagon: Under the Snow” is open through March 11. The Museum will be closed for construction March 12 through April 30. Our Winter Calendar is open for registration! Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.
Last Update: Mar 12, 2025 12:27 pm CDT
