Hitching a ride with mom, coming from the south end of the lake and heading north to the a mommy Merganser swims by with eight little ones on her back. They are tiny for sure. protection within the reeds and lily pads at the mouths of Dickey and Daigle brooks.
One wonders where they spend the night, although seeking shelter can’t be that much of a bother for them. The lake offers secluded stretches of shore and as they begin their swim north with the sunrise, there is little, if, any human activity.
Not that the sunrise swim is without its perils as the bald eagles are combing the waters for their breakfast and the little ones are delectable prey or so we hear. The loons’ distress calls are quite clear, alerting their species to any danger especially beginning at dusk and one can only wonder what is causing the alarm especially as darkness descends over the lake. Lying in bed under a cozy quilt brings thoughts of the day to day struggle for existence these beautiful water fowl face daily.
And yet, it is to marvel at the eagle’s wing spread and its keen eye and the osprey’s radar, imagine GPS attached to their talons! We watch as one swoops in from what seems out of nowhere to splash the lake’s surface for that perch that jumped from its protective cover to gobble its breakfast but, as composer Billy Barnes lyrics warned: “Stayed too long at the fair.”
Meanwhile the hummingbirds are fluttering at the feeder, taking turns perhaps to gather the nectar and return to where, we wonder? To feed their offspring? Would it not be a delight to observe their habitat but those little guys are much too clever and leave not a clue.
The crows, however, are a different breed. They begin letting themselves known well before sunrise with their loud morning wake-up caw-caw and one wonders if they think they are roosters and dialed into the wrong octave.
By the looks of the empty mussel shells scattered along the shore, it appears that someone is getting their fill but who? Is it an otter, perhaps, who may snuggle into a hollow between the rocks on the bank caused by the thrust of the ice during the spring thaw.
We saw the ice go out a few years ago during a visit to the lake in April. It is a sight to watch the force of the current break up the ice and send it and everything else through the chain of five lakes, of which Cross Lake is one, and into the St. John River. We observed the evidence of its power a few years ago during a first visit to camp when a bolder, that for years rested a few feet from shore and was a good indicator of how high the water was, ended up five feet into shore against the side of the bank.
Another fellow Mooseview camper out for his breakfast is the white-footed bunny. He hangs out near the boathouse, probably has himself a nice home below it but as of yet, no sign of any off spring. It would be delightful to sit here on the deck, the morning sun just warm enough to resist a sweatshirt and yet, breakfast is breakfast and drifting out from Mooseview camp is the aroma of bacon sizzling and eggs ready to be cracked open.