Unanticipated pleasures all the better for the surprise

At my family’s cabin near Akeley, I sat up in surprise on Sunday morning. I wondered whether what I had just heard was the call of a loon, but I was searching in my head for what other bird or animal it might be. After all, the four loons who had spent the summer on the lake had already left.

 

But then it came again, and there could be no doubt. The wistful call was definitely a loon.

Around 9:30 a.m. there was no resisting the lake. The sky was lightly overcast, the temperature was in the low 50s. The water’s surface was mirror smooth.

 

I had no expectation of catching any fish, but what I did end up catching was vastly better: My brother and I were floating quietly along, the pontoon being pulled by its fancy self-guiding trolling motor. Only feet from the boat, an adolescent loon came splashing noisily to the surface. Then it stayed nearby–as though we, rather than it, were the attention-grabbing curiosity.

 

And just maybe I was a bit “loony.” My brother turned off the motor, but the loon left us feeling as if we were still in motion. I  pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and began pivoting in every direction trying to get a good angle.The loon obliged, not only staying near but circling us, sometimes disappearing under water and then popping back up to the surface like a visual version of the word “surprise!”

 

I was mesmerized when it swam directly beneath me, its neck stretched forward and its feet extended far behind, all easily visible in the clear water, but too fast-moving for me to line my phone up for a picture.

 

Instead of the dramatic black and white markings of adults, this adolescent was in elegant shades of gray which blended with the water. The subdued light reflected gently on the rippling surface, as though nature were painting with a carefully chosen palette.

 

I wish you could have been there, because even the photo doesn’t do the moment justice.

Another deluge of delights awaited us at the “Lost 40,” a trail in Itasca County located inside a 144-acre area that was mislabeled by surveyors in the 1880s, and so never made available for logging. As a result, some of the trees there date from the 1700s–researchers have determined the area started over then after a major fire cleared what stood there before. It was one of the most relaxed walks I have ever taken because I kept stopping to be amazed.

 

There were many trees I could not close my arms around. There were some that four people could probably not have made a large enough ring to encircle.

 

Looking upward, the treetops seemed miles away. Around me on the ground, the tree roots seemed to own the earth, with knobs and long runs so prevalent, a person had to alternate quickly between checking the ground for hazards and eying the sky for wonders. In a few hilly spots, tree roots actually provided footing.

 

Between the trees, the colored leaves, the intriguing mushrooms and the winding trail, it seemed like it would have been a sufficient outing simply to stand in one place and spin.

 

Adding greatly to the pleasure was the solitude.

 

We followed the one-mile version of the trail, and encountered no more than 10 people as we walked. That was as it should be: As far as I’m concerned, marveling and distraction do not mix.