For Some Summer Lake Monitors: A Chance to Give Back
Words by Melanie Hirsch, ACLC Volunteer
A loon chick lake monitor Joe Poliquin called “Junior” turns its back on food presented by one of its parents. Photo by Joe Poliquin.
Joe Poliquin appreciates pluck. So when the loon chick on his watch repeatedly swam away from the parent trying to feed it a fish, the quirky move caught Joe’s attention.
Over and over, the chick fled from the parent carrying dinner in its mouth, the opposite of what Joe expected. Over and over, the parent persisted.
Finally, the fiercely independent chick - who had grown accustomed to fishing and fending for itself - gave in and ate what the parent offered, but not without a final and very determined attempt to flee.
Usually at about 10 weeks old, chicks are still greedy and pester mom and dad to feed them.
“This little bugger was entertaining to watch,” Joe said, chuckling. “He sort of had the process of parent-feeding-chick backwards.’’
Observing the mysteries of nature, learning the dynamics of loon families, and discerning the personalities of individual birds is all part of a day’s work for Joe, of Saranac Lake, and Don Andrews, an Old Forge resident who has monitored Common Loons in the Western Adirondacks for four years.
A loon chick dubbed “Junior” struggles with a big meal. Photo by Joe Poliquin.
“Junior” relaxes with one its parents. Photo by Joe Poliquin.
They are among the 35 field monitors the Adirondack Center for Loon Conservation (ACLC) depends on to observe loons on roughly 127 lakes and ponds in the six-million-acre Adirondack Park. Their work funnels vital data - and valuable insights - to folks like ACLC Research Biologist Griffin Archambault.
“Our field monitors spend hours on the water watching loons to collect important data such as territory occupancy, reproductive efforts, and reproductive success,’’ Griffin said.
Joe monitors in the Sabattis and Loon Lake regions. Both he and Don collect data on adult loons and chicks each week from June through mid-August. They are the eyes and ears of scientists who cannot be in dozens of often-distant places at the same time. On each body of water they are assigned, monitors observe how many loons are on the lake, if they come and go or stay for mating season, how many of their laid eggs hatch, even how many chicks survive eagle attacks and threats from mammals such as mink.
Joe Poliquin in his kayak. Photo provided by Joe Poliquin.
Each monitor fills out spread sheets, records observations in notebooks, even collects unhatched loon eggs so scientists can look for evidence of mercury and other pollutants that can accumulate in the shells themselves. They also study loons that scientists previously banded. That's because researchers like to compare how the same loons fare year to year, providing essential data about individual birds and the changes they undergo. The data they collect, Griffin said, “allows ACLC and other scientists to evaluate trends in reproductive success and how these trends are influenced by threats such as climate change-induced torrential rain events that flood loon nests. We could not take the loon's eye view of our research if it wasn't for our dedicated and amazing field monitors collecting the data that allows us to do so!’’
Joe, a former Saratoga resident who has a graduate degree in social work, moved to Saranac Lake with his family a decade ago and has worked with the ACLC for nine years. Even before retiring as a high-level manager with an organization that serves people with developmental disabilities, he was always drawn to nature.
“Birds, butterflies, wildflowers - it all fascinates me,” said the Forty-Sixer and avid athlete. His interest in loons was fueled by a book his daughter gifted him that detailed how eagles and peregrine falcons were restored to New York State. It included information about loons and the scientist who created what is now the ACLC. By the time he finished the book, Joe was hooked.
“I figured, ‘I’ll be out paddling around anyway, why don’t I do something useful?’” he said.
Don Andrews uses his leg to keep a bin holding a rescued loon closed on Little Green Pond in 2025. Photo by Leah Boget.
For Don, retired from his work at a Fortune 500 Company who spent 30 years in the Pacific Northwest, nature and loons were among the lures reeling him back to his native Upstate New York. Like Joe, he relishes the rewards of giving back and being part of something bigger.
“To be part of helping a species survive is really something,” he said.
Several years ago, during a paddle on the Fulton Chain of Lakes, Don and his wife Toni came across a dead loon. Don called a former forest ranger to ask for advice on what to do with the remains.
“We talked for three hours, and I told him that if he was ever looking for someone who loves the outdoors to help with conservation, [I was] more than willing to lend a hand,” Don remembered.
A few months later, ACLC came calling and Don never looked back. When Don left Upstate New York in the late 1980s, he said, “if you heard or saw a loon it was a big deal.”
Loon populations have rebounded since then. Although the birds are not considered endangered, they are designated as a Species of Special Concern. The 27- to 29-day gestation period for loon eggs, and the period after hatching is a time when lake monitors hold their breath.
“Stuff can go wrong, very wrong, at any of those points along the way,” Joe said. There are many manmade challenges such as shoreline disturbance from boat wakes and climate change that impacts water levels. A heavy rain, for instance, Joe said, can easily carry away a mated pair’s precious eggs.
An adult loon feeding a chick. Photo by Don Andrews.
Don even tells how, over the last two to three years, he’s had reports of jet ski operators deliberately chasing loon chicks, which infuriated him. After two chicks died from blunt force trauma following a deliberate collision, Don collected their remains and paddled away in his kayak. One of the parents followed him dejectedly, wailing a wrenching call.
“They mourn,” Don said, still somber from the memory. “I can rationalize natural causes of (chicks’) deaths, but when humans are involved…” he said, his voice trailing off.
For Joe, who like Don is an avid photographer, it’s climate change that raises his hackles. He says decades-old laws limiting midwestern coal-burning power plants made habitats more hospitable for loons. “Now, reopening the coal plants and using more coal - that, to me, is what’s frustrating,” he said.
Two of Don Andrew’s monitored loon chicks engage in some sibling rivalry. Photo by Don Andrews.
Yet even with the occasional disappointments they face, for Joe and Don - who are fiercely protective of the loons under their watch - the many pluses of their jobs far outweigh any small negatives. Joe delights in memories of the independent by-necessity chick that swam away rapidly this summer when a parent approached with a gift of food. It seemed that early on in the chick’s life, the mom and dad, likely first time parents, tried to feed the chick a huge fish it could not fit into its beak. Next, they brought a crayfish, which was also an unsuitably large dinner. So, Junior got to work on its own behalf.
“At two weeks old, that chick was diving for fish itself, which they usually don’t do that young,’’ Joe said, clearly impressed by the chick’s self-reliance.
Don’s favorite part of a chick’s life cycle is soon after it hatches and enters - or tumbles, in some cases - into the water. “When they are seeing the world for the first time, it’s pretty amazing,’’ he said. He never tires of any of the wonder he feels doing his job. “I find I learn something every day and I am humbled,” he said. “Nature is bigger than any of us.’’