Icy Wonders of Chequamegon Bay By Heaven Walker

Note from Emily Stone: I’m so excited that Heaven has joined our Museum team! Heaven will be guest writing for Natural Connections about once a month. I’m looking forward to following her journey of discovery in the Northwoods!

After moving to a new and exciting place, adventure is always calling. When a friend visiting the Northwoods suggested we go on a night tour of the ice caves on the shore of Lake Superior, I was all in. However, ice conditions on Lake Superior are known to change rapidly, and strong winds can break up the ice, causing dangerous conditions.

Chequamegon Bay is protected from the ever-changing elements of open water, making the ice conditions more predictable and stable than the open lake. Because of this, the ice caves of Chequamegon Bay were accessible to us, while the coveted Apostle Islands Ice Caves have not been accessible since 2015. The protected nature of the bay also means that the Chequamegon ice caves are less dramatic than those of the Apostle Islands, but are still remarkable.

While the Meyers Beach ice caves, shown here, haven’t been accessible since 2015. Museum Naturalist Heaven Walker experienced nearby ice caves more recently, and still found plenty of beauty to admire. Photo by Emily Stone.

Geared up with snow pants, heavy coats, and headlamps, with toe warmers tucked into our boots, we trudged across the dark, snowy landscape down to the ice-coated Lake Superior, where we met our guide. As our tour group followed down the well-traveled path toward the ice caves, I couldn’t help being amazed at the landscape of Chequamegon Bay. Even lit by headlamp, the icy rock outcrops and vastness of the bay were beautiful.

Our path took us parallel to shelf ice. The large chunks of ice heaped up were a stark reminder of how powerful the wind can be, and how the conditions of the lake are ever changing. Shelf ice is caused by strong winds breaking up sheets of ice and sending them toward the shore. The ice slabs were 10+ inches thick, and as someone who does not venture onto ice often–it was some of the thickest ice I had ever seen.

The different layers of ice glowed bright blue to a cloudy white in the light of my headlamp. White ice forms when snow has melted on top of the frozen lake and refreezes. As a result, the new white ice is full of air bubbles and made up of smaller crystals, making it half as strong as clear ice. Blue ice forms on calm water that allows large ice crystals to form with relatively few air bubbles, and is the strongest type of ice. I was glad for the large layer of luminous blue ice.

The first ice cave was a wonder to behold. Crouching low, we shuffled into the crack that was the cave entrance. The light from our headlamps danced across the cave walls and highlighted the mass of clear ice that extended from the ceiling to the surface of the lake. As other tour guests took pictures with the glowing ice, I was marveling at the cave formation. Sitting under a low-hanging section of the cave, I began to think about how these caves along Chequamegon Bay are formed.

These sandstones are the youngest of the rocks along the Chequamegon Bay. They were formed by streams that flowed from the surrounding highlands into small lakes, depositing sediment. The sediments left behind by these ancient waterways turned into the sandstones we see today.

The cave I was sitting in was shaped by the relentless force of waves slowly eroding away at the rocky cliff face over thousands of years. With each slap of a wave, the caves are changing. Ice also plays a role in eroding the cliffs.

One cliff in particular was covered in a very impressive frozen waterfall seemingly made up of hundreds of glistening white icicles all melded into one. The gigantic ice formation was a natural work of art.

Upon first glance, I thought the ice originated from the top of the cliff. However, the more I looked, I realized that the ice was not only from the top, but was bursting out of the rockface. These icy formations are created by groundwater seeping through the cracks in the stone, and icicles forming in contact with the frigid air.

These beautiful ice formations play a large part in sculpting the lakeshore. Each time ice forms in the cracks and pores of the sandstone cliffs, it contributes to the process of erosion. Ice in the pores of the rock slowly erodes the cliff face, grain by grain. Ice that forms in the cracks of the cliff expands and makes the rock face more and more unstable. Eventually, the sandstone cliff face crashes down into the depths of Lake Superior, revealing a brand-new canvas of rock.

As our tour came to an end, I took one last look around Chequamegon Bay. Lit by the light of the moon, the bay was still alluring. After spending a few hours looking at the ice formations and caves, I knew I would be back again. With the changing nature of Lake Superior's shoreline and the changing of the seasons, there will always be something new to discover.

For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar will open for registration on April 1! The Museum is closed for construction until May 1. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

Loon Behavior on Lake Jocassee

Layered gray clouds hung low above Lake Jocassee, South Carolina, for our second day of Common Loon research. Despite high winds and heavy rains in the evening forecast, the morning lake was calm enough to be a mirror.

A Common Loon resurfaces briefly before continuing a long stint of 2-minute dives. On Lake Jocassee, SC, researchers have found that solo loons forage in deep parts of the lake, presumably catching big fish near the bottom. Photo by Emily Stone.

Having explored the flooded stream gorges in the upper lake the previous day, it was our pontoon’s turn to observe loons in the lower lake. Brooks Wade, owner of Jocassee Wild Outdoor Education and our pontoon driver for the day, aimed us toward the twin towers and yellow booms marking the dam built by Duke Energy in 1968.

Gulls appreciate stunned fish from the dam as well, so hang out on the booms.

 Photo by Emily Stone.

When the turbines on the dam are in action, loons gather here for a feast of stunned fish. On this morning, all was quiet. Dr. Jay Mager, professor at Northern Ohio University, put a fresh data sheet on his clipboard, and started by recording the water temperature, air temperature, wind speed, weather, GPS coordinates, and water depth.

While Jay was doing that, we all scanned the half-dozen or so loons in the area, trying to select one with plumage that was distinctive from the rest of the group. Then the timer started, and at two-minute intervals for the next hour, we recorded the loon’s behavior and proximity to other loons. Our loon swam and rested placidly, likely digesting a big meal. This hour clearly wasn’t representative of loon behavior overall, which is why scientists are always trying to collect more data.

Dr. Jay Mager, scanning for loons! Photo by Emily Stone.

Motoring over to a narrow section of the lake, we sought out a new research subject. The loon we found had particularly poor fashion sense. On the top of their back were brownish-gray feathers with pale, scalloped edges. This pattern is thought to indicate a juvenile loon. Ringing their body just above the water line were black feathers with white speckles more similar to the adult loons we see up north. This combination, we surmised, might mean that this juvenile was molting into their adult plumage for the first time.

The combination of brownish-gray feathers with pale, scalloped edges, and black feathers with white speckles just above the water line, might mean that this juvenile Common Loon was molting into their adult plumage for the first time. Photo by Emily Stone.

When a young loon migrates south at the end of their first summer, they are expected to stay on the ocean for a few winters to gain strength without the conflicts that occur around nests up north. There are just a few freshwater lakes in the south where gray-brown juvenile loons have been spotted over the summer, and Jocassee is one of them.

While Jay took care of recording data, I offered to be in charge of the stopwatch. When recording time-activity-budgets for loons, you need two timepieces. Jay has an app on his phone that is set to beep at 2-minute intervals for an hour. At every beep, the binocular-wielding observers help the recorder mark down the behavior. Was the loon resting, locomoting, preening, foraging, or being aggressive? And was the loon within 25 body lengths of another loon? How many loons?

TAB Data sheet.

My job, with the stopwatch, was to time the loon’s dives. “Down!” everyone blurted when the loon dove. Then we’d stay vigilant, scanning the water in all directions around the pontoon boat until someone spotted the loon resurface. “Up!” marked the end of the dive, and I would tell Jay the time. While loons here have been recorded staying under for up to four minutes, two minutes was an average dive in this location, which the depth finder on the pontoon measured at about 80 feet. My stopwatch was kept busy as the loon dove almost continuously for the entire hour.

A solo loon making long dives in a deep part of the lake (apparently eating big fish near the bottom) fits the pattern that Jay has noticed consistently over the past decade. Loon behavior here seems to be bimodal. The other mode is that in shallow areas of the lake, rafts of a few to twenty loons hang out together and feed cooperatively on “bait balls” or big schools of little fish.

One of the main goals of this research is to compare how loons on the salt-free waters of Lake Jocassee spend their time, versus loons who spend their winter on the ocean. While loons have adapted to living in the ocean by revving up a salt-removal gland the instant they taste saltwater, that gland requires energy to maintain. The ocean can also be a deep, dark, murky place for a visual hunter. So far, researchers on the ocean have found that loons spend 55-67 percent of their time foraging. On Lake Jocassee, the average is 54 percent.

That one number doesn’t tell the full story, though, because solitary loons here spend 64 percent of their time foraging, while social loons only spend 40 percent of their time foraging. Does that mean social loons have more time to rest and preen, important tasks in preparation for migration? Or does that mean they spend their extra time using energy on social interaction?

Two common loons in different stages of molt swam near each other and preened. 

As our beloved loons face an uncertain future with warmer lakes and shifting habitats, it will only become more important for us to understand their needs across all four seasons. The work done here, on Lake Jocassee, will help ensure that our Northwoods loons return healthy and well-fed each spring.

Not quite ready to fly...but this loon will head north in a month or so! Photo by Emily Stone.

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. Our Summer Calendar will open for registration on April 1! The Museum is closed for construction until May 1. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.

The Loons of Lake Jocassee

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.

A loon floats on the calm morning waters of Lake Jocassee, South Carolina, a deep reservoir with crystal clear water that provides winter habitat for over one hundred Common Loons. Photo by Emily Stone.

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.

The lower lake includes both the Lake Jocassee Basin and the Devil's Fork Region. The upper lake consists of Lower Toxaway, Upper Toxaway, and Horsepasture. 

The Blue Wall.

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.

This is not Bob. This is a different loon who was banded on Lake Jocassee and the spotted in Minnesota over the summer! Banding loons has allowed scientists to learn a ton about loon movements and behavior. Long-term research on the behavior of individual loons has been essential in advancing our understanding of their lives and conservation needs. Photo by Emily Stone. 

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.

Preening can sometimes look like a form of contortion art! We saw them reaching with their beak, rolling over, and making quite a splash with their wings. Photo by Emily Stone. 

This loon is sporting a stray feather that will soon fall out and be replaced by snazzy summer breeding plumage. Photo by Emily Stone. 

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.

Bob sports a yellow and a red band on one leg, and always seems to return to the same part of the lake since 2016 when he was banded. Photo by Emily Stone.

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.

Loons AND Waterfalls! Photo by Emily Stone.

Wing flaps are a common part of the preening process. Photo by Emily Stone. 

“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.

Winter Wind and Wildflowers with Lois Nestel

As the snow melts and I enter the melancholy often brought on by mud season, I find myself seeking comfort in the words of Lois Nestel, the founding naturalist, director, and curator of the Cable Natural History Museum. Lois was a talented, self-taught naturalist, artist, and taxidermist. Examples of her accomplishments populate every corner of our modern museum building. Her legacy is strong in the work that we do.

Lois Nestel, the founding naturalist, director, and curator of the Cable Natural History Museum.

I never met Lois, but every Friday I feel a particular kinship with her as I send my “Natural Connections” article off to the newspapers. Lois initiated the tradition of a weekly nature column provided by the Museum, and did so with a gentle, reverent, poetic style. Her column was titled “Wayside Wanderings,” and the articles were compiled into two small volumes in 1975.

One of my favorite authors, Sigurd Olson, provided the introduction to Lois’s first volume. In his characteristic style, Sigurd wrote: “With the eyes of a naturalist, artist, and poet, season by season she has recorded the miracles she found there, miracles that epitomize the truth that we are all part of nature; that because of our primeval background we hunger for simplicities of the past, the beauty of flowers, trees, and animals.”

As I walked into work this morning, I passed by the dried stalks of the Museum’s pollinator gardens. With any luck, young bees are sleeping soundly within the hollows of those stems. Lois wrote:

“Most people are aware of the beauty of summer flowers and often bemoan their passing as winter approaches. This need not be a cause for regret because, while much color may be lost, there continue—as seeds, pods, and capsules—many forms that rival the flowers in beauty and grace. Many of these seed containers last throughout the winter, serving as food for wildlife and pleasure for humans.

“There is a sculptured beauty in the pods of various milkweeds and wild iris, evening primrose, cockle, and [ghost] pipes. Delicate grace is exemplified in airy sprays of sweet cicely, papery clusters of wild hops, and feathery virgin’s bower (wild clematis) twining over bushes, and in the dried grasses and sedges, each with individual form and style.

“To enjoy these and many other beauties of winter there are few requirements; namely these: get outside, have open eyes to see and an open mind, receptive enough to appreciate what is seen.”

While that passage on the beauty of weeds in winter is quite cheerful, it’s even more of a comfort to me that Lois also experienced melancholy, as she wrote:

“When a whistling winter wind is sculpturing the snowy waysides, I am inclined to stay indoors and do my wandering in memories of younger days. Of all the elements, strong winter winds are what I like the least and yet, in retrospect, even these have brought their measure of satisfaction.

“Perhaps it is because houses are more tightly constructed that these days, I do not hear the wind in the same way as in my childhood. Then the winter wind seemed a living thing that shrieked and moaned around the corners and clawed at the windows. But that soulless wail was great to hear when curled, warm and comfortable, beneath the patchwork quilts.

“Now there seems a desolation and bitterness in the wind as though it mourns the sadness and injustice in the world. But the wind is not governed by political upheavals, poverty or crime. It is as it has always been. Only the listener, the endurer, has changed.

“Those days I shiver with the birds huddled in more sheltered spots. I start nervously at sudden, violent gusts, as do the animals. The wind was once my playmate; I could run with it and contend against it, but now it no longer is my friend. The loss is mine.”

Today, while the last of the snow shifts from melt to ice, the wind feels mournful to me, too. Skimming Lois’s writings, I sought a bit of sunshine to poke through the clouds. I’m not sure I believe it yet, but I’ll try to trust Lois’s wisdom.

“Nothing lasts forever...There is a new warmth in the sun and each day brings changes so that even the seeming setbacks of late winter storms cannot alter the fact that spring is in the air.”

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.