"Troubled Night," a piano piece from Paul Sullivan’s album "Sketches of Maine," paints a familiar northern scene: an evening on the lake, distant thunder and the haunting calls of loons.
It will indeed be a troubled night.
For generations, anglers and campers have called loons "living barometers," believing their eerie calls foretold an approaching storm. For years, that was simply considered lakeside folklore. But researchers have discovered there is some truth behind the old saying.
A study published in the journal "Waterbirds" found that loons become noticeably more vocal as barometric pressure falls. In other words, when the weather is about to change, the loons seem to know it.
Their behavior changes in other ways this time of year as well. Once the breeding season ends, hormonal changes make them less territorial, and unmated birds or pairs whose nesting attempts failed — often gather into loose social groups called rafts.
Sometimes they hunt cooperatively, lining up to corral schools of fish. At other times they circle together in what almost looks like a dance.
Scientists still aren't entirely sure why. The gatherings may simply help them locate food more efficiently, though they may also strengthen social bonds before migration.
But as the barometer continues to fall and storms approach, the calls become more frequent as the birds keep in contact across the open water. Then, once the storm arrives, the lake grows strangely quiet.
For years, I imagined those haunting calls were expressions of sadness, as though the loons already knew they would soon have to leave our northern lakes for the winter. Apparently, that isn't what they are saying at all.
Still, whenever I hear loons calling on a troubled night this time of year, I cannot help feeling a little melancholy.
Not because the loons will soon leave these northern lakes.
But because I will.
