The “Williams Camp
Early History” diaries, written by a young doctor from Boston in the early 1900’s say, “We are thoroughly en see some
new joying ourselves these days. It takes…almost three days to get really
broken in so you enjoy things -- I mean
so they all sink in and make an impression. The first day or two you see the
mountains and their beauty and you appreciate the place, but not for three days
or so do you get all there is to get out of it. Then it begins to sink in
deeper and deeper and you see new beauties in everything, and every time you
turn towards those grand old mountains you see some new thing to fill your soul
with wonder and admiration.” Wednesday,
January 10, 1912
The writer was sitting across the cove from us when he wrote
those words. The pond hasn’t changed a great deal in 100 years. It still is a
“wild” pond, an untouched wilderness. Yes, a little more accessible as we came
in by road instead of by canoe, but in essence, the “grand old mountains” are
still looking down on us.
The wildest part of Loon Lodge is the loons. The cry of
loons signals wilderness, and their eerie laughter across the pond on a dark
night can still raise the hair on the back of my neck. This year there are at least ten loons, but
four seem to like our cove.
Morning mist
blanketed the pond as the sun rose this morning. And like frigates taking
against the wind, the four sailed past the dock. Two are adults, two are full
grown fledglings, but their color is rusty brown instead of the stark black and
white so distinctive of the adult loons.
Mid-morning there was a fishing lesson. The two adults
cruised back and forth, dipping their heads and coming up with little fish, and
then smoothly transferring them to the beaks of the “kids” in a swift, seamless
move. Later afternoon apparently was diving lessons. One adult, two fledgies.
Adult dives and comes up, two fledgies dive and come up. Over and over, right
in front of the dock, cruising back and forth.
Just before supper one fledgie came and hung out in front of the dock,
preening feathers, practicing dives, and incredibly, coming up with fish in its
beak. Lessons learned.
Dark has fallen, and it is incredibly black. There is no
moon, just starshine out across the pond. When you stand on the dock and look
out, you can see the water shining, and the dark outline of the mountains. When
you look back, if we have turned off all the gas lights in the lodge, it is
black as pitch.
Day three settles into a rhythm. The silence is
overpowering. The emptiness is overwhelming. The glory of the wilderness is
“filling my soul with wonder and admiration.”