The storm door groaned, not quite ready for the day, as I shuffled my boots on the landing. The snow chose to follow the normal three day plan of accumulating, setting, thawing, and freezing on the steps leading into the yard. This particular morning was one exceeding, what some may call normal, parameters of a November chill, but nonetheless it was perfect outside. Snow drifted off the roof tops in thin wisps and branches drooped down with the weight of each azure flake. Limbs creaked under the ice with each gust gaining some sort of new freedom from the cold. It was one of those days where you stop and wonder why you didn’t make more coffee before you decided to leave, however the numbing windchill did well to make sure you were awake.
First on the list was a run Ta Da Dump. While slogging dripping bags into the bed of the truck I paused to look out on to the lake. The cove had frozen over quickly in the past few nights. The smooth charade of still water imprisoned our boats against the dock. How well the function of knots must be at keeping things tethered when frozen solid against their anchor. The snow laden boughs of the white pines, Pinus strobus, hung low as if going to take a drink but not low enough to sip from the surface. Hooded Mergansers, Lophodytes cucullatus, bobbed in patches that lay untouched by the ice, dipping their heads under the water. A male came up and shook his head, ruffling his plume, while drops of water flung from his feathers, freezing in mid-air no doubt. What was he tasting? The diet of a Hooded Merganser is of carnivorous nature. In this case they feed primarily on small fish, however they do make a point to dine on some of the invertebrates that inhabit the shallow muck the lay in the eastern reaches of the cove. You may also, if you’re lucky, find a Merganser gulping a squirming Spring Peeper. How odd it must look to see the legs of a frog dangling from the thin bill.
As I continued to observe the icy horizon, a sleek figure smoothly pulled itself onto the ice, not that far from the bank. A small circular hole had formed leaving a solitary portal from land to water for one to sneak in and out of. It caught my eye as it started sashaying around the hole. I turned to look and it dove back in, or rather slid, like a viscous liquid. After a few more minutes of a small head poking in and out from under the ripples I realized it was none other than an otter. The River Otter, Lontra canadensis, is the only known species of otter occuring in New Hampshire. This species unfortunately does not float on its back like its marine relative, however they still retain some cute quirks of their own. Later that evening, as the salmon hues of the sunset reflected off the hills, I sat at the desk in front of the window overlooking the cove. I had given up my hopes for the return of the otter since it had been not nine hours earlier that I spotted him. The tones of the sunset were waning rapidly. I looked at my watch “4:30”. It is incredibly interesting how quick the sunset goes from around nine o’clock to just around four. I finished typing the adventure ecology program and took another look out the window. Great brown wings swept down out of the sky. A great white head pierced the air. A bald eagle hovered around the cove. Why was this one so low? We went outside and discovered the otter out on the ice snacking happily on a fish, its pale yellow belly facing the sky. It noticed the eagle and dove into its hole. The eagle flew away, and it came back out to continue eating dinner.
I watched it scamper about for a few moments and then walked home after a pleasant day freeing boats from the grasp of icy doom. It’s moments like these that we often take for granted. Small little stories being told in each whisper the wind puts in our ear. Soaking in small tales told by wildlife and plants, dipping their pins in ink each morning or before sunset. Thankfully to the conservation efforts of the Squam Lakes Association and other surrounding private and state organizations we have the opportunity to heart these stories. I am excited to hear these stories this winter as the light fades quickly and is replaced by the soft glow of the moon off the snow.
Moses is a half-year member serving at the Squam Lakes Association. He is currently developing a wood duck nest box plan for one of our properties, and creating a virtual guided for a trail within the Squam Range. You can read more about Moses here!