Today was one of those days I wish all of you could have. Dr. Zeus (my dog) and I woke early to a beautiful sunrise on the lake with a pair of loons swimming along 100 yards offshore looking for their morning breakfast. Momma Loon had one little one on her back. Dad would snare a small fry or minnow and feed it to the baby. When it was mom’s turn to eat, she’d drop down and leave Junior to sink or swim for a few minutes while she fed. This routine is how loons teach their young to swim and fish. After a time, mom will not let the little one(s) climb back aboard for a free ride.

Not far behind but closer to shore was Momma Mallard and a dozen or so of her little ducklings engaged in the same enterprise. Mallards do not eat larger fish like bass and perch as do loons. They stay close to shore feeding strictly on minnows, fry and underwater vegetation.

Within the next 30 minutes, further out in the cove I saw a pair of Canada geese with four goslings in tow. There are many geese in the area this year and they have their nests in the wetlands behind the Sandbar. On a recent trip to the Sandbar to do some tubing during a slow midweek day, I must have counted 50 geese.

A bit later and very close to shore was Momma Merganser and 20 (yes 20) of her little ones. Mergansers look like punk-rock ducks with their red feather sticking straight out to the rear of their head. While they have very serious faces, they are fun to watch as the little ones have large feet and tiny bodies and can literally run across the water chasing after small fry and minnows. Often as I sit sipping my morning coffee, I feel like the circus has come to town and the clowns are the first act watching them.

One day a couple of years back, the weather was particularly nasty and Momma Merganser and her brood that year climbed up on my dock to get out of the growing waves. With mom hunkered down shoreside, the little ones reminded me of when I was in junior high school gym class and we used to do this weird exercise with three people, each one jumping into the middle like a human weave. The little merganser furthest out would jump in the middle of the pile pushing one of the others toward the water who would then jump into the middle and so forth. Totally comical to watch.

As I walked down to the water’s edge with Dr. Zeus to watch the Mergansers I noted fresh deer tracks. Dr. Zeus trotted off down the beach to investigate with his nose glued to the tracks, but did not take off into the woods to chase the deer. He is too much of a city dog to do such things but his curiosity knows no bounds. I often discover things I might have missed watching where he pokes about sniffing and pawing at things. I do not need to worry about him chasing ducks either since being a Dalmatian he believes water is for drinking and will tolerate the occasional bath. Dalmatians, by the way, wash themselves daily as do cats. As such, he and I can sit on a rock on the bank and enjoy our own private visit with the local fauna, go for a walk on the beach and he is my silent but best companion.

Recently, I noticed some alder branches washed up on the shore that could only have been cut and stripped of bark by beavers. Yes beavers, not in some small stream or marsh, but on the shores of Sebago Lake. I have no idea what they expect to create larger than a lake that holds one trillion gallons of water, but beavers are industrious critters and I’m sure there’s a dam somewhere nearby.

In the weeks since my arrival for the summer I’ve seen gaggles of wild turkeys strolling down the dirt road to our place here in Eel Cove as well as a fisher cat and red foxes. One day while driving in from Route 114, I saw a female bald eagle hunting in a field up the road. I have also seen on occasion male bald eagles down from their nests on Rattlesnake Mountain sitting in a 100-foot pine tree on our property waiting for lunch to swim by. Later in the day, a large snapping turtle climbed up on a broad, flat rock to sun himself and bake any bacteria from the back of his shell that he might have acquired from mucking about in the swampy area of our cove. One snapper in particular is so big, old and covered in green muck I’ve come to calling hum “Ole Mossyback.” I also have a loon I’ve nicknamed “Andre” because of his enormous size.

When I am here on the shores of this beautiful lake, I feel as though I live in a natural paradise and yet I am a mere 25 miles from Maine’s largest city and living on a lake that at times is very populated, very noisy and very busy. The last few years have seen an explosion of large “cigarette” style boats with massive engines and unmuffled exhaust blasting out their transoms. At full throttle the noise from just one of these “toys” can be heard the entire 12-mile length of the lake. Still nature perseveres and, it would seem, even thrives.

I hope those of you reading this have a place where you can re-create yourself and let the weight of life’s troubles fall from your shoulders. If not, I suggest you look for one here. Sebago Lake, while located in the most populous southern half of Maine, still provides ample opportunity to take a break from the hustle and bustle of life in 2012 and revisit what life was like in 1812. All you need to do is take the time to rent a boat, canoe, kayak or find a trail such as many of those maintained by Portland Water District and travel the 105 miles of shoreline in search of your own special place; your own special memory and keep that memory within your heart for those days when modern life seems shallow and meaningless. I wish you all luck in your search.

Until next time, remember, protect, preserve and enjoy The Lake.

Brian Webb is a seasonal resident of Standish.

Mergansers slap their feet across the surface of Sebago Lake while taking flight.
 
Sunset over Eel Cove of Sebago Lake.