Laura Erickson's For the Birds

On November 5, while driving home from Winona, Minnesota, I decided to take the scenic route along Highway 35, also known as the Great River Road because it wends its way along the Mississippi River. Birders in Winona told me that if I took 35, I should be able to stop in Alma to see the swans, They said migration had been slow so far this year, what with El Nino, but there were still lots to see. I had a long drive ahead and figured I’d be too tired to make a detour, so I put it out of my mind. But I do love swans, and my puppy Photon had never seen them before, so when I got to Alma I started wishing I’d asked someone for directions.

Just a couple of miles past the town, I saw a pullout with a wayside sign for “Rieck’s Lake Park.” I was sure someone had mentioned the word “Rieck” in conjunction with the swans. A big Greyhound bus was pulling in from the opposite direction as I went into the little gravel parking lot right at the side of the road, and another bus was already there. There were about 100 people gathered, bracing themselves against the cold wind for the opportunity to see a flock of magnificent birds taking their rest from a long journey. For the swan place was right there, right at the side of this busy highway!

This flock of Tundra Swans nest all the way up on the tundra of northern Canada and Alaska, and then fly to the Chesapeake Bay for the winter. Alma, Wisconsin, right at the edge of Highway 35, is a regular stopping and resting place for literally a ton of them. No–last year during the first week of November there were 1300 of these enormous and beautiful creatures. Considering that Tundra Swans average 15 pounds, that was closer to 10 tons of them! This year there were only about 70 or so swans—not close to a ton—which greatly disappointed many of the people there. Me—I was thrilled! To go from thinking I wouldn’t see the swans at all to finding 70 swimming and flying, and dozens calling out their haunting whistle, often from the sky right over my head, was dizzying. Photon was happy to be there, too, but I don’t think she even noticed the swans. There was a cute male dachshund in a Miata that held her attention.

Of course, there were a lot more people than swans OR dachshunds here. I was partly thrilled that so many people were enjoying this spectacular vision, but also disappointed that so many noisy people were making it hard to hear the beckoning calls of these ethereal creatures—the swans, not the dogs, of course. I wanted to have them all to myself. I wanted to stand and gaze upward at the little flocks flying over my head, seeing the wonderful changes that pure white can go through depending on your angle, without being jostled by people trying to get past me for a better view. I wondered if the swans resented our presence. How did they feel when Highway 35 was being built along their river? Were they focused on one another the way Photon and the dachshund were focused on each other—oblivious to all the people and cars and buses crowding in?

As this little world of ours grows ever more crowded with people, there will be less and less of it for swans. Somehow standing at Rieck’s Lake Park with over a hundred people and 70 swans made me sad about all the natural world that we’ve already lost. But I felt a glimmer of hope, too. If we preserve little spots like this forever, maybe birds and other creatures will somehow learn to ignore our presence and continue their wild ways even in our midst, staying focused on their kind the way Photon stayed focused on that dachshund. Maybe despite ourselves, swans will continue to come to places like this, forever stirring our souls and giving to us more than we ever gave back to them.