Mystical experience at Swan Lake

I returned to a small marshy lake this aternoon where I had seen a pair of swans a couple of days ago -- the day I kayaked in drizzling rain at 40 degrees cold.

I love small lakes, and I have only seen wild swans a couple times in my life so I hoped to find them again. I brought sketchbook, and pencils, wool gloves, and many layers plus life jacket to keep warm -- still 40 degrees and cloudy . . . but no rain this time.

I first visited the far side of the hourglass lake -- the deep side where the walleyes are supposed to live. There, I spotted four swans flying, and an eagle devouring a meal high in a pine at the edge of the water, some granite boulders below, and small fishing boat.

I headed to the marshy side of the lake, hoping to see more swans and was thrilled to see a large group of them feeding near shore.

Slowly, quietly moving towards them, I floated and sketched the distant shore, and gradually glided towards them patiently waiting between strokes. Never lifting the paddle higher than my elbow and sketching again between strokes with numb fingers.

Surrounded by water lilies, torn and shredded at the end of the season -- ovals breaking the reflective surface, I waited some more, and then paddled nearer. Waited, sketched, and then a couple more paddles closer. Waited, and repeated.

There were two adults, brilliant white, and seven grey but full size "fledglings," busily feeding -- at a distance they looked like a line of boulders with their heads down in the water. Filling up for a long migration? To where?

As I sat there waiting again, now wondering how close without disturbing them, they didn't seem to know I was there? Eventually they started to notice me and began to move in a line away from shore towards the open water in the middle of the lake and moved towards me, their trumpeting calls echoe back and forth off the reflective surface of the water.

Swans are huge creatures, and when you sit in a small kayak, they are taller than I was. My heart was pounding, wondering if they were curious, or if I should feel threatened. They were so close. The photos and video I shot were from a cell phone, not a long lens.

I felt like I was in a spell, frozen in place. At times they all faced me, gliding in a line with Mom and Dad hovering in the back ground.

The transition at the narrows between two sides of the lake. I’m heading towards the marsh.

this is cropped and enlarged because at this point I was still very far away, hundreds of yards from the swans. I think the one on the left was aware that I was there.

I had gradually moved closer to shore, exceedingly slow and careful not to make any sudden movements or any sound. After a while the group moved slowly back out into the lake, and then circled back towards my kayak.

They came closer . . . and I just sat still as they continued to approach.

the adults conferring on the left . . . . the offspring together on the right. You can see how close they were. Its at this point that my heart was pounding with both thrill and trepidation. They are large animals, and wild — incredibly beautiful.

Periodically one of the adults would pop up and spread their wings. this was a lucky shot. It happened so fast just as I had my phone up to take another picture.

This ethereal experience lasted for about 45 minutes.