The Birds’ Hour on the Lake

the lake at its quietest — and loudest

At this time of year, the lake feels different in the evenings. When the sun begins to set, the shoreline grows quiet and the water settles into its slow, heavy calm.

Even though the lake itself is quiet, it is not silent. This is the birds’ hour. I often go out paddling in the evening. My paddleboard is always ready, and all I need to do is push it into the water and step onto it.

Let me tell you about one of those evenings.

21:30

The air was warm with the softness of evening, resting lightly on the lake. The water was like a mirror — calm, thick and heavy to paddle through. To the right of our cottage shore, the sun was setting. To the left, a sleepy blue hour was unfolding. I headed toward it and left the sunset behind me.

First I saw a lone swan, slowly drifting along the shoreline of the cove a couple of cottages away from ours. On the opposite shore, on a small island, about ten gulls were chattering and screeching. Their noise only made the swan’s solitude stand out more. Some of the gulls were circling above the lake, and I found myself wondering whether they notice the beauty of a sunset — or whether it is as ordinary to them as a white wall is to me.

I reached the tip of the island, and a few swift swallows darted above me. They nest under our dock just like they did last summer, and these could well have been the same birds.

I slipped past the point of the island to its far side in near silence, with only the softest strokes of the paddle. That’s when I heard rustling coming from the island.

I moved toward the sound and tried to stay as quiet as possible, my eyes searching for whatever was making the noise. Then I caught a small glimpse of the rustler, and I knew immediately what bird it was.

It was a great spotted woodpecker, bustling along the island’s shore. It flew from one tree to another and I was able to watch it go about its important business.

At that moment an odd, harsh call sounded behind me — a crane. I turned quickly on my board and caught a glimpse of it as it fled from the gulls with powerful wingbeats. The gulls were clearly driving it away from the area near their nest.

Right after that came the swan’s evening call, carrying clearly from the cove all the way to the far side of the island. From the other direction I heard the pigeon’s low duh-duu sounds, and in that moment I understood that an evening lake truly belongs to the birds.

22:10

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