The Savage Swan of Thundergust Lake

Adventures in Biking, Birding, and Bullshit

If you think I am the kind of writer who uses dramatic titles and then doesn’t deliver… that’s not my style. Last weekend, I went full Subaru. I visited an Amish farmer’s market, packed my cooler with goodies, and then drove to a state park to mountain bike the trails around Lake Parvin. If I managed to stop at a Costco or an REI, an L.L. Bean-clad angel would have glided down from the heavens to bequeath upon me a bejeweled head gasket crown to announce my ascension to Subaru sainthood.

But alas, I did not require a 50 gallon drum of cheese puffs or a flannel merkin, so I did not complete the triangle. It was a lovely day at the lake. I found a parking spot at a trailhead and began exploring all the trails where bikes were allowed, which is most of them. There are two lakes in Parvin State Park, along with campgrounds and cabins you can rent, though the cabins are under maintenance until next year. Once I get a kayak, I might camp there overnight and paddle the larger lake.

The smaller one is too dangerous.

Not because of the waves. Because of the swan.

He looks rather stately and harmless, doesn’t he? Don’t be fooled.

It was a brightly sunny day, thus the blown-out whites in my phone camera photos. The shade of the pines was welcome, and the rooty sandy trails were an enjoyable, mostly flat ride through quiet forest. I looped around the trails for nine miles, meeting birders, dog walkers, other bicyclists, and nature hikers of all ages. It was packed! In mid-September, nature flipped a switch and sent summer packing a few days before, her heat only a memory, and the sound of her flip-flops still kept a beat in our heads.

There were just enough people to give the place a sense of camaraderie, as I announced, “good morning! can I squeeze by?” if walkers were two abreast on the trail. Everyone was friendly about it. Which made the violent sounds from the water all the more surprising.

The first thing I saw as I pedaled up to Thundergust Lake was something large and white thrashing far from the marshy shore. I pulled over, in case it was a kayaker in distress. What I saw was much more harrowing:

Attacks like this are not uncommon in the mating season, but that is two seasons away. One male is trying to drown the other, while the victim’s mate circles and cries. Adult male mute swans can weigh nearly thirty pounds and sport a seven-foot wingspan, with bony spurs on the wings for striking. They are known to kill ducks and geese in their territory. And if you listen, they are hardly mute.

The good news is that the victim survived this attack, and left to be comforted by his mate. The video of the lone swan was taken after the fight. And here’s one of the mated pair together, after the struggle.

The swan got lucky. Mute swans have even killed kayakers who paddled too closely to their nests. They are beautiful and romantic and they will kill you.

When I circled back to the other side of the lake, I came upon a birder. She was trying to fill out her year list during the fall migration, and pointed out an American Redstart and a Black-and-White Warbler to me in the trees above. The B&W warbler is one of the few of its kind that hop along branches to the very end; they have distinctive plumage, and I was delighted to see one. The redstart was more shy and I barely caught a glimpse; there was another she was eager to see, but I couldn’t spot it.

She told me the story of the swans. The mated pair are older, and haven’t had a successful brood with a cygnet in years. The new swan has been attacking not only the male, but dogs, people on trails, and cars, and the rangers want to capture it. I’m not sure how they are going about it, but you’d need a pretty big net. I don’t envy the people tasked with doing it, as capturing it unharmed will surely involve a lot of biting and buffeting with their wings.

My guess is that the attacker wants the territory of this older mated pair. Maybe he was driven from his territory, or his mate was killed, or both.

Meeting the birder sparked my interest in the fall migration, and I made sure to bring my binoculars on my morning walk at Timber Creek. That paid off immediately, as I heard a bluejay and a catbird squawking warning, and spotted a red-shouldered hawk in the trees across the creek this morning (identified thanks to Merlin.) I didn’t spot many others, but I spooked a few wood ducks, rare for this area and time of year, and heard a northern flicker giving someone hell. I wished I’d seen the flicker, as they are handsome, spotted birds and larger than songbirds, so they stand out among the warblers and jays and other woodpeckers, except perhaps the pileated.

I’m getting the birding bug. I may pursue it a while, if only to slow down. I have trouble slowing down these days; every weekend must have a ride, and miles to go before I sleep. A birder must have patience and perseverance. I’m not sure I have enough, but I do enjoy the delight birds bring. Christian Cooper was recently on the PBS Going Wild podcast with Dr. Rae Wynn-Grant, which was a good listen. If podcasts ain’t your thing, this is a good read by birder Bill Davison.

Becoming Part of the Flock

And if you like either listening, or reading, or both, check out the Desert Oracle. I just subscribed to his print magazine, after enjoying many episodes of Desert Oracle Radio. If my long road trip next year happens, and I swing by the Aley-Inn, a roadside bar near Area 51, it’s thanks to him.

Next time:

A visit to Bell Labs

The places I explored as a child, and where they are now

Saving the telescope that proved the Big Bang

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