Spent three days at a place in Vermont called Lake Willoughby, way up there in the section they call the Northeast Kingdom, just a few miles from where Vermont and New Hampshire and Quebec all meet.

Here’s the lake, which was carved out by a glacier and is 300 feet deep in the middle:


We stayed at a beautiful lakeside inn where Robert Frost once stayed, back in the 1920s. Took a canoe out on the lake every day, making sure I navigated away from the 300-feet-deep part, and saw lots of mergansers and mallards — and one afternoon managed to paddle right up near a big loon as it surfaced after diving into the lake and staying underwater for what seemed like five minutes.

Best of all, every morning I awoke to the call of loons, which sound like this:


One thought on “Loon tunes

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