“Our” Swans
Swan family of two parents and three grown cygnets in a small pond by the Richardson Highway. Photo by Steve Radotich.
By Allison Sayer
I spent much of October around eight mile of the Richardson Highway. The Lowe River flats run by the highway, and it is not uncommon to see a coyote on the gravel bars. The other side of the highway is wet- filled with streams, marshes, and ponds.
Silver salmon run up the rivulets to the remains of an abandoned telegraph line well into the fall. Bears search for salmon, berries and sedges. Moose feed on aquatic plants and riparian bushes. Warblers make nests in the dense brush. Frogs sing in the spring. Dippers nest in the riffles where water comes off the mountains and into pools. Small carnivores eat fish, eggs, and whatever else they can catch.
In one of the little ponds at seven mile, clearly visible from the highway, a pair of trumpeter swans nests every year.
At least one of these parents is new to the pond. Last year, all of the young and one of the parents did not make it. Local residents who wish to remain anonymous attribute the predation to river otters, often seen patrolling the little streams and ponds of the area. One cygnet survived the initial attack, but was wounded and soon disappeared.
For a while after the others died, there was just one adult on the pond. Like many waterfowl, adult trumpeter swans molt all of their flight feathers at once in midsummer. For this short period of time, they can not fly. Eventually, the lone adult moved on.
This year, the swans were successful. In the mild October weather, the family was in no hurry to go anywhere. Two adults and three full sized gray young could be seen feeding and floating up until the pond finally froze around October 22. Numerous eagles perch in the trees above the pond, a testament to the parents’ vigilance in protecting their young when they were still small enough to be vulnerable.
Locals and tourists frequently pulled over by the swan pond, either photographing or just enjoying watching the birds. Shortly after they hatched, fluffy and floppy baby swans could be seen struggling to scramble into their enormous nest or following their parents through the vegetation. Once cygnets are born, they are not fed directly by their parents. Instead the adults use their powerful legs to kick sediment up to the surface for the young to feed on.
More recently, the swans’ human neighbors enjoyed flight practice: watching the parents and young circle overhead.
Trumpeters nearly went extinct in the Lower 48 during the early 20th century, but have now increased dramatically due to conservation efforts. Alaska has always been a stronghold for the birds, and still hosts the majority of the continent’s breeding pairs.
Millions of birds nest hidden from view every year. Some babies survive and some do not, and it is all part of nature. The trumpeter swans in plain view from day to day, and year to year, through failures, successes, death, birth, and survival, give us a compelling story.
Our gravitation towards animal stories is not frivolous; animal stories are a deep rooted part of being human. From Raven stealing the Sun to the Serpent tempting Eve, animal stories have been part of many cultures for a very long time.
Stories need characters and characters need stories. Adam names all the animals soon after he is created. The beginning of every relationship is an introduction, a name. However, just like with human acquaintances, the name is quickly forgotten without a story or experience to go with it.
The landscape of the wetlands at eight mile is far less spectacular than Keystone Canyon or Thompson Pass. It is difficult to walk through due to thick brush and deep muck. Yet it supports a wide range of plants and animals. For folks traveling between Valdez and points upcountry, one family of birds is a window into an otherwise mysterious habitat.
This article was originally published on November 9.