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A Cape Cod Notebook can be heard every Tuesday morning at 8:45am and afternoon at 5:45pm.It's commentary on the unique people, wildlife, and environment of our coastal region.A Cape Cod Notebook commentators include:Robert Finch, a nature writer living in Wellfleet who created, 'A Cape Cod Notebook.' It won the 2006 New England Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Radio Writing.

Encounter with an Entangled Winter Loon

Don Faulkner / www.carolinabirdclub.org

It was during this month several years ago that I experienced what I still consider one of my finest moments here on Cape Cod. One February day in the first year of the new millennium, I took a walk along Chatham's South Beach at the elbow of the Cape’s crooked arm. This was the first time I had walked this beach since it had connected to the Chatham mainland at the base of the lighthouse about five years before.

The morning was warm, calm, and remarkably clear. I carried only a light jacket, my binoculars, my Swiss Army knife, and a small backpack containing a sandwich, a thermos of tea, a bird guide, gloves, and a change of socks in case I got my feet wet.

I set off from the base of the steps below the lighthouse and headed down the curving arc of beach that formed the south boundary of the new inlet. The sand here was fine, wind-distilled, and compacted by the waves, so that it provided an unexpectedly-firm base for walking. Within an hour I estimated that I was nearly two miles below the lighthouse, more than a third of the way down the length of the South Beach. With luck, I thought, I would reach the southern end before lunch.

Just as I was beginning to congratulate myself on what good time I was making, I saw a large, dark bird sitting near the crest of the beach, facing the water. It looked about the size of a goose, and had a long, narrow, sharp beak. It was a loon.

Loons are common winter visitors here, often seen offshore from September to May. But they rarely come ashore, especially in winter. Their legs and feet are not made for walking, and they’re very awkward and vulnerable on land. A trail of webbed foot marks, beginning about halfway up the beach and leading up to the loon, indicated that the bird had come ashore only a few hours ago on the last falling tide. I approached it from below and, as I did, the loon began jabbing out at me with its long, sharp bill and serpentine neck.

There appeared nothing obviously wrong with it, but as I walked closer to it the bird flopped awkwardly several yards down toward the water, then stopped. Now I could see that it was hogtied in some fashion with monofilament gill netting, with which it had probably gotten entangled while diving for food in the offshore shallows.

Of all the deadly legacies with which we’ve laced the ocean, gill netting is one of the most insidious. In many offshore areas, lost or discarded netting lines the ocean floor for thousands of square yards. Non-biodegradable, these sunken nets continue to catch and kill fish and other marine life long after the boats that fished with them have left, even after the men that set the nets have themselves died.

And now, here, I was unexpectedly faced with yet another victim of this lethal legacy of man’s carelessness. What should I do? What could I do?

This is Part 1 of a 2-part essay.  Part 2 comes next week. 

Robert Finch is a nature writer living in Wellfleet. 'A Cape Cod Notebook' won the 2006 New England Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Radio Writing.