Above photo: The 2024 Loon Restoration Crew. Top Row (left to right): Tracy Hart, Brooke Adam, Autumn Dorr, Anne Heissenbuttel. Bottom Row (left to right): Marley Cloutier, Oskar Mattes, Ethan Daly. © Oskar Mattes
By Ethan Daly, Loon Restoration Team Technician
The total impact of conservation work is rarely seen by those who make it happen. Even Jane Goodall, famed zoologist, may never know the reach of her work. Centuries from now, young scientists may still be inspired to research chimpanzees in Tanzania.
It would be a faux pas to suggest our plucky team of three interns, three seasonal biologists, and one full time ecologist generated an impact as great as Jane Goodall in our six months working on the Maine Loon Restoration Project, but the question remains: how do we measure impact?
In the scientific community, impact is often measured quantitatively, that is, using our preliminary numbers. This year, we successfully deployed 83 rafts by mid-May, peak season for Common Loon nesting. Of those 83 rafts, 17 were used for nesting by pairs of loons. From those 17 nesting pairs, 20 chicks were hatched. We did this all with the help of more than 250 community scientists and volunteers, who, by our first count, collectively gave 1,399 hours of their time to the project.
Seventeen rafts used out of 83. That puts our success rate at around 20%. We’d love for 100% of our rafts to be used, but nature is unpredictable. But 20%? That doesn’t tell the full story of our impact this season.
We can try to measure impact qualitatively. Testimonials from participants were positive this season. One volunteer wrote “life is good on (redacted for loon privacy) Pond, thanks in part to you folks!” Another wrote “I am very happy to be a part of this community!”
Even qualitative impact has its limits, though. Outside of a formal survey, we can only draw conclusions from brief conversations with volunteers on the shorelines and waterways of far off lakes. They always express gratitude and joy about “their” loons, but it’s hard to say what impact stems from that.
Looking at spatial data, we can see our impact visually. The Loon Restoration team and volunteers worked on lakes and ponds all over Maine. Down south, we brushed shoulders with New Hampshire, putting a raft out in the Berwick area. Farther north, we trucked into Rangeley, launching rafts from small driveways off of logging roads. Heading east towards the Atlantic, we expanded our raft presence in the Damariscotta area. Even farther east, requiring overnight trips each time, we dug into Ellsworth. We put thousands of miles on our trucks this summer and became well acquainted with the best coffee in rural Maine, the least risky gas station jalapeño poppers, and the best viewpoints on I-95.
Visuals are impressive, but like qualitative and quantitative data, they fail to tell the full story of the season. This leaves us with one option: to go beyond scientific ways of measuring data and analyze how we feel at the end of this season.
We feel great. Sitting here in the office, with what remains of our seasonal staff, our mood is joyful. It’s hard to describe the satisfaction one gets from meeting so many new, passionate people who want to help the Common Loon. Each volunteer has unique life experiences that brought them to this point of wanting to make the natural environment around them a little bit healthier. Getting to know these people and help them do so is truly fulfilling.
Not to mention, getting to know these people in beautiful environments. I remember paddling back from the last field visit of a two-day trip and watching a Common Loon rise out of the water, flapping its wings to realign its feathers after preening. The sun was beginning to dip below a mountain ridge in the distance and the fading light of the day caused the water to glitter. To enjoy moments like that and share them with multiple generations of Mainers and lake-goers, is to feel the sun from both sides.
It’s easy to get romantic about conservation work and it’s difficult to see its impact. But sitting here at Gilsland Farm as the leaves begin to change and the final data points trickle in, we can’t help but feel that loons will be all right in the future. There will always be people who care and do the work. And to those of you who have done the work alongside us, we thank you.
