MOULTONBOROUGH -- It's just after 7 a.m. and field biologist Elizabeth Jackson stops talking mid-sentence as she strides toward her boat tied to a dock in Lake Winnipesaukee's Moultonborough Bay.

“Oh!” she points up and to her right, listening to the lilting call of a loon overhead.

“That's a tremelo. He's checking out who's down there, what territory is available,” Jackson explained.

Tuned in to notice all the sights and sounds of loons, Jackson is a University of Vermont zoology major spending her second summer monitoring and protecting Winnipesaukee's nesting loons, which are protected as a threatened species in New Hampshire. She works for the Loon Preservation Committee, a nonprofit conservation and education organization that runs the Loon Center in Moultonborough. She also lives on the lake, moving there seven years ago with her parents.

Already windblown from being on the water since 6 a.m., she's getting back to it after a short break from what will be her typical seven to eight hours motoring around the state's largest lake. Her mission is varied: record sightings, find and rope off nesting areas, put up signs to keep boaters from coming too close, pick up dead or injured birds, capture and band live ones and talk with volunteers who are always eager to share loon sightings.

The seven other loon monitors cover regions all around the state, but since Winnipesaukee, at 70 miles long, is so big, it's a region all to itself.

Long process

It takes Jackson three days to cover the entire area in sections, and then she does it again and again. She does it in rainy and raw weather, in heat waves and, if she's lucky, on beautiful days like Saturday. “I love it. I grew up on this lake, and I've always loved loons,” she said.

The water was calm on Saturday as Jackson grasped the silver steering wheel and headed out into the bay, rubbing her eyes. In addition to being a loon ranger, she waitresses at night. Working two jobs at 60 hours a week is catching up with her.

Just a couple of other boats were out, fishermen mostly, casting toward shore for bass. Jackson likes it when it's that quiet.

“Weekends are horrible on this lake,” she said, above the puttering engine. “There are so many boats, it's almost impossible to survey, so normally I just go in the morning and have to be off the lake by 11.”

Constant monitoring

She made her way toward a failed nest to take down the signs and ropes she put up rainy and raw weather, in heat waves and, if she's lucky, on beautiful days like Saturday. “I love it. I grew up on this lake, and I've always loved loons,” she said.

The water was calm on Saturday as Jackson grasped the silver steering wheel and headed out into the bay, rubbing her eyes. In addition to being a loon ranger, she waitresses at night.

Working two jobs at 60 hours a week is catching up with her.

Just a couple of other boats were out, fishermen mostly, casting toward shore for bass. Jackson likes it when it's that quiet.

“Weekends are horrible on this lake,” she said, above the puttering engine. “There are so many boats, it's almost impossible to survey, so normally I just go in the morning and have to be off the lake by 11.”

Natural failures

She made her way toward a failed nest to take down the signs and ropes she put up earlier in the season to protect the site. Finding nest sites and roping them off is a big part of her job. This season, she's found 21 nests, but they resulted in only 10 chicks. Eight are still alive.

One may have gotten hit by a boat and another seems to have been killed by an intruder male.

“A male will come in and fight another male, then kill the chick.

“It's actually pretty common, especially when there are chicks, to have fights,” explained Jackson.

She also puts up signs that say “Loon Sanctuary. Keep Out.” It's a blunt message, meant to keep wildlife lovers from harming the creatures by getting too close.

“Disturbed loons abandon their eggs, which get cold and die or are eaten by predators. When they're flushed off the nest they could potentially kick the eggs off the nest and they'll roll into the water,” Jackson added.

Most of the time, boaters she encounters are supportive of giving loons their space, she said. One time, someone even yelled at her for being what they considered too close. “That was great, actually,” she said, because it shows people care and are aware.

Not all are helpful

“You're going to have your people who don't listen. I've heard of people who go over the lines (of rope) as if the signs don't apply to them, or they'll go right up to the line and look. The line is the bare minimum distance you should be from the nest,” she warned.

On the way to the failed nest, Jackson pointed out a floating man-made nesting raft, complete with a camouflage awning that hid the nest from eagles, hawks and owls. A pair of loons used it this season. “A lot of habitat destruction has gotten rid of nesting sites, so we put those up,” she said.

Jackson stopped her boat, an old Boston whaler, each time she spotted a loon. She stays so far away that she needs binoculars to check them for leg bands and try to see what they're feeding on, or if they have young with them.

She jots down the information into a notebook and later will enter it into the statewide database.

Sometimes, this routine gets broken by a call from one of the many volunteers who keep their eyes on loons or by a lakeside homeowner who has found a beached and weakened loon.

“We'll go rescue it, but when I say rescue I mean pick it up. They usually die soon after,” Jackson said.

Last year, she collected five dead loons and four of the five deaths were fishing related, she said.

Lead poisoning

The Loon Center staff performs necropsies to determine cause of death. Their research shows that lead poisoning is still the leading cause of adult death, despite laws forbidding some lead sinkers and lures.

More stringent legislation forbidding lead in all sinkers and lures under an ounce is now before the Legislature.

As the dazzling sun finally reached high enough to warm the skin, Jackson cut the motor.

She had arrived at the island where she expected to gather in the signs and ropes near the failed nest, but she spotted an adult loon swimming nearby. She peered through the binoculars.

“I see two eggs on the nest. That's curious … ” her voice trailed off as she watched the adult loon. With no adult keeping the eggs warm then or earlier that morning when Jackson checked on them, she felt the eggs are no longer viable.

“This would be an instance of human disturbance,” she surmised, based on evidence that seemed to rule out predation (no shattered shells) or an intruder male.

It's impossible to completely rule anything out without a closer look. But for now, Jackson switched on the motor once more and moved on.

It can be frustrating, she said, because despite widespread efforts to protect loons, they're still struggling to gain ground in New Hampshire.

According to the Loon Center, loons have only reached the target rate of reproduction once in the past six years, a statistic that Jackson keeps in mind when patrolling the lake on the loons' behalf.

Jackson works in relative solitude on the lake and she said her waitressing job balances out the solitary nature of the loon research. “That helps a lot. I really am a social, talkative person,” she said with a smile.