Flying above Channel Lake, a large, white bird with a 10-foot wingspan and a huge orange throat pouch commands the sky. Three more fly in tandem like the Blue Angels a little farther away, while dozens upon dozens float at the intersection of the water and marsh vegetation.

It’s impossible to miss these American white pelicans as they pass through our region in early spring.

Decades ago, I’d visit glacial lakes in late March and early April to spot common loons and different duck species, such as buffleheads with their compact bodies and pure white-and black plumages. Now, my forays to view birds in early spring include looking for pelicans who share their fishing lakes with loons and ducks.

Several decades ago, white pelicans were nowhere to be found in Illinois. The species historically nested, and still does, on isolated islands in freshwater lakes in Canada and the Great Plains, well east of Illinois. They migrate to the Gulf Coast for winter, but changed their path recently to include Illinois as a migratory stopover for resting and feeding.

Pelicans add another dimension to the scene on these deep lakes, formed roughly 12,000 years ago after the glaciers retreated allowing meltwater to form Channel Lake, Lake Marie, Loon Lake and others in northern Illinois.

These are special lakes, providing a habitat for migrating waterfowl, including the mysterious common loon with its deep red eye, black head, black-and-white patterned neck and back, and white undersides. The common loon has lived on Earth for at least 3 million years.

This species certainly paused on glacial lakes to rest and feed, with some of them remaining to nest in northern Illinois. Today, they only pass through, unable to adapt to lakeside development and motorized boats plying the once-silent waters.

Scientists say loon numbers are declining in the Midwest.

That’s partially what makes seeing loons so special this time of year. The deep glacial lakes are perfect for the loon, which can deftly dive to 100 feet or more to grab its prey of mostly fish. This species also needs a large enough lake so that it can run across it, gaining momentum to become airborne.

At Channel Lake, I watched the pelicans fly, float and catch fish, then started looking for loons. I was shocked to see a loon, about one-third the size of a pelican, sitting on the water right next to the much larger bird. These species get along quite well as they find their food in different ways.

The pelican, which has lived on Earth even longer than the loon, doesn’t dive, but rather it floats on a shallower part of the lake, scooping up fish and water in its pouch. It holds its head up so the water can drain. Then it swallows the fish, typically a species not prized by fishermen.

On Channel Lake, the pelicans were easy to see, not just because of their size, but because they do not disappear underneath the water for long periods of time like the loons. Just as I got my binoculars on a loon, it dove down and it was minutes later when I saw it again in a different part of the lake. Pelicans on this lake numbered in the hundreds, and loons, maybe about 50, though David Johnson, who leads loon-watching trips this time of year, saw at least 100 loons on this one lake several days prior.

Watching the behavior of the migratory birds on the lake is fascinating. At one time, a loon lifted its foot and fluttered it quickly behind its back. Scientists call this behavior “foot waggling,” and speculate that the loon is likely stretching, preening, regulating its body temperature or improving its circulation.

Loons are, of course, known for their haunting, wailing calls, and sometimes you can hear a tremolo out on the water when viewing them. Pelicans are silent and majestic.

We went to an inlet on Lake Marie to see more pelicans, closer to the shoreline. Along with them were four mute swans and nearly a dozen buffleheads. The male buffleheads, much brighter than the females, bobbed their heads up and down, touched the water and showed off their spring mating rituals. Then two male common mergansers, with dark green heads, long, red tapered bills and chalk white bodies, floated into view.

Like the loons and pelicans, the mergansers and the buffleheads, which breed in northern Minnesota and Canada, among other places, are just passing through. Closer to shore, two small birds only about 15 inches in length, called horned grebes, floated in the water, revealing their orange feather tufts on either side of their heads, before they, too, like the loons, disappeared into the water to search for food.

Grebes have been on Earth likely as long as loons have. Some duck species likely have been here even longer than that.

As a musician, I adore Igor Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring,” but as a nature lover, my annual rite of spring must include watching pelicans, loons, ducks and grebes on glacial lakes before they leave for their breeding grounds. As the spring moves along, more boaters take to the lakes to fish and ramp up their engines, chasing away the waterfowl that plied the waters here long before humans arrived.

Sheryl DeVore has worked as a full-time and freelance reporter, editor and photographer for the Chicago Tribune and its subsidiaries. She’s the author of several books on nature and the environment.

sheryldevorewriter@gmail.com