"The Great Pelican Paddle-Off"

On a breezy warm spring morning, three American white pelicans—Carl, Bev, and Frank—bobbed along the glassy surface of Evergreen Lake in McLean County, Illinois. They had stopped for a layover during their annual migration, and as usual, boredom was setting in.

"I’m telling you," Carl said, flapping a wing dramatically, "I caught a fish this big yesterday."

"That wasn’t a fish," Bev scoffed. "It was a soggy flip-flop. And you nearly choked on it."

Frank, the self-appointed philosopher of the group, dipped his bill into the water and sighed. "Isn’t it curious," he mused, "how humans throw their shoes into lakes? What if those flip-flops are part of a secret migration ritual?"

Bev rolled her eyes. "You’d think less if you fished more."

Carl, not one to be outdone, straightened his neck. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Let’s settle this with a good old-fashioned Paddle-Off. First one across the lake wins bragging rights—and the best fishing spot."

And so, the Great Pelican Paddle-Off began.

Carl surged ahead with reckless enthusiasm, sending water everywhere and startling a family of turtles. Bev, focused and calculating, glided smoothly, drafting behind Carl to conserve energy. Frank? He took a more leisurely approach, pondering the meaning of water ripples and occasionally stopping to admire his own reflection.

Halfway across, Carl burned out, wings aching. "I’m not saying I peaked early, but—" he huffed, as Bev shot past him with a gleeful squawk.

Just as Bev neared the finish, Frank floated by without breaking a sweat—or a feather. "You know," he said dreamily, "sometimes the fastest way across is to let the wind do the work."

He drifted gracefully over the finish line, winning the Paddle-Off through sheer philosophical detachment.

Carl and Bev caught up, glaring at their unflappable friend.

"Well, Frank," Bev said grudgingly, "I guess you earned the best fishing spot."

Frank smiled. "Oh, you two go ahead. I’m just here for the vibes—and the occasional soggy flip-flop."

And with that, the three pelicans paddled off into the sunset, their rivalry settled—for now.

American White Pelican Migration - Emiquon National Wildlife Refuge

  

The vast expanse of the sky shimmered with the soft glow of dawn as the great white pelicans set their course northward. Their long, broad wings stretched wide, catching the spring thermals that carried them effortlessly over rivers, fields, and wetlands. With each beat of their powerful wings, they followed an ancient route, one that had guided their ancestors for generations.

As they soared over the Mississippi River, the waters below teemed with fish, a promise of the abundance that lay ahead.

Their destination was Emiquon, a vast floodplain in central Illinois, where nature had reclaimed the land and restored it to its former glory. Once a drained agricultural field, Emiquon had been revived into a wetland haven, rich with life and sustenance for the migrating flocks. It was a sanctuary, a place where they could rest, feed, and gather strength for the journeys still to come.

As they descended, the pelicans were met with the scent of fresh water and the symphony of life that thrived in the marshes. Swirling eddies of fish glimmered beneath the surface, while reeds swayed in the gentle breeze. Other birds—egrets, herons, and ducks—greeted their arrival, sharing in the wealth of the wetland.

They would spend weeks here, regaining their strength before continuing farther north to their breeding grounds in the upper Midwest and Canada.

For now, Emiquon was home—a place where the rhythm of migration paused, where the wild heart of the wetlands pulsed strong, and where the white pelicans found peace under the wide, open sky.

Image from March 20, 2019.