The story of the red-necked grebes nesting in Humber Bay Park East is another reminder that both man and Mother Nature can be cruel.

This particular pair of water birds, thought to be first-time parents, struggled this breeding season to hatch a clutch of chicks. Their first two attempts at nesting ended in failure, with the complete loss of many eggs.

With the persistence and fortitude that characterize this species, Podiceps grisegena, though, the Mr. and Mrs. tried again. On their third attempt, the pair successfully hatched six zebra-striped chicks; one egg, long overdue to hatch, remains in the nest.

The grebes’ every move — each and every flap and flutter — has been scrutinized by a posse of people who have taken a proprietary interest in their well-being. Many reside in the forest of condo towers that line Marine Parade Dr. overlooking the park. Every day, these folks visit the park’s inner ponds, where the narrow footbridge affords an unusually intimate view of the birds’ family life. Taking up a position along the bridge, the observers take pictures and hungrily exchange information.

One of the regulars is Mary Kvasnic. She’s been observing various grebe pairs since they first started nesting in this location a few years ago. Her passion for the birds is such that all the locals know her as “Mama Grebe.” Carl Orjalo, another keen observer whom I met, calls her “the de facto protector of Humber Bay.”

Kvasnic’s happy to tell anyone she meets about the birds’ long-running story and she has the answer to any question she’s asked. Everyone wants to know the same things. How many eggs have been laid? How many hatched? Did you see the babies? What’s the other parent doing?

Of course, as in every good drama, there is a villain. A few, actually. In Kvasnic’s eyes, they come in the form of canoeists and kayakers who paddle right up to the grebes’ floating nest, and thoughtless anglers who cast their fishing lines too close.

Just last weekend, the female grebe got a fish hook embedded in her cheek, the line trailing down into the water. With six offspring needing to be fed non-stop and one still needing to be incubated, this was a potentially life-threatening calamity for the whole family.

Kvasnic’s group — a substantial number in an email list — kicked into gear. Someone called the Toronto Wildlife Centre, which responded quickly with a rescue team aboard a kayak. (This group has had success with such rescues before. In June, they captured a red-necked grebe that had got snared in Bronte Harbour and removed a fish hook from its neck. )

Last Sunday’s rescue efforts were less successful, although the team tried valiantly. During the attempt, two of the youngest chicks that had been riding on the mother grebe’s back fell off and tumbled into the water. One made it (unseen) safely back to the nest. The smallest chick, thought to be about a day and a half old, was used to lure the mother to come within catching range.

Ultimately, the rescuers were unable to catch the mother. But before they left the pond, they tried to warm the tiny chick, then carefully put it back in the nest. Sadly, that baby didn’t make it. People who were on the footbridge that day suspect it died of hypothermia after being in the cold water too long.

There was some good news, though, which Kvasnic told me about in an email I received while I was away for the weekend. Somehow or other, she wrote, “the brave mama grebe freed herself” from the fishing line.

As one of the grebe groupies myself, I wanted to see this talented mama again with my own eyes. On Tuesday evening, on the way back from my trip, I barrelled over to the park before it got dark.

I could see only three chicks, all hungry; they took turns poking their little zebra heads out from mom’s back feathers, where they hide to keep warm and protected from predators. All the while, father grebe worked tirelessly to feed them, every few minutes bringing back a tiny fish or crustacean to fill their gaping mouths.

Then, just as night was falling, a fourth chick emerged briefly from its hiding place. There was no evidence of the fifth one at all.

On Wednesday, I got a call from Irene Jardine, another one of the grebe gang, who told me that multiple people had definitely seen the fifth chick that day. It was good news, but we acknowledged that danger for these tiny chicks lurks everywhere and the number of survivors could change in a minute.

Kvasnic’s crew can accept Mother Nature’s aleatory ways, but they want their fellow humans to behave better. To this end, they have produced a petition carrying 327 signatures asking the city to prohibit fishing in the area where the grebes nest. It seems to be as simple as having “No fishing” signs installed at either end of the footbridge, but the group has been getting the runaround from various city departments.

Jardine has written a letter to Mayor John Tory (open John Tory's policard) outlining the group’s failed efforts and asking for his help. “I am 77 years old and would like to see this game end before I die,” she writes.

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Kvasnic is philosophical.

“We are lucky that the birds come to us and we should appreciate them and nature,” she says.