Unfortunately he is so shy that one seldom gets a good opportunity.
Once I found his favorite fishing ground, and came every day to watch
him from a thicket on the shore. It was of little use to go in a
canoe. At my approach he would sink deeper and deeper in the water, as
if taking in ballast. How he does this is a mystery; for his body is
much lighter than its bulk of water. Dead or alive, it floats like a
cork; yet without any perceptible motion, by an effort of will
apparently, he sinks it out of sight. You are approaching in your
canoe, and he moves off slowly, swinging his head from side to side so
as to look at you first with one eye, then with the other. Your canoe
is swift; he sees that you are gaining, that you are already too near.
He swings on the water, and sits watching you steadily. Suddenly he
begins to sink, deeper and deeper, till his back is just awash. Go a
little nearer, and now his body disappears; only his neck and head
remain above water. Raise your hand, or make any quick motion, and he
is gone altogether. He dives like a flash, swims deep and far, and
when he comes to the surface will be well out of danger.

If you notice the direction of his bill as it enters the water, you
can tell fairly well about where he will come up again. It was
confusing at first, in chasing him, to find that he rarely came up
where he was expected. I would paddle hard in the direction he was
going, only to find him far to the right or left, or behind me, when
at last he showed himself. That was because I followed his body, not
his bill. Moving in one direction, he will turn his head and dive.
That is to mislead you, if you are following him. Follow his bill, as
he does himself, and you will be near him when he rises; for he rarely
turns under water.

With two good men to paddle, it is not difficult to tire him out.