[EBB Sightings] soaring with the eagles at Huckleberry Preserve

These days, with diminished, or certainly more
discrete bird activity in my favorite woods, lugging
my heavy binocs is often a waste of effort. Plus, like
chasing away the rain by carrying an umbrella,
sometimes it causes the birds to disappear. Just
another installment of the never-ending cosmic joke,
to which I am so frequently subject.

But then there are the eagles. Frankly, without
binocs, you really can't see these birds when they are
perched across the canyon on top of the Com Towers.
Sure, you can imagine them there, but to confirm, you
gotta have that multiplication of image. And it is for
the eagles, and only for the eagles, that I will often
lug those weighty optics across the entire loop trail,
knowing that I will probably only get to use them,
briefly, at the entrance.

On my first day back at Huck, after a month-long
sojourn to North Carolina, on a wiltingly hot mid-day
walk, there they were. Both of them, perched and
preening, and with the help of my optical friend, up
close and personal. From the state of "Is it an Eagle,
or a strut?" to being able to sex them, by dramatic
size differences, from afar, it is always a thrill to
have them in my prismatic purvue. And I can't help but
think, with their far, far superior vision, even
compared to my wonderful Swarovskis, that they, too,
note and remark upon my familiar presence. Talk about
great neighbors.

Two days later I was back at Huck, but this time
traveling light and desperately needing some
unencumbered exercise (too much airport and plane and
computer time). So, no binocs, no camera, no nuthin'.
Just me, my eyes and my hiking boots. Figured I
couldn't see the eagles, why bother?

But as I rounded that last curve that looked over the
canyon towards Sibley, my heart soared to see a huge
long-winged shape, unmistakeably eagle, even with only
the magnification of my inadequate eyes. I watched it
literally float and sweep, back and forth, soaring
gently and slowly upwards, until with a few beats of
its great wings, it landed softly upon its tall metal
perch. Instantly, it became invisible again. 

I feel so priviledged to have these tantalizing
glimpses of my favorite avian neighbors.

Debbie Viess