True-Life Adventures On "The Rock" I

Let the Eagle Soar*

In the 60's (the 19-60's) my father, as a perk in his business, used to take fishing trips to Alaska. He enjoyed the fishing, but I think he enjoyed sitting on a boat with no schedule more. He always held a cynical view of boat ownership ("just an excuse to drink," he'd say), but given an invitation where he could combine a little business with pleasure and not feel he was wasting his time, he'd go and gladly.

But he rarely brought home a fish. Too much trouble, I think.

I found some of his fishing trip pictures recently and it struck me how many of them were of tree-tops. Yes, there were pictures of the boat, and some of the guys, and some of the fish strewn on the dock before being packed away in ice, but a lot of them were of those tree-tops. Odd, until you pull out the magnifying glass and take a closer look.

Nestled among the branches in one's and two's would be tiny bald eagles. At that time seeing an eagle was a rare thing, as our national symbol (in the bird kingdom) was having a tough time of it. Its days were numbered, and, being on the endangered species list, they were numbered as well. The list meant they could no longer be hunted, their status was to be preserved, and there were areas (mostly in Alaska) where they were protected. The feds took action because it was a bit embarrassing to relaize that we were hunting (and poisoning with DDT) our national symbol out of existence.

Bad omen, that.

I bring all this up because I have eagles as neighbors and have had them as such for as long as K. and I have been coming out to "The Rock." I remember waking up one morning to that pinched, hectoring cry and thinking "That's a bald eagle!" (I'd heard that sound in a sound effects library at work). After that, I always noticed them, and as the 90's progressed it seemed they were everywhere in coastal areas of the state: at Golden Gardens; Discovery Park; The Cove at Normandy Park--hell, I'd even seen them winging their way in Bellevue. I just heard the other day that bald eagles have been seen nesting in Philadelphia, not far from the Liberty Bell. The country may be in disarray, but the national bird is doing just fine.

And now, from my deck (where I'm writing this) I can look off to my right and in the tallest tree in the middle is an eagle's nest--sprawling, thatched--resting in the crux of the top branches. It is guarded jealously by the male who takes wing whenever another bird, of any kind, breaks the perimeter. It stares balefully when anyone turns on a lawn-mower or even a weed-whacker. I was getting "the glare" for just using my wood-splitter the other day.

Soon, the population will increase by just one--a scrawny, brown-featherd youngling who'll have none of the majesty or soaring finesse of its elders. We'll get to watch as the parents leave the nest and coax, cajole, harass and hector the new eagle to make the leap, to spread its wings and soar. Every young eagle must take that chance. If it cannot, it will die just as surely if it was poached for ceremonial feathers (as has been done by local tribe members) or if pesticides had leached into its food supply.

But if it takes that chance, the chances are good that it will soar, riding the air currents with the occasional burst of power from its dark wings, the world left below and surveyed by its intense eyes imbedded in its, eventually, startlingly white-feathered head. That's what taking that leap--the chance to fly--will do.

Our national symbol continues to inspire me, even when its patron does not.

* Why, the title? Well just click on the video link below to hear our former Attorney General (who got that job after his state booted his righteous fanny out of the Senate) singing his own stirring composition.

Stirring. But not in a good way.