Hello Eagle Friends,
Today was another chilly winter day with the high of -8 degrees and the wind chill index fluctuating between -22 to -28 degrees depending on whatever forecast I could tune in on the various radio stations that I could pick up while in the valley.
When I arrived at Daedee and Dancer's nest area a large, brown eagle flew in from the west and
perched just a few hundred feet out from me. I quickly shot some pictures, but the bird perched only
for a second, then flew onward to the back bluff. I managed to keep my lens on him while he
glided, easily, practiced, between bare tree limbs; rising and dipping until he came to a tree
and perched.
He was at least a mile away. I was amazed that I could still focus on him, even though the pictures of him merely looked like brown specks, or enlarged dust.
Daedee and Dancer patrolled their nest area heavily but never went after this stranger, this eaglet, whoever he was. I have not ever seen an eaglet with this coloration. I know the bald eagle goes through the most varied coloration and changes of any given bird in North America, but this eagle, had what looked like light banding and not the usual mottled white and brown undersides. In fact, it looked like a super-sized red tail hawk crossed with a bald eagle.
I'm curious if any of you know or can identify this bird. Is it a golden eagle? Is it just another variation of the bald eagles coloration? I wish I could have been closer, or obtained better images, but I only managed a half dozen shots.
I know it's not the eaglets from the past two years, but I have to wonder if it is Ditto, the first eaglet from Daedee and Dancer who is almost three years old now. Still, the wavy bands on the wings and tail have me baffled. Wouldn't that be wonderful if it were Ditto?
My next moments of discovery didn't go as well. I found a relatively fresh set of fox tracks, and wondered if it were my little guy who has watched me for three years out here. His steps ran alongside of mine from yesterday, then veered off. I continued following his steps and I paused right where he must have. He was, obviously, undoubtedly, ambushed by a waiting coyote. The evidentiary proof was in his death strides in his attempts at escape. Without looking very far ahead, I could already see the rest of the story, and I bowed my head. I followed both sets of tracks another twenty feet to his death bed in the broken snow. Only a patch of the fox was left. Everything was eaten. Not a bone wasted. The killer urinated on the snow, on the partially buried remains
of the fox.
One crisp footprint stamped in the snow next to the remains of the fox showed me it was the coyote. As I stood there I tried to understand again why one life takes another to survive out here. Nature is nature, and nature doesn't play favorites. One takes its' opportunities on another's inexperience or inability to sense danger.
I don't know what bothered me more, looking at the last steps of the foxes walk in this life, or this last marker, this one foot strip of his existence, a subtle reminder that "fox was here."
I stayed for awhile, and hiked out, but my mind has been on the fox all day, and night.
The trumpeter swans were up and feeding and I enjoyed watching them paddling around.
Why do swans project such an aura of tranquility and peace? They are so trusting and so gentle.
As I traveled on I hoped the hooded merganser would still be around, but most of the pond had frozen over since yesterday, and most of the river, too. Forever, every time I drive by this place
I will think of my little actress of yesterday.
All the eagle nests were empty today. I only saw one other adult eagle perched on a tree deeper in the valley.
As I drove home I had momentarily turned my head to look at a vehicle-struck doe who was being eaten by a dozen crows, and in a blink of the eye a huge buck was in front of my truck. I saw a flash of brown, terror in his eyes, and his large rack and he was at least ten points. I couldn't slam on my breaks for I had a van riding right behind me. I've been told repeatedly, "If a deer leaps in front of you . . . HIT IT! If you don't you risk rolling by swerving, swerving into another vehicle, or worse. Hit the deer."
Luckily in two leaps, and only God knows how, he missed getting hit. He leapt, then he bolted right past the dead doe scaring up all the black crows. It made me wonder why he wouldn't change routes, this was obviously a deer crossing spot. Doesn't one animals death become a detour for anothers passing? Couldn't he see a dead doe there?
I'm looking forward to day 13.
See you on the journey--
Lisa
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