Bald Eagle • Haliaeetus leucocephalus • Kitpu • Pygargue à tête blanche
It is very cold. I grab an extra sweater and haul on a thick pair of socks, hoping all this bundling up isn’t for nothing. Are we really going to get to see the eagles?
It’s February in Nova Scotia. The sun is low and weak in the sky. We are heading to Sheffield Mills, near Canning for the annual Bald Eagle Watch. As we arrive, we look around at our fellow birders; they are wrapped in scarves, hats, thick winter coats. Their faces look ruddy. Their breath hangs in little clouds of floating fog in front of their faces. Even with our extra layers, we sense we are probably underdressed for the weather, and as Eagle watching novices, we have brought no warming drinks. Next time I will bring rum.
We park the car and armed with cameras, walk along the side road, following the crowd. The road is lined with vehicles. We approach the frozen field. There is a thin layer of frost on the grass that gleams in the sunlight. As we approach, I see a line of people - many hundreds! I marvel at the number of people wanting to freeze to death on a Saturday morning. The most zealous of the photographers are positioned strategically in the very front; they have been there for a while. They have their massive telephoto cameras up on tripods, which look precarious in the snow. It all seems more like Hollywood North than a farmer’s field! The crowd is thickening. There are many rows of people behind the “paparazzi”, straining to get a look. The crowd is surprisingly silent, save for the occasional murmur of excitement or click of a camera shutter.
So far there isn’t much to see. The field is empty. In the distance, in the trees, the dark shapes of these beautiful birds are starting to emerge in the branches. They are getting ready for the arrival of the farmer’s truck full of dead chickens. By the time the first vehicle arrives, the crowd is numb with cold, and a happy cheer rises up. The chickens are tossed onto the field. They bounce, roll and stop. Ignominy for one bird is food for another.
Nothing particular happens. People wait. Someone holds a cell phone over his head, then changes his mind. It’s so cold! The wind is picking up.
Suddenly, with a graceful swoop, one eagle approaches the field, canvassing the buffet. It glides back. A couple of crows get impatient and fly hopefully over the dead chickens, then land. That seems to be a cue. Five eagles swoop down, there is lots of noise, and the crows give way. The eagles grab some meat and fly off, soaring high in the air. Their wingspan is massive - the crowd murmur their delight, cameras are pointed skyward. Everyone wants to capture their little dance of triumph. I am transfixed, looking up in adulation, wishing I could soar with these graceful creatures.
Another truck arrives with more carcasses, and now the air is black with eagles lunging, pecking, swooping, scolding the crows for getting in their way. One massive eagle flies right over my head and I get a view of his astonishing 7 foot wing span, his pinions splayed out.
What would I give to see one of these creatures up close? But they are so busy swooping and diving that they are just a blur. We walk along the field- more to try and keep warm than anything - and all of a sudden, I spot an eagle, perched in a tree! He is huge. Much bigger and fiercer than I had imagined. And so beautiful! I stare, mesmerized. He pays me no attention, bent over his food, pulling at the meat. He stops, looks up, silhouetted against that cold blue sky. He is still, poised. He is magnificent.
by Nina Waite, French Immersion teacher from K'jipuktuk/Halifax, Nova Scotia.
BALD EAGLE
CONSERVATION STATUS: Least concern
THREATS: Hunting, lead poisoning, habitat destruction
WHAT CAN I DO?
- encourage the use of copper bullets for hunting
- promote education and awareness
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