Enviroment

How to Feed a Bald Eagle

We were on Round Pond in Camp Massawepie located in the Adirondack Park, New York.  Massawepie means place of big fishes in native nomenclature. And we were out for a wonderful day of brook trout fishing in this gem of a place. A 3700 acre Boy Scout camp amid an ancient maze of six kettle ponds and eskers the receding glacier left behind some 13,000 years ago. A trout angler’s dream! Anyone with a NY state fishing license can fish here when the Boy Scouts aren’t in residence.

We were just settling into trolling on the east side of Round Pond when Kevin had a fish on. As he reeled, I kept saying quietly, “don’t let him get away”. Kevin reeled in the 6 inch trout, and we were both disappointed. At Massawepie, trout must be at least 12 inches long to be keepers. Kevin took out his hemostat and carefully dislodged the hook from the trout’s mouth. Then Kevin gently placed the little fish back in the pond. We could see that the trout was struggling a bit, not diving straight back down from whence he came. 

Suddenly, a huge bald eagle coasted down in front of us, aiming right for the little trout. With one big swoosh the bald eagle swooped in, reached its long, curved talons just under the water and grabbed the floundering trout.

We couldn’t believe it! We have fished many ponds and lakes in the Adirondacks, and only once before have we had an eagle come within 1000 ft of us. Usually, they’re flying way overhead or perched on a tree a quarter mile away.

Since both male and female eagles look alike, I’ll call this one she.  After her amazing catch, we thought she’d fly far away.  Instead, she flew two thirds up a nearby white pine tree and began to tear and eat her feast in front of us.  At first, we were afraid to paddle our small solo canoes too close, but as we came closer the eagle didn’t seem to mind.

After she’d finished eating, she flew a circle around this 5 acre pond and then settled into the top branch of another white pine. There she perched and watched us. Soon Kevin caught another brookie – unfortunately, it wasn’t the required 12 inches, so he released it. This time we turned our phones’ videos on just in case we had a repeat performance. And we did!

Once again, the eagle flew towards where Kevin had released the trout, made a circle and came dead on tracking the fish, lowering her legs and turning her talons sideways so she could skim the water, and grab the struggling trout. Then as before, she returned to what we now called her ‘dining white pine tree branch’ and quickly ate every scale. Afterwards, she once again flew in a circle around us and alighted on the same look-out pine across the pond.

“Can you believe this”? Kevin asked me.

“Unbelievable”, I said.

“If we catch another small one, let’s hold onto it and release it between our two boats and see if she will come in for a grab between us. Then we could get an amazing video”, said Kevin.

“What a great idea. Yes, let’s do it. This is truly incredible”, I said.

I was so excited to try out this experiment. The eagle seemed completely unafraid of us, so I thought she would get close, and we would get an amazing close-up video.

Within minutes Kevin had a fish on. As he reeled it in, I silently wished for another small one. And it was – another 6 incher. Kevin carefully released the small trout into the water. We were about 20 feet apart. As the fish floundered on the surface between us, the eagle watched us and then flew in a half circle around us swooping just above the water between our canoes and then suddenly up and away without the trout.

‘I think she is afraid. Let’s back -paddle and see if she’ll come back”, said Kevin.

Quickly we paddled backwards so we were now about 35 feet apart.   The trout was still floundering just below the surface. Soon the eagle circled, flew down and this time gracefully, smoothly scooped up her trout. We each got the whole scene on our phones, yayee.

As we watched her fly back to her dining tree, we followed. This time we paddled right underneath her and videoed her tearing and eating. She wasn’t bothered by our presence one bit.

Since we still didn’t have our limits of three 12 inch fish a piece, we began to fish again. We’d each caught one 12 incher, and they were on stringers trailing beside and behind our boats. I was concerned that our eagle would go after them. She certainly wasn’t very afraid of us. Birds of prey and snapping turtles often go after fish on stringers. They are an easy meal especially for snapping turtles.

Last summer Kevin had a bald eagle try to do just that – swoop in and try for one. Fortunately, Kevin frightened him away with some yelling and flaying of arms. Happily, this eagle never tried to swoop in for the fish on our stringers. Why would she? We were practically handfeeding her.

“Do you think this eagle comes here regularly”? asked Kevin.

“It seems like it, doesn’t it? Maybe when she sees someone fishing here, she stops by to get a free meal”, I said.

“I bet she wonders why we let so many go”, said Kevin. “She probably thinks we’re pretty stupid.”

As we continued fishing and sometimes releasing, the eagle swept down and retrieved five of our ten released trout.  Happily, some got away, but five did not. When she swooped in for the fifth trout, she caught it and flew southwest away from her dining tree and away from Round Pond. We didn’t see her again that afternoon.

Ninety minutes later, we had caught our limit – three 12 to 16 inch brook trout a piece. So, we paddled to shore, hauled our boats up and over the esker, then down the trail to the parking lot.  As we stowed our gear in the back of our Subaru and put our boats on the roof rack, an older gentleman called from his nearby pick up, “Did you see the bald eagle”?

We both said, “Yes”! And we told him our story.

He said, “That eagle has a nest a quarter mile southwest of the pond.

Kevin said, “That’s where she flew away to. We thought she might have a nest in that direction.”

The old man laughed and said, “Yes, she does. She’s been around the past few summers. She’s a smart one all right, watches for someone fishing so she can snag a free meal for herself and her eaglets.”   

All the way home, we kept marveling to one another about what had happened. That morning, we had gone off to have a normal, fun-filled fishing day.  Incredibly, we’d had a mind-blowing adventure with a bald eagle.  

We had fed a bald eagle five trout over the course of a couple hours. Amazing. Every time she circled around our heads, we could hear and feel the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of her wings. So beautiful and so powerful. We could see her turn her talons sideways so she could pick up the trout between them. She barely skimmed the water as she gracefully picked up the trout. Then up, up, up and away to her white pine branch 50 feet above us. Incredibly, we had been able to watch this five times. Astounding.

For many months, we’d return to and recount this wilderness adventure often rewatching our videos with each other and our friends. Now years later, our remarkable bald eagle adventure remains at the top of our wildlife experiences in these beloved Adirondacks.

Dipping Our Toes into the Bouquet River With a Juvenile Great Blue Heron

Last September (2024), we were hot and sticky after putting in a rather large perineal flower bed around two sides of our little 1889 farmhouse.  It was too late to go for a paddle on the lake, so Kevin suggested we drive up the road to Jersey Street and wade and sit in the Boquet river.  This stretch of the river is ideal for wading or sitting in chest high water as it flows and cascades over layer upon layer of granite slabs and shelves. You can be in 3 inches or 3 feet simply by choosing which slab or pool you wish to enjoy. The water is clean: the Boquet River Association says, it’s the cleanest river in New York state.

According to the Nature Conservancy, New York’s 47-mile Boquet River is a major tributary to Lake Champlain, which provides world-class recreational fishing and supports verdant land for farming. It’s also the state’s steepest river, with a vertical drop of over 2,700 feet from its source on Dix Mountain to where it empties into Lake Champlain in Willsboro. The river is thought to have been re-named Boquet by the 17th century French interpreter and explorer, Charles Boquet. Sadly, the native name has been lost to history.

We were the only ones there when suddenly and quietly; a young Great Blue Heron landed just 8 feet from where we are sitting. We froze. Herons are shy birds and do not get close to humans. She was about 2 feet high, very thin and thinly feathered as if she hadn’t quite grown into her adult splendor. Her feathers were light blueish grey, her legs also greyish. Her medieval/renaissance sword-like beak about 6 – 8 inches long.

The great blue heron is my totem/talisman. Whenever something important or especially meaningful has happened or is happening in my life, a great blue heron always seems to show up – flying overhead or standing nearby. I always think of these sightings as positive, a kind of supporting affirmation and connection for whatever experience I am facing. I call them my Great Blue Heron days.

We were sitting on a shelf with overflowing water, our legs and feet over the edge, enjoying the feel of cascading water flowing over them.  The heron stood there looking up and down stream and then she looked directly at each of us – one at a time. She did not blink or appear to be frightened in any way. It was as if she were our pet, along for a cool – down herself. A day by the river side, a lazy swim in the riffles.

She did not move about as if to hunt: Great Blue herons eat fish. But she did do something so marvelously unexpected, we had to hold our breath, so we didn’t gasp or laugh and frighten her away. She picked up her left foot, squeezed her toes together and dangled them over the edge of our little waterfall. She dipped in and out of the water, touching it lightly, then holding her foot in the water for seconds at a time. She seemed delighted with the feel of the flowing water cascading over her toes and foot. She turned her foot this way and that, testing which way the water felt best. Every so often, she would gaze at us (her eyes are on the side of her head). She did this for several minutes.

Then just as suddenly and quietly as she’d arrived, she flew up and left for better fishing in the deeper pools farther downstream. We could see her, but she completely ignored us as she busily concentrated on the flow in front of her. She stayed there until we left 10 minutes later. And she was still there as we drove our car over the bridge back towards our home.

It is 17 months since my sister, Evie’s death, and I am still very much in mourning. Sitting and wading in the Bouquet brought back memories of Evie and her family playing with us in the Bouquet river at Split Rock Falls and up on the Bouquet’s north branch at Shoe Box Falls. Both of our families whooped and jumped and splashed together on two perfect blue sky Adirondack summer days. The joy of water and laughter and sliding down rock slabs – so cooling after our trudge into Shoe Box. The exhilaratingly ice-cold water at the base of Split Rock made for squeals of delight and blue chattering lips. My sister so young and full of energy. I could not imagine that several years later she would become sick and then die of metastatic breast cancer. She was a super active positive woman who like the steep, fleeting Bouquet river covered a lot of ground in her brief time here. I deeply miss her and think about her every single day.

So, on this Great Blue heron day, I wanted to believe that this young heron’s visit was a sign from Evie, an unexpected visit in a place that I love – the watery Adirondacks. I think of Evie and me sitting side by side on other rivers and streams enjoying the tactile pleasure of water flowing over rocks and over us. We both loved that. Then I think about how this river water journeys on and on: different water but the same journey – just like my sense of my sister. She is here just not the same kind of here as before.

On Happiness and Being – In the ADK

The Secret Cave

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Returning to this grotto every summer reminds me of how things can be both the same and different. Although it is always in the same place along Whallenburg Bay’s shore, it is different because of the water level and vegetation. It’s appearance, smells and sounds are different too. Listen.

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Parch Pond

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Sharing a special place with good friends. Nothing like it. A perfect day of blue sky, 70 degrees and crystal green tea water. Heaven.

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With friends at Parch Pond

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St. Regis Canoe Area – Seven Carries

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 Paddling on wilderness ponds strung like a necklace through dense pines and deciduous forests. Loons and their babies, a bald eagle, an osprey. And us, alone, finally together and apart, paddling and being. Floating.

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Caribbean Beach on Lake Champlain

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An adventure Fourth of July. Paddling out from Westport to meet friends coming from Whallensburg Bay. On the way we discovered a sandy beach uncovered this year because of low water on the lake. Lucky us. Swimming in aquamarine water with soft white sand underfoot for a hundred yards in every direction. Cool water, warm rocks to lay upon afterward. Are we in St. John’s?

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Road Trip

Brooksville, Maine

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Three friends set out driving across Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine to a cozy 1940’s cottage on the rocky coast. Front porch overlooking the bay, islands, and the sea. Wading in the chilly clear olive-green water, picking up tiny empty snail shells, pocketing the special ones. Looking up now and again at the rocks and islands, listening to the gulls and water. Salt.

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Brooksville Bay

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Deer Isle, Maine

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There we discovered Bard Island, a Nature Conservancy site. Hiked through fairy-land woodlands to the Atlantic Ocean. At low tide, we walked between two islands. Rocks, sea, waves, salt, fog horns and a lighthouse. I think of Blueberries for Sal.

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Between Two Islands

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In the forest looking out to sea

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A Colony of Great Blue Herons

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Incredibly, along NY Rt. 9 south of Lewes, NY is a wetland with dead trees each sporting a Great Blue Herons’ nest. From the road we could easily see the parents standing in the tree top homes tending to their young or waiting for them to arrive. Amazing.

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Great Blue Herons Nesting

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Going Native:  Creating an Ecosystem One Plant at a Time

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Early Spring – Post Cutting of Invasive Species, Pre-New Native Planting

For Christmas Kevin gave me an arborist – Sue Hunter. She came to our acre on Hickory road one cold and rainy early January morning to walk about and advise us on how to make our woodland more native, more diverse, more eco-friendly, more bird and bee friendly, and altogether more beautiful.

As we tagged Sweet Cherry trees, European Black alder, and Double-file Viburnum, invasive species from Europe and Asia, she complimented us on leaving our autumn leaves to rot in the woods and lying in open places our neighbors would have surely mowed. In our sunny leaf-covered spots, we had wild violets, bloodroot, and wood ferns that had begun to grow in wandering irregular patches. Kevin had spent many hours each spring and early summer pulling garlic mustard weed and the insidious Japanese Stiltgrass thus encouraging our native violets, bloodroot, trout lilies, and wood ferns to spread.

Sue has been in the nursery business for 35 years. She’s had three farms in Pennsylvania and Maryland where she raised native trees, shrubs, and plants. Seven years ago, Sue bought a farm right up the road from us, Heartwood Nursery. For the past five years, we’ve purchased our Christmas wreaths there. Beautiful wreathes made from the plants she grows. No two wreaths are alike; many are made from unusual hollies like the American yellow-berried holly. And since Sue is the president of the American Holly Association this figures.

Sue, Kevin, and I spent two and a half hours together, all of us cold and enthusiastic about what we could do in the next couple of winter months before planting in May. She told us to rip out and cut down all of the invasives, create brush piles tucked into our woods where they would make natural barriers between us and the sometimes noisy road and the sometimes nosey neighbors. She explained that birds love brush or stick piles and that we’d have more birds than we did now. We thought we had pretty many – at least two pairs of pileated woodpeckers, red-headed woodpeckers, wood thrushes, wrens, goldfinches, and all of the other usual suspects, robins, blue jays, wrens, titmice, and catbirds.

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Original Native Oak Leaf Hydrangeas

After Sue’s visit I looked up invasive species. I wondered why they were called invasive and why were they bad. I found out invasive species can and do aggressively move into surrounding ecosystems eradicating habitat and food for native trees, plants, and animals. They are usually quite good at crowding out natives thereby destroying diversity and upsetting the balance.

For example, invasive trees are a problem because they can shade out forest understories and displace native vegetation. Native vegetation is important because it is beautifully adapted to a specific environmental niche. Natives have natural controls that keep them in balance. Invasives go ‘wild’ over-running the landscape and reeking havoc with that balance. Eventually, most birds move away to find a habitat that supports them. That is what had happened at our home-spot even though we’d never realized it until Sue.

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Brush Pile On South Side of House

On the Sunday after Sue’s visit the sky was clear and blue and cold, and I was itching to get started. I put on my corduroys, insulated underwear, and a fleece. I began with the two golden Hinoki False Cypress trees I’d misguidedly planted in the beds in front of our home ten years earlier. The Hinoki Cypress tree is not unattractive in a Japanese garden, but in a Pennsylvania woods, it looks ridiculous.. The cypresses were supposed to max out at six feet but had risen to fifteen, covering part of our living room bay windows. They looked beyond ridiculous. Not only were they too tall but I’d topped them a few years earlier when the windows were almost entirely covered with their branches. We had more light but with deformed flat–topped Hinoki Cypresses, not something one would choose as a landscape statement.

Once I began sawing down trees and bushes with a hand saw, I couldn’t stop myself. A handsaw is slow compared to a chain saw, but it’s quiet. I’m not strong enough to wield Kevin’s Stihl chain saw; though I ‘d love to experience the instant gratification. After sawing down the 6 inch diameter Hinoki Cypress trunks, I cut off their gold and green branches and carried them to one of the two brush piles I’d begun. It was so much fun to see the ugliness disappear and to build giant stick and brush piles. I felt like a child building forts in the woods, places to hide and pretend. I was creating bird habitat. I was a woman on a mission.

Physical work outdoors is one of my favorite things to do, and I’d quite forgotten through the years of my daughter’s illness and my mother’s death how energizing and cathartic it truly is. When I am digging, chopping, pulling, hammering, hauling, or sawing, I am nowhere else. I forget time, jobs, and worries. My mind forgets about itself. It stops planning lessons, tending children or students, making lists of all those things that never seem to be done. I am nowhere and everywhere. I am air, earth, water, breath. I am. I am not. How lovely.

Kevin, impressed with my progress, joined me several February and March Saturdays and Sundays. He can and does use his chain saw, wiping out a score of invasive species in a short afternoon. I dragged the branches into one of our now four stick piles. Two are over twelve feet high and twelve feet wide. They’ve begun to attract more winter birds, and as spring begins in March we enjoy the early robins, tufted titmice, and purple finches.

On another March Sunday, per Sue’s instructions, we dug up and moved seven mature

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Newly Moved & Planted Hydrangeas

hydrangeas to a side of the house where they join four other mature ones. Wha-lah, we’ve created a massive planting of ‘endless summer’ blue hydrangeas 20 feet wide and three feet high. Sue believes in intensive planting. She says they have a visual impact that three measly bushes couldn’t have. She’s right. Even in late winter we can see the difference eleven leafless bushes can make.

As Kevin and I continued our deconstruction and dismantling, we noticed the neighbors slowing as they drove by. I’m sure they couldn’t imagine what we were up to. But since we’re professors, they figured it was probably something new and weird. Our neighbors, all of whom live in the same type of woodland environment as we do, endlessly rake and mow their ‘yards’. Since woodland soil is acid and isn’t capable of supporting grass, their yards are primarily packed earth with patches of rough bluegrass, ryegrass, and shorn dandelions. Nevertheless, each week from April until November they mow on riding tractors fit for sunny fields or golf course fairways.

My first autumn on Hickory road 15 years ago, brought my next door neighbor, Steve, over when he determined in late November that I wasn’t going to rake my leaves and burn them as everyone had done a month earlier. Steve politely said that I was going to kill my grass if I didn’t rake soon. He added that he knew I must not know about such things since I was a single mom who must be new to living in the country. (He didn’t know I’d owned a farm before I’d built this new home or that I’d purposely moved to the woods so I wouldn’t have to mow.) I, just as politely, explained that I had no intention of raking because I didn’t want a ‘lawn’. His eyes became quite large, and he walked away shaking his head from side to side, doubtlessly thinking what a kooky new neighbor he’d acquired.

As April began, we looked over the site plan Sue had emailed in early January and imagined how all of these native bushes and plants would look. She had designed natural looking beds around the house of high-bush blueberries, viburnum nudums, foam flowers, dwarf winterberry, Virginia sweetspire, and blue lobelia – all densely planted. We talked. We thought. We decided. This May we’d do the entire front of the house, the driveway entry, and the border around the patio out back.

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Newly Planted Natives Around Patio

May fourteenth arrived and I was up, dressed, and outside waiting when Sue and her helper, Luke, arrived. Luke, a quiet and responsible home-schooled teenager worked for Sue and happily he was going to work with me, planting and then helping me through the summer. We all unloaded the 200 plus plants and shrubs. As Luke wheel-barrowed loads to the various beds, Sue placed then exactly where she wanted them planted. I hand-carried dozens and placed them next to the beds where they’d grow and thrive. In a couple of hours, we’d arranged the plants in the front of the house, out by the entry drive, and around the patio in the back. Even sitting in their pots, they were an impressive sight.

Between teaching and the rain, it took Kevin, Luke, and me almost two weeks to get them into the ground. When we’d finished we were so proud and happy. Beauty was all around us. Not only did we have dozens of rhododendrons, azaleas, Solomon’s seal, Jacob’s ladder, and white wood aster in our woods but we had the most birds we’d ever seen.

At first Kevin and I thought we might be imagining there were more birds. After all we’d spent a lot of time cutting and building stick and brush piles and wanted our work to have paid off. But as the woods turned green and the brush piles disappeared in the verdant tracery surrounding them, we couldn’t deny that we lived in a bird sanctuary.

From dawn until dusk wood thrushes, scarlet tanagers, indigo buntings, cardinals, blue jays, titmice, wrens, woodpeckers and many others sang and sang. The wood thrushes are our favorites. Their fluty floating sound is a tonic, a calming peace-filled melody one never tires of hearing. Not only did we have bird song, but also we had ruby throated hummingbirds sipping from the Agastache flowers around the patio.

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Native Ferns and Favorite Wood Thrush Spot

In the evening we’d sit on our Adirondack chairs and watch as wood thrush parents brought their fledglings out to learn how to find insects under the leaf duff. They’d come within feet of us, safe in this place. We could hear and see Baltimore orioles that nested from their hundred foot high branches in the tops of our Hickory trees. Everywhere there was more – more life, more sound, more happiness.

Now when we arrive home after a long miserable traffic-filled commute from the big city of Baltimore, we come home to a sanctuary, a home-spot retreat that rejuvenates and restores us. We come home to a native habitat, a real Garden of Eden that we created with the help of our neighbor arborist and newfound friend.

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Endless Summer Hydrangea

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Post Script:

If you’re interested, listed below is Sue’s plant list.

Section #1 – Driveway entrance – Right side:

American Holly – female – 3 BB

American Holly – low, spreading – 2

Summersweet –  pink –  9 containers

Virginia sweetspire   9  containers

Coneflower   12   containers

White wood aster – 12 containers

Jacob’s Ladder — 12 containers

 

Driveway entrance – Left side :

Rosebay rhododendron – 12  containers

Gable azaleas – 12 containers

White wood aster -12  containers

Jacob’s Ladder -12  containers

 

Section #2 – front of house – both sides :

Viburnum nudum –  24 containers

Highbush blueberries – 24  containers

Foamflower – 36  containers

Dwarf Winterberry – 3 containers

Virginia sweetspire -15 containers

Blue lobelia – 24 containers

 

Section  #4  –  Garden adjacent to deck :

Clustered Mountain mint – 5 containers

Bee balm  – 5 containers

Various herbs :

Rosemary

Lavender

Chives

Oregano