Pamela
Mansfield © 2012
 |
| The Decorah eagles begin their nesting season. |
For the
first half of this year I perched, watching online while a pair of bald eagles in
Decorah, Iowa raised their three babies in their nest 80 feet high in a
Cottonwood tree. Through the spying eye of a web camera, I and thousands of others
in an online community became part of this family as the babies hatched, grew,
and learned to be eagles. From February to July, we worried, marveled, laughed,
and then cried as the eaglets left us with a terrible case of empty nest
syndrome.
As a
percher, I didn't engage in online chat, but learned by reading a stream of
comments from chatters and moderators. Almost immediately, the Decorah eagle
family grabbed me by the heart and so did many chatters who I'll never know,
but feel like I do. Though I began watching the Decorah eagles sporadically in 2011, this
year was a whole different story, one that belongs to them and to several other families of eagles whose secret lives are told through the unblinking webcam.
Winter Nestorations
In February, the parents, known as Mom and Dad Decorah, or M/D, or the P's, busied themselves with
"nestorations," of the nest they have used for the past five years.
Constructed by Dad, it is the size of a mattress and weighs about 1300 pounds. Remodeling
is also mostly Dad's specialty, as he fashioned the new "crib rails,” flying in with long branches
to weave around the edges of the nest. Then the parents built a smaller, soft
nest bowl in the middle of the nest, where the eggs would be laid.
 |
| Dad on the nest bowl |
All the while,
the online chat was peppered with questions from newbies, while the regulars
replied patiently and repeatedly. How
big is Mom? Which one is Dad? Mom is bigger at about 14 pounds and has a shaded
brow that gives her a fierce look, while Dad's "guyliner," or dark
rim around his yellow eyes, makes him look more refined. Both are magnificent, powerful,
and gentle all at the same time, with yellow talons the size of a hand and
searing yellow eyes with black pupils.
The P's share
duties, working together with the calm air of those with vast experience - they
have successfully raised 14 eaglets. Still, they exhibit unmistakable joy with
the emergence of each one.
When Mom
laid the first egg one cold night, we learned the eaglet-to-be would be called D12
- numbered rather than named by the Raptor Resource Project in Decorah, to
indicate it was Decorah's 12th hatchling. RRP is the research organization that
makes it possible to view this nest. The thinking is, numbering the eaglets
prevents viewers from feeling the eagles are anything but wild animals, and in
turn, getting too attached. Well, it didn’t work.
The egg
that would be D13 arrived three days later, then the third, D14, after four
days. Mom was so exhausted by her efforts, she did a face plant for the night
and barely moved. Her dedication was nothing short of remarkable: late one
night the infrared camera showed the snow covered outline of her back, wings,
and head as she protected her baseball-sized eggs. Come morning, thousands of
viewers were relieved to see her shake off her blanket of snow and fly.
Dad took
over for her each morning, carefully rolling the eggs a little to keep the egg
sack from getting stuck on the inside of the shell, then snuggling down into
the nest bowl, shifting from side to side in a movement chatters called the
"Decorah Shimmy." Dad liked
to line up the three white eggs under his narrower body. Mom promptly rolled
them into a triangle when she returned. As soon as she left, Dad would realign
them. It never failed to amuse us.
Dad could
proudly sit for hours on the nest bowl, and he almost always kept a dried
cornstalk nearby to toss around. He would fly in with a new one now and then. “Dad loves his cornstalk,” the chatters joked.
Sometimes
both P's would both leave the nest at the same time, setting off a flurry of
worries from chatters. It's okay for a little while, a moderator explained. On
days that were unusually warm - for it was a warm winter and spring - the
sitting parent would stand occasionally and let the eggs cool, for they didn't
want them to get too hot.
All is Good in the Cottonwood
 |
| D12 emerges. |
 |
| Feeding two of the three babies. |
The first
eaglet to pip, or start to peck its way out of the egg, was D12 of course, on
March 27. The P's crooned over their baby, and after the first day, were tenderly
offering food. D13 emerged the next day,
and the two bobble-headed babies bonked at each other in mock fights or maybe
it was just lack of balance when they peered at each other. D12 was already
eager to see everything the world had to offer, escaping out from under Mom,
fuzzy winglets outstretched, running all the way across the nest to try to
climb the crib rails and look beyond. When D14 hatched on March 31, as the youngest
he stayed close to his parents, always the baby.
 |
| Cuddle puddle. |
Mom and
Dad brought in a little food throughout the day. But it wasn’t long before they were kept
busy catching and then flying in with fresh fish, some still flopping as it
landed in the nest, or roadkill squirrels and unidentifiable small, dead furry
critters the chatters named squabbit.
They had to quickly defur and shred bits to give to the baby who'd
muscled his/her way to the front and was squeeing the loudest. After eating their fill, the babies flopped
onto their bellies in a food coma. As the
parents left them for longer periods of time, the babies would stay warm in
their "cuddle puddle."
When the
wind caused the nest to sway, they hunkered down close, usually with Mom to
protect them. Viewers signed off, claiming they were seasick or just too
worried to watch the nest rock back and forth. It was a relief to find all was
well when the wind subsided.
Rain
pelted Mom one day, and she crouched with feathers drenched, fierce yellow eyes
blinking indignantly. She became "Mombrella" with wings outstretched
over her growing babies, only calling on Dad when it became too much for all of
them, and then he'd arrive and try to figure out how to help.
"Are
they okay?" chatters would ask, and experienced watchers would chant, "NWZ,
NWZ, NWZ" (no worry zone). Though
he was not in sight, Dad protected the nest with ferocity. One night a raccoon
peered over the crib rails, and Dad swooped in from his branch to run him off. Late
night watchers caught it on video. The next day, there was raccoon for everyone
to eat. Was it the same one?
The
babies' fuzzy gray down gave way to real feathers and darker markings. They eagerly anticipated food drops. One day Dad
delivered five fish, one after the other, to their insatiable delight, though
they were still unable to eat on their own. Mom preferred to feed the eaglets
herself, often demanding that Dad drop the fish and just leave. Whenever she left, though, he would take over,
tenderly feeding them tiny bits of the fish. He had already devoured the head,
which could either mean it was the best part, or the hardest for the babies to
eat.
 |
| Dad Decorah on the Y-branch overlooking his domain. |
The
leaves in the Cottonwood tree filled in and provided shade as the temperatures
soared that spring, and the eagles panted and stood with wings outstretched. Volunteer
camera operators panned the surrounding scenes: a white gambrel-roofed barn,
horses in a paddock, a fish hatchery and stream below. It appeared that the Cottonwood tree was
safely located on someone’s farm, someone who didn’t mind their property being
under the eye of the camera twenty-four hours a day.
Mom would
cast a sharp eye at her healthy eaglets, making sure all was good in the Cottonwood.
Dad did nestorations and the eaglets tried to help. When mom flew in with leaves
and grasses, not food, to freshen the nest, the babies' disappointment was
loudly expressed in a chorus of squees. The nest was always clean – the babies knew instinctively
to “poop
shoot” out
of the nest.
Daily
highlights were posted on the Raptor Resource Project's Facebook page by the writer,
Sherrie Elliott, who gave us deeper insight into the lives of eagles, or the EEE's,
and a whole new vocabulary: fish flops (what the eaglets wore when they skewered
the fish with their talons and walked around that way), everybirdy (as in
"everybirdy was in a food coma"), and SED or Sweet Eagle Dreams, as
she would sign off at night, just as the chatters did.
The Decorah
babies were so entertaining, it came as a surprise to me to hear other nests
with cameras weren't doing so well. Curious,
I looked in on the Minnesota Bound site where a live eagle cam had a worried
group of chatters spreading the word.
Harmon's Song
On a
Friday in May, the Social Stream was abuzz with news from the Minnesota nest
where watchers had actually named the eaglets after two Minnesota Twins
baseball players. Kirby had tumbled out
of the nest and died early in the week while people were watching. Now his
sibling, Harmon, had his wing stuck in the dried mud of the nest after a
rainstorm. The three-week old baby had struggled
helplessly for 24 hours, all witnessed by thousands of nest cam watchers. The
cry went out to help him (could they even intervene or get into the nest so
high up in the tree?), and Broadband, the cable company who installed the nest cam,
and a determined watcher, contacted the University of Minnesota Raptor Center,
who in turn had to get permission from U.S. Fish and Wildlife.
Red tape
aside, the rescue was underway. The number of online viewers soared as Jim, an
expert tree climber and raptor handler, rose 75 feet into the tree and stepped gently
into the nest. Like Neil Armstrong's words when he stepped on the moon, Jim's
greeting to Harmon, "Hey, buddy," made history. He reached down and
quickly freed Harmon, and there was a collective sigh of relief in cyberspace.
With gloved hands he gently examined the baby and determined he was weak and had
some open wounds that would require care. He took Harmon down the tree in a big
yellow bag, and brought him to the rescue truck to be transported to the Raptor
Center. Here's the video:
 |
| Harmon at the Raptor Center, University of Minnesota. |
The
rescue of Harmon made the evening news on KARE-TV. For two days, Harmon was
tended to by deeply caring and knowledgeable experts. He was x-rayed and given
nourishment without imprinting so he would stand a chance of living in the wild.
Their hope was to return him to the nest within 48 hours, the window of
opportunity during which his parents would likely return to him. On Sunday afternoon, we watched Jim go back
up into the Cottonwood with Harmon and leave him with a fish. He couldn't possibly
eat on his own, but it would help attract the parents. They didn't return that
day, and baby Harmon spent the night alone, his pitiful squees making every
watcher fret. He cried all the next day, giving up at times, poking at the
fish, taking no comfort in anything. By Monday evening, 24 hours later, the
Raptor Center was back near the site of the tree with a truck and with Jim. Before
they could retrieve Harmon, they spotted the parents in the area so decided to
wait a bit.
 |
| Harmon and parents reunited in their nest. |
Those who
witnessed the reunion in the nest will never forget the look of surprise on the
parents' faces as they discovered Harmon. Dad found him first, then Mom
arrived, and the two of them took turns eagerly feeding him the fish that had
been left in the nest. They couldn't do enough to fuss over him and Harmon
couldn’t do
enough to show them he really was their baby. As evening fell, he cuddled under
his mom's chest, and the two snuggled as the solar-powered camera went dim.
Harmon
grew and flourished, although without Kirby to help him grow and learn. Instead
he snuggled up to the tree trunk when alone. His pitiful squees - he called his
parents continuously until he collapsed in frustration or was fed - became indelibly
etched in our hearts as part of a song recorded about him. Chatter
"Harmonoid," aka George Watts, a professional musician, gave us an
anthem for our baby eaglet who was "abducted by the friendliest
alien" he'd ever known and grew with everyone's hopes for a life soaring
freely on the air currents, as eagles love to do. Harmon's own story in
pictures, words, music and video are cherished by the many who loved him.
 |
| Harmon, the rowdy teen-eagle. |
Harmon
fledged in early July. He left the nest and was not seen again for five days. His
leaving was so sudden, we were devastated. Then he miraculously returned – I happened to check in online
at lunchtime, and there he was! He was fed by his parents, and continued to
sleep for a month in the nest until he finally flew for good in August. He was
seen -- we hope it was him -- soaring over the Crow River area in Hutchinson,
Minnesota.
"Harmon,
be free, hang tough,
In the
end, you will always remember the love.
Hey
buddy, you will live as free
As an
eagle was meant to be." (George
Watts, Harmon)
To hear the Harmon Song, visit this website: http://soundcloud.com/gtdub/harmon
Fledging Time in Decorah
"There
you stood on the edge of your feathers,
expecting
to fly.
While I
laughed, I wondered whether
I could
wave goodbye...." (Buffalo Springfield (Neil Young), Expecting
to Fly)
 |
| Three Decorah teen-eagles. |
All
through May and June in Decorah, Iowa, D12, 13, and 14 learned to mantle their
food with their growing wings and to eat on their own. They spent hours huddled
at the edge of the nest, surveying the world around them and making mental
maps. "Plotting their takeover of
the world," one chatter typed. D12, the oldest, seemed to look the most
longingly at the branches around the nest, with D13 growing each day. D14 hung back. They all cuddled together, giant
wings outstretched over one another's backs. They played see-saw on crossed
sticks. They wingersized, flying in place, getting some lift, then touching
down. During a downpour, Mom tried her best to shelter her big babies but they eventually
decided to dance in the rain instead, and three pairs of wet eagle wings beat
about mom's head and body. She sat looking somewhat affronted by a barrage of
wingslaps, but never moved, ready to protect them if needed. As always, there
were chatters who captured it on video for the rest of us to see: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knUQ0jrKAA8
 |
| Eaglezilla. D14 (one of the siblings egging him on in back). |
D14 grew
rambunctious and frustrated. He climbed the cottonwood's trunk to peck
violently at the camera and peer into the lens, giving his best
"eaglezilla" impression to the viewers. We wondered if he could see
us! One night, the infrared camera was found dismantled. No more night cam. Then, D12 wingersized and got
some serious lift, and took the leap to the nearest branch. He experimented
with flying back and forth to Dad's amusement. D13 soon joined him. By the time
the two were flying around the tree, D14 was ready to try his wings, too, so as
not to be left behind for long.
As the
days of watching this clutch came to a close, chatters laughed, gasped, and
played "you know you're an eagleholic if...." They recalled favorite
memories. Devoted Decorah fans held a
picnic at the nest site. They posted photos they took of the juvenile eagles
learning to fly and to fish. Pictures from the ground show incredibly beautiful
scenery beyond the cottonwood, with rocky bluffs, tall trees, a trout stream,
farmland, and the hatchery.
Once the
babies had fledged, they continued to return to the nest for a while. RRP caught D14 on the ground to outfit him
with a transmitter so that his travels can be recorded. There were mixed
emotions as we saw him with the lightweight device on his back, but already one
of last year's eaglets, also wearing one, had ranged as far as 900 miles away.
 |
| Decorah Juveniles ready to go. |
Chatters
hung on till the last minute on a late June evening when the camera shut down
for summer. Everyone was so sad to see the eaglets go and to say goodbye to
each other. Updates about their antics were posted on Facebook but it was
pretty quiet not having the babies to watch anymore.
4th of
July celebrations were underway, and as the national bird the eagle's image is synonymous
with Independence Day. On July 3, I left work early to prepare for our town's parade
and fireworks, as well as my sister's birthday celebration that night. I dashed
to the barn to take care of my horse first, and while hand grazing him, I briefly
checked my cell phone for Facebook updates.
I wasn't
sure of what I was actually seeing on the screen. "We are very sorry to
report that D12 is dead." I stopped in horror. My heart sank. Reading
further, the announcement said that D12 had been electrocuted on a utility pole.
It felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I tried desperately to learn
more, to find out what was going on was difficult, since there was only a
Facebook connection and the RRP website, but the latter was mostly shut down.
There were hints of pages and sites where the chatters had scattered and I
sought them out, looking for solace in the comments, words of wisdom from
Sherri the writer and the chatters like Ais4apple and BirdsOhio. Someone posted a petition to enforce the
national mandate for all power poles to have raptor protection devices installed.
It was all that we could do. But nothing could change the sobering truth. It was the first time this remarkable family
had suffered a loss. Thoughts turned to the Decorah family, and word went out
that the power company had responded very quickly to ensure every pole in the
area was raptor-safe. But it was too late for D12.
 |
| D12. RIP. |
The story
made television news. A volunteer from Massachusetts who was visiting the fish
hatchery and nest area at the time saw at least the immediate aftermath of
D12's death. He explained that the loss was similar to that of losing a pet. A
chatter said that, to her it felt like watching her neighbor's child graduate
from high school, only to be killed the next day. I was enveloped in such
sadness for this little one, that I found myself actually weeping throughout
the parade, fireworks, and dinner. There was no one who would understand it as
much as those of us who had been part of the Decorah family. I had told myself
at the onset that I would not get emotionally attached to this family, that I
was just watching a camera and wildlife. But being right in the nest with them
all through February till June, I had seen so much of what an eagle family
really is all about, and how these magnificent birds are so strong and yet so
fragile.
Fish and
Wildlife has strict rules governing the handling of eagles' remains. They are
our national bird and were on the endangered species list for many years. They were
nearly wiped out by DDT in the 1960s, and even now are often the victims of people
with guns who think eagles kill their livestock (a rancher in Wyoming killed
700 of them, according to Pulitzer Prize winning writer Annie Proux). This myth
has been dispelled, they do not kill livestock, but no matter, people with guns
will shoot anything just for sport if they have a mind to.
D12's
body was sent to Colorado and the feathers will be used by North American
Indians in their religious ceremonies. Our sweet D12 who was always first in
everything, was first in death, and will hopefully spur on adherence to the law
requiring all electrical poles have protective devices installed.
D13 and
D14 stayed together for a while, and a video was made of them exploring the
horse pastures. Photos show them fishing and perching on light poles, the barns,
and the trees. Mom and Dad stay nearby
and have the perfect summer home at the bluffs and in the cottonwood
overlooking the river and friends of Decorah, who travel to see them. We can follow the travels of last year's
diva, the female eaglet known as D1, and this year's youngest, D14, through
their tracking devices, which gives us some comfort.
Fly Free Little Ones and Sweet Eagle Dreams
While we
can track D1 and D14, we eagleholics can only rely on locals to report on
sightings of other eaglets we came to know this year. Last we heard, Harmon was
in the area of his nest, possibly still squeeing for his parents to deliver him
a fish. Most of the cameras went down for repairs over the summer. Then Harmon's site declared they thought he
had left the area.
 |
| Linux wingersizing |
My cyber
travels led me to a couple of nests that I checked occasionally. The eaglet
Linux lived somewhere in a nest near a dump site in British Columbia. One of
his parents unfortunately delivered a plastic bag to the nest, and it was
thought that his sibling, Goldwing, ate some of it. A few days later Goldwing
died, and his body remained in the nest, where Linux resignedly cuddled up to
it. After a few days, the parents tried to move the body, but it was too heavy
for them. It was hard to turn a blind eye to the sadness in that nest while we
watched Linux grow up next to the decaying remains of Goldwing. But Linux
fledged finally, only to find himself disoriented and in need of rescue. Once
he got his bearings, thanks to human intervention, he was off and flying.
 |
| Stephi, a Lesser Spotted Eagle in Estonia |
As July
progressed, my new Facebook friends reported on a webcam located in a nest in
Estonia -- and indeed the picture was so clear -- even on the other side of the
world -- you could see every detail of that clean, bright nest. There little
Stephi was growing under the care of her attentive mom. A Lesser Spotted Eagle,
she was pretty and sweet, but her labored breathing had everyone
concerned. After the long rainy spell
ended, Stephi improved, and was just days from fledging. Then to the watchers'
horror, a Goshawk swooped down and killed her. It must have been like seeing it
in person, the picture was so clear. I am forever glad I missed seeing that,
for I, too, had grown to love little Stephi.
It's nature, fellow chatters remind us, to ease the sadness a little.
But we all cried for Stephi.
And these
are just a few nests we are privileged to watch in real time, on camera. It
makes you think, what happens in the nests that we don't see? Apparently, only
50% of the eaglets survive their first year.
We've learned of several rescues - Phoenix, the Golden Eagle juvenile,
was found after the fires in Colorado with burns, but he is faring well at a
rescue center in Northern Utah.
Still, I
and many others will watch again next year. Already the adult pairs, who mate
for life, have been seen bringing fresh branches to the nests, indicating their
intentions. Eggs will be laid, eaglets will hatch, and learn to move about and
eat fish, and snuggle under mom, and wingersize, and walk around in fish flops,
and I will drink coffee from my Harmon mug, bookmark all the eagle sites, and
check in from my PC, or iPad, or iPhone, the next best thing to being there. And
I wish all this year's eagles, wherever they may be, sweet eagle dreams.
"When
you see me fly away without you,
shadows
on the things you know
feathers
fall around you
and show
you the way to go,
it's
over...." (Neil Young, Birds)
Photos are all from UStream, with the exception of one taken at UMinn. Raptor Center.
