It’s that time of year when Bald Eagles run the table.
Their fiercest competition for fish has packed up and headed south. The osprey—those fair-weather anglers—have joined the other snowbirds and are probably filing noise complaints somewhere near Miami. With them gone, the Narrow River belongs to the eagles, and they rule it with the confidence of birds that know winter doesn’t scare them.
Not that Bald Eagles are sticklers for doing their own fishing. They’re opportunists. Pirates, really. Why work harder when someone else can do the heavy lifting? An eagle will harass an osprey mid-hunt until the smaller raptor finally gives up and drops its prize. Sometimes the eagle doesn’t even wait for gravity—it’ll pluck the fish right out of the osprey’s talons. Fishing mammals aren’t immune either. Even people, on occasion, have learned that possession is not nine-tenths of the law when an eagle is involved.
As a wildlife photographer, I’ll admit it—I’ve got it pretty good here in southern New England. I live adjacent to the John H. Chaffee National Wildlife Refuge, which wraps around the Narrow River and its estuaries. It’s my favorite place to wander, to watch, to listen, and to let patience do most of the work.
The Bald Eagle has been the national emblem of the United States since 1782, and a spiritual symbol for Native peoples for far longer than that. Seeing one never feels ordinary. Seeing two feels like a gift.
A few days ago, I spotted a pair. They were magnificent—but frustratingly distant. Too far for a photograph, but close enough to hold my attention for over an hour. I watched where they flew, how high they climbed, and the direction they favored when they finally departed. Eagles leave clues if you’re willing to pay attention.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that birds are creatures of habit. Not just favorite trees—favorite branches. Not just branches—specific spots on those branches. Spend enough time in the field and you begin to build a mental map: a quiet catalog of “known locations” that slowly tilts the odds in your favor.
On this day, a week or so of shadowing these eagles paid off.
I spotted one of them perched high in a tree, soaking in the warmth of the afternoon sun like a monarch enjoying a well-earned break. I was hoping for a dramatic launch, maybe an in-flight frame with wings fully spread.
No such luck.
But that’s okay.
I’ll be back.
And so will my friend.
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