There’s a phrase I’ve come to appreciate more and more in photography:
“I have no idea what’s going to happen.”
Oddly enough, that uncertainty is exactly what keeps pulling me back to Narrow River.
For a little over five months now, I’ve been studying a pair of Bald Eagles that patrol the river system here in Narragansett. And when I say “studying,” I mean standing around in the cold looking suspiciously at trees for hours at a time while pretending this is all part of a highly sophisticated wildlife operation.
Which, technically, it is.
Just not the glamorous version people imagine.
Nature photography has a lot less “National Geographic action sequence” and a lot more:
“Did that branch just move?”
Still, over time, patterns emerge.
Bald Eagles are remarkably sedentary birds. They spend roughly 90–95% of daylight hours perched, conserving energy. And honestly, after observing them for months, I’ve developed tremendous respect for their commitment to doing absolutely nothing for extended periods of time.
These birds are masters of efficiency.
They sit high in trees scanning for opportunity — fish, small mammals, carrion, unsuspecting waterfowl, or, perhaps most famously, an Osprey that just did all the hard work of catching a fish.
Why fish yourself when you can embrace organized theft?
And let me tell you, these confrontations are fascinating.
I’ve watched Osprey repeatedly try to intimidate these Eagles. Dive-bombing. Screeching. Harassing. Making what can only be described as emotionally charged presentations.
The Eagles’ response?
Complete indifference.
The avian equivalent of,
“Are you finished?”
No panic.
No urgency.
Just supreme confidence from a bird that knows it weighs twice as much and has absolutely no meetings scheduled for the day.
What surprised me most was how much waiting was involved in learning their routine.
Sometimes I would spend hours simply trying to determine which direction they traveled after leaving a perch. Left downriver? Toward the marsh? Inland? Did they favor certain thermals? Were they patrolling fishing grounds? Heading toward a communal roost?
This is where wildlife photography quietly transforms into detective work.
And obsession.
Healthy obsession, of course.
Probably.
I’ve learned they are true opportunists. Fish make up about 80% of their diet, but they will gladly scavenge, pirate, or harass another bird into surrendering lunch. During breeding season they reinforce nests with sticks and grasses, defend territory, and occasionally perform a behavior called “paddling” — enthusiastically flapping their wings while remaining perched, apparently burning off excess energy without committing to the inconvenience of actual flight.
Frankly, I relate to this behavior deeply.
Another thing I’ve learned is that Eagles do not operate according to a photographer’s schedule.
Clouds?
They don’t care.
Golden light?
Meaningless to them.
Your carefully planned composition?
Hilarious.
The pair photograph included here was taken from approximately 1,500 yards away using a 1,000mm setup. For my photography friends: ISO 10,000, f/11, 1/3200s.
And yes, at that distance, atmospheric distortion becomes part of the experience. At 1,500 yards, you are not simply photographing a bird. You are photographing air.
A lot of air.
I did manage some inflight images, though I’ll admit I found myself wishing for dramatic clouds to add dimension to the sky. But nature, once again, reminded me that photographers do not run the production department.
Mother Nature does.
And she’s not accepting requests.
Still, something important happened over these months.
I believe I’ve finally identified the corridor where I have the best chance of witnessing — and hopefully photographing — what I call a “skyway robbery.”
A Bald Eagle stealing a freshly caught fish from an Osprey in midair.
The ultimate wildlife crime scene.
I’ve already seen several confrontations begin to unfold there. The Osprey circles aggressively, voicing strong objections to the Eagle’s business practices, while the Eagle remains utterly unimpressed.
So now I wait.
Dialed in.
Ready.
Hopeful.
All I need is:
dramatic clouds,
beautiful light,
a cooperative Bald Eagle,
and an Osprey carrying a fresh fish directly into the ambush zone.
Piece of cake.
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