​As the centerpiece of America's official symbol, the Bald Eagle can rightfully claim a lofty status. His prowess is revered; bold resolve shows in his every move. Among birds, he is king.

 

Two famous but very different Americans played roles in the saga of the Bald Eagle. The first was a paunchy, rather irreverant guy who walked with a limp but brought his fellow Founding Fathers to attention whenever he chose to speak or write. He was the oldest founder, wise beyond the others in the ways of the world. He wrote of the national bird:

 

“I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the representative of our country. He is a bird of bad moral character . . . a rank coward . . . by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest America.”

 

Stirring words in 1798, still strong today. True, this eagle does pirate fishkill from the Osprey, and does attack songbirds' nests for eggs and even hatchlings. However, Benjamin Franklin did not prevail. His choice for the American symbol, some say offered in jest, was the native Wild Turkey.

 

The second key player in the saga was, like Franklin, a Pennsylvanian. She published a remarkable book two centuries later. Its title, Silent Spring, foretold a future without birdsong if DDT and other pesticides continued to be used in reckless abundance. She was just the second women ever to serve as a professional scientist in the U.S Fish and Wildlife Agency. Her background was biology, her skill was writing, and her passion was conservation.

 

Rachel Carson addressed in plain words the devastation of her country's natural life due to chemicals that were unregulated and overrused. Her editor suggested the book's title, now enshrined in her country's psyche. She was moved by Ms. Carson's chapter on birds which discussed DDT's effects on songbirds as well as hawks and eagles. Prior to the book's debut in 1962, sightings of Bald Eagles had regressed from common to rare to threatened . . . to critically endangered. Our nearly extinct national symbol seemed to belong only to the faraway past.

 

Her biographer said of this seminal book, “The overriding theme of Silent Spring is the powerful – and often negative – effect humans have on the natural world.”

 

History aside, there are few sensations to match the startle as a Bald Eagle swoops past you on a Grand Harbor fairway . . . and perches near a pond. His flight strokes reach you like a fierce whisper. You know it's not exactly loud, but that's a very serious sound. He ranks among the great fishers of the avian world, hardly touching the water surface as he sinks his talons into an unwary perch or snook.

 

There's no mistaking a Bald Eagle. First, his size impresses: three feet from head to tail and a wingspan of over seven feet. No other eagle or hawk has a white head and a white tail – as does this adult bird. Monogamous like many birds, pairs return to the same nest year after year, adding a few sticks each time until the nest might weigh 1,000 pounds. Their midair mating is among nature's grand events.

 

Their secrecy in siting nests deep in wooded areas stems from their territorial stakes. Few nests are closer than a mile from another Bald Eagle's home grounds. Just north of Grand Harbor off route 1 east toward the lagoon, at about 63rd street, a pair has nested for more than 10 years

 

Bald Eagles range throughout most of the US and Canada, with breeding sites most popular in the northern latitudes. They stay year-round in Florida. In the 1990s, I experienced one of my most memorable birding days along a river in central Alaska where I counted more than 500 Bald Eagles gathering to fish and take food to their nests. Somebody near me said in a prayerful stage whisper, “Thank you, Rachel Carson.”

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By Neil Stalter

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