So far the winter of 2011-12 was unusually mild. On January 5th, in fact, the weather forecast called for light winds, sun, and a high of 55 degrees. This would be, I reasoned, much too nice of a mid-winter day to remain indoors. Harsh weather had yet to materialize this winter in central Illinois, and I knew the weather would eventually change for the worse. So I gathered a few books and Charlie and headed for the cabin, located on the bluffs overlooking Quiver Lake, an Illinois River backwater just south of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge.
It took only a few minutes to reach the cabin from home, and without any delay both Charlie and I were comfortably seated against a large cottonwood tree on the sandy beach, listening to the crying gulls over the lake, and trying to stay warm in the light breeze. But Charlie kept wandering toward two large Labrador retrievers further down the beach, so I tied his leash to a stake near the cottonwood.
After a few minutes, an immature bald eagle landed on the topmost branch of my cottonwood, about 75 feet directly above. I stayed perfectly still, except for slowly moving my binoculars to my eyes. The eagle constantly shifted its gaze in different directions toward the lake, but often looked directly at Charlie and me; its talons had a death grip on the tree branch, reminding me of needle-sharp meat hooks. I could clearly see its eyes locked onto mine, and I wondered if the eagle thought Charlie, who is about the size of a cat, would make a nice meal. I read that it is rare for a bald eagle to hunt for small domestic dogs or cats, but not totally unheard of. Charlie whined about being tied to a stake. It’s for your own good, I thought, not expecting him to understand. Charlie fidgeted, but the eagle was not concerned about us. Then after about ten minutes, after I had become engrossed in reading again, I heard the gentle beating of large wings, and the eagle was gone.
Over the river bottoms and along the bluffs, there were eagles in every direction; whenever I looked up from my reading, I would see one or two soaring, flying past, or foraging for fish over the open lake waters. Out in the Illinois River, about a mile to the west, past Quiver Lake and the forests at Quiver Lake bottoms, I could hear a towboat-barge traveling upstream. There was a slight smell of dead fish coming from the lakeshore, a smell that reminded me of Lake Michigan in the 1960s, when alewives died in great numbers and washed up on Chicago’s beaches. At Quiver Lake there were dead gizzard shad, smallmouth buffalo, freshwater drum, and Asian carp. The dead fish and open waters were clearly reasons for the numerous scavenging gulls and eagles. And then I heard a strange call overhead, and saw another immature bald eagle perching on the top of a cottonwood tree about 50 feet away. This eagle focused on the open lake, and rarely looked in my direction. It left after only a few minutes.
Quiver Lake beach
Then suddenly a large eagle’s shadow quickly moved across the ground, passing over us in an instant. If I were Charlie’s size, I would have learned to freeze in place when a shadow passes overhead, especially because the eagles cruise the bluff line all day long, all winter, riding the updraft winds, looking for easy prey. The lakeside forests also harbor great horned and barred owls. But the domesticated Charlie was oblivious, as he focused on a pair of fox squirrels chasing each other up and down several nearby trees. I kept Charlie close by, while he whined about being kept from running after the squirrels.
By mid-afternoon, the winds were picking up speed, higher than expected, and I thought of two terms that I remembered hearing more often when I lived in Chicago: wind chill factor and hypothermia. And I realized that maybe I was underdressed, and it was time to leave. As Charlie and I left the lake breezes behind, I listened one more time for a few moments, as eagle calls echoed from the river bottoms. It was good to spend a winter day outside in the company of eagles, and Charlie too.
Charlie, safe at home
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