Houseboat Magazine

NOTES FROM THE STERN FROM THE WAKE OF OUR EXISTENCE ARE THE STORIES OF OUR LIVES Eagle Eye Some of the most remarkable events of my life occurred while I wasn't paying attention. I'm not unique in that respect; as you read this you'll prob- ably nod out loud, knowing exactly what I mean. What I found a little more surprising is that some of the most vibrant memories of my life concern seemingly insignificant events—incidents that had little appar- ent importance in the big scheme, but will probably live forever in the landscape of my mind. Of course we remember high school graduations, wedding days, the births of our children and our grandchildren. These are important days, forever lettered red on the personal calendars of our exis- tence. But it turns out, at least in my own fond recollections, that importance is not requisite to the building of a powerful memory. Some of my most vivid remem- brances concern things that affected my life not at all. At least, they didn't seem to at the time. I was sitting on the bow of the one winter day just after dawn, drinking coffee and reading. Nothing unusual about that; it's how I began most days on the lake. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a quickly moving shadow which startled me up from my book. I looked to see a bald eagle banking in flight off the bow of our boat. This huge bird had just dive-bombed the dock for no reason that I have ever been able to figure out— although my Native American ancestors would probably have had a theory about totems and such. In any case, I was cer- tainly paying attention now. He had flown so close I might have touched him if I'd seen him coming and didn't mind losing a finger or two. Amazed, I watched this majestic creature fly casually away from the dock and alight in a winter-bare tree only 50 yards away. For many long minutes he perched on his branch in regal majesty, while I perched on my chair in slack-jawed awe. I had never been that close to an eagle, nor do I know anyone who has. My heart pounding in my chest, I did not move, scarcely drew breath for fear of alarming the bird. Apparently he was not concerned about me, nor was he on a particularly tight schedule, for he seemed in no hurry to leave. He reigned over the world from his high throne, indifferent to my lowly presence. It was finally time to take a chance, for this was something Roxanne had to see. I left my seat and moved carefully to the door, doing my best to glide across the deck without startling the eagle into flight. I stepped inside, leaving the door open behind me, and made my way quickly to the bedroom where Roxanne was still sleeping. "Roxanne, wake up. Hurry, be quiet, get up, come outside. You have to see this." "Mmphh, fee wha?" she asked. "There's an eagle right outside the boat. He's sitting in a tree, you can see him perfectly, he's this close." The gap between my fingertips suggested the distance was about an inch. Might have been an exaggeration. She came instantly awake. "I've never seen an eagle before," she announced with excitement, getting out of bed and pulling on her robe. I figured that made me some kind of hero and I always take that type of credit whenever I can. We crept eagerly to the bow and I snagged 38 HOUSEBOAT MAgAzinE SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2011 the binoculars on our way out the door. Yes, the eagle was still there, but wait. In the next tree was another one, pre- sumably his mate. Two eagles, this close. Okay, perhaps a little more than an inch, but the binoculars turned my slight exag- geration into the whole truth. The eagles filled the entire field of view. Trying to describe these spectacular birds with words makes me feel like a warbling pigeon, as writers go. Their mas- sive shoulders would have made Arnold proud. Sharply hooked beaks, ferocious enough to tear a steel-belted radial off the rim of a truck. Powerful talons, gripping the thick branch with casual authority. Fierce eyes, seeming not just to see, but to penetrate. Not just to view the world, but to own it. Suddenly one of the birds took wing, swooped over the lake barely skimming the surface, and returned to the tree in seconds with a foot-long fish flopping in his predator's grip. For 30 minutes the two eagles turned that hapless fish into sushi right before our eyes—sharing breakfast, I might add, much more graciously than Roxanne shared the binoculars. I did not have my camera; once again, I was not paying attention, not expect- ing the unexpected. I have sometimes thought to regret that, but I've changed my mind. It is something, I believe, that is preserved more purely as a beautiful, vivid memory, one I get to share with Roxanne for the rest of our lives. At least that makes a good story, since I didn't get a doggone picture. Until next time, My Best from the Stern Ted A. Thompson Phoenix T ed A. Thompson is a fr ansa in Nor t edthompson@windstr th Ark s. He can be cont eam.ne eelance writ er living act t. ed a t

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