Stories from the Field: Golden Eagle

Setting off before first light, plodding upwards, I thought about the rattlesnakes I’d seen here last fall. They’d spent the winter tucked within the talus, just as I was experiencing a hibernation of my own – daydreaming and planning for spring. A Chukar interrupted my wandering mind when she flushed from some rabbitbrush next to my feet. I kept my head down and chipped away at the 500m I needed to gain before the sun came up.

Having crested a ridge atop a large complex of cliffs, now blind to the increasingly sheer terrain below me, I referenced some photos taken the previous day across the valley. Despite the spring warmth, there might as well have been ice beneath my boots, as unintended moments of skating on ponderosa needles layered over granite checked my enthusiasm. Careful navigating led me to a small, exposed ledge where I unpacked my gear and cloaked all but my eyes in camouflage. I was glad to have set up while the air was still cool, as before long, the sun erased the shade in the valley and I felt the shift as warm air began rising up the walls.

Some 80m below me, hidden from view and protected from the elements by an overhang, was a Golden Eagle nest. In one of the books I poured over as a young kid, the dog-eared page showcasing the raptors of North America left a strong impression on me. I admired the shaggy blonde feathers on the crown and nape of Goldens — like my own, only far more neatly arranged. My goal was to highlight this feature by capturing a unique topside flight view. Out of anywhere I’d come across in their open country domain of British Columbia’s Southern Interior, this seemed like the place to try.

Within the very first of thirteen hours I sat in place on the ledge that day, I was afforded the opportunity that played over in my head since discovering the potential of this site. The male cruised past effortlessly, so close it was all I could do but keep him in the frame as my heart raced. Relieving the female of her overnight incubation duties, they exchanged some brief communication before she caught a thermal and disappeared into their vast territory. If there's anything that makes me wish I could trade my earthbound life, if even for a morning, it's watching these incredible birds.