West coast of Florida, Everglades National Park, Shark River Inlet.
Many years ago, in the before times - ‘twas a more innocent, graceful age - I sailed along the enchanted west coast of Florida. Anchored in Shark River Inlet, near marker number 9, less than a mile from the open Gulf of Mexico - this happened.
Early spring - April, I think - golden sunset light filtering through cypress, pine, mangrove, and palm. Orange, pink, and grey cumulo-nimbus clouds tower to the east, lightning flashes within. The sailboat lies anchored in a small, enclosed bay of still, black water. A light onshore breeze keeps the mosquitoes upriver. It's quiet except for the rattle of palm fronds. There is no machine noise, engines, motors, or internet. It is Jurassic.
Two shapes soar above the bay. The lower and smaller bird extends long, elegant, tapered wings. Dappled black and white underneath, Osprey is deep chestnut brown on top. A few hundred feet above him, another, larger bird flies on broad, black, elliptical wings. As she turns in the purple sky, her white tail fans wide and her white head glints. She is Eagle.
I am Osprey.
I chase my shadow in a lazy arc across the bay. There! The flash of silver tail and fin in the shallow water. I see the trace of the fish just under the surface; pull my wings short, wheel left, roll inverted, and dive. The water spins and rushes at me. Flaring, wings broad and full, I feel the down force, swing my talons in front, and drive them into the fish. It struggles, writhes, and I fight its violent twitch. I swing the fish back, take big pulls with my wings, and pump hard for altitude. Shivering, I flick water off wet feathers, drop the fish, and grab it again, orient it fore and aft - streamlined. I bank right and skim past the sailboat, and climb toward a high cypress roost.
Above, a sinister shadow spills from the high gloom.
I am Eagle.
I soar high and up-sun from Osprey in ambush. He doesn't know I am above him. I see him dive, splash, and climb with the fish. Lifting my left wing, I twist my flight feathers up and back. I drop my right wing and tuck it close. The asymmetric lift rolls me over and down. I drop and accelerate. Menacing and powerful, I extend my wings, open my tail, and pull up a bird’s length behind Osprey - below him but much faster.
Osprey.
I hear Eagle as she drops behind me. She is fast, her wings whistle. Digging my talons deeper into the still twitching fish - a mullet, I think - I bank hard left and climb. I fight to hold the fish as the violent turn tries to rip it from my grip. I don't wait to see if Eagle follows, but bank hard right and drop. Three big pulls, and I reverse and go vertical.
Eagle.
Osprey flits away to the left, and I use my speed to climb above and behind him. He flicks back right, and I have enough momentum to roll over and stay behind him, eyes locked on the fish. I chitter loud and staccato. He pulls up quick in front of me. I overshoot, and now he is above and behind me. Pulling and climbing, I twist left in a vicious turn and roll upside down below him. The fish glimmers and tumbles in the sun as Osprey cries, drops it, and dives away.
Osprey.
My wings burn, I am out of breath, and trembling from the chase. I whistle for my mate in frustration. Eagle tucks her enormous wings and dives after the tumbling fish. She spears it in her big yellow talons and lifts away. She is so low, the fish trails across the bay's surface.
She cannot stay in our bay. Tomorrow, my mate and I will harass her until she is gone.
The Sailor
Fish wriggle, osprey dive, eagles steal, lightning flashes in an eternal dance. It is life, beautiful and majestic: not human, but balanced and sacred. It blooms still, even in these crass, artificial times.
My memory of Osprey and Eagle, talon to talon in a purple sky, above the quiet little bay—a fish tumbling between them, flashing in the sunset—is a treasure. That evening, their cries and the aerial skirmish around my boat exposed a wild, free, other-than-human world. Osprey and Eagle gifted me their story. I write what they gave.
Such memories and the wild spirits that haunt them are blessings. They shape who I am, bring me joy, and armor me against despair. I remember, pursued by happiness.