Bald is beautiful

By Felix Carroll

Past the bruised brick and abandoned mills of Housatonic, down where the river swerves out of town like a getaway car, he perches, a common American Bald Eagle.

Somehow the word "common" shouldn't apply to such a creature — this magnificent, white-hooded bird of prey with the piercing eyes that seem to ask, belligerently, "Who the hell are you?" But few people pay him any mind anymore.

A year ago was a different matter. Nearly everyone was discussing having seen the eagle or knowing someone who had. It was as if a celebrity moved into town. As with any celebrity who moves to town, you'd wonder what he was eating for dinner.

Park Street lived up to its name, as cars would pull over by the cove north of Rising Paper in hopes of stealing a glimpse of what was still labeled an endangered species. More often than not, he'd be there, his beak clinched like a bent nail, his beady eyes demanding, "Who the hell are you?"

The presence of this barrel-chested bird seemed to be rearranging the priorities in this fine village. If you had looked closely at most residents, you would have noticed circles around their eyes, the indentation of binocular lenses. They had bird on the brain. The "kweek-kik-ik-ik-ik" of an eagle — a cry as sharp as sin — became the soundtrack for the summer of 2006.

Search parties were formed. People would iron out the frazzled nerves of another work week by launching kayaks to make a mystical mission to meet the eagle. It wouldn't take long for them to come upon him.

Invariably, he'd get spooked and would launch from a branch. The force of his flapping wings could take your breath away. He would head down river, banking like an F-16, and he'd disappear beyond the paper mill leaving behind a bunch of paddlers with stories to tell.

Now summer is here again. The bald eagle, as of two weeks ago, is no longer considered an endangered species, and he's no longer the talk of Housatonic. He's more of a permanent fixture, like the rusty water tower and like Flag Rock. There is no expert keeping tabs on him. No one who can definitively say much about his specific life, because the good news is that there are far too many bald eagles these days for anyone to keep such tabs.

"I've seen more bald eagles in the last six months than I've seen my entire life," says Tim Gray, executive director of the Housatonic River Initiative, who lives beside the Housatonic River up in South Lee.

Two Sundays ago, I was on my front porch thinking about our local bald eagle because I hadn't seen him since March. At that very moment — Scout's honor — he came veering out from beyond the bank of trees along the Housatonic and did a U-turn about 20 feet above my front yard. He seemed like some giant, radio-controlled airplane, stiff-winged and a bit jerky on the turns. He was marvelous.

The word "common" doesn't seem appropriate to describe this symbol of our country. He's more aptly suited to the words of the writer-naturalist Henry Beston who called for "a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals ... They move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time."

So who the hell are we, then? Good question. The simple answer: permanent strangers in funny-looking flotation devices who have the genetic inclination to root for the underdog — whether it's a new nation reaching for the highest ideals of humanity or a winged creature back from the brink of extinction.

On Independence Day last Wednesday, we paddled down and paid the bald eagle a visit. But unlike last summer, he wasn't spooked by our presence. He's getting used to his new neighbors. He stayed put atop his branch. Then, eventually, he took off, circling up, up, up, up, way up — above the rusty water tower, above Flag Rock. Above it all.

My boy was on my lap. "Dad," he finally said after a few moments, "can we stop looking at the bird now?"

Maybe he was right. The bald eagle's role as local oddity is fading, and perhaps we've reached the point where it's impolite to keep staring at him.

That evening, we toasted America's independence and the bald eagle's independence. We can only hope that somewhere between the two sentiments stands the evidence of who the hell we are.