Reelfoot, the Eagles' Haven (2014 Edition)

First of 17 bald eagle sightings

When January grows cold, the eagles return to northwestern Tennessee. For the second year, so did Nancy and I.

We had learned from our first trip to Reelfoot Lake, which in winter hosts the greatest concentration of bald eagles outside of Alaska. Rather than spend six hours in the car, we opted for a night in Dyerbsurg with a dash of Saturday afternoon bird-watching and a deluge on Sunday. A new pair of binoculars bought that morning would give our eyes a much-needed boost to spot the sometimes evasive eagles.

Saturday night before had been fruitful, with eight raptor sightings – all hawks and falcons – before the light gave out in a spectacular blast of cloud-induced shades. The last, a red-tailed hawk, narrowly missed our fender as at silently dove toward prey on the dormant farm fields.

Sunset over Reelfoot

No eagles appeared, but our odds would be better in the morning. The Grassy Island portion of the Reelfoot National Wildlife Refuge was crowded with photographers chasing the light reflecting off the ice-covered marsh. The occupant of a beaver den close to an observation deck garnered some attention before darting back inside.

 The land grows quite flat around Reelfoot Lake, which lies below levees on the Mississippi. The barren plain became a canvas for unexpected hues. Patches of clouds put on a sunset display for the ages. We paused at a deserted Kentucky crossroads to absorb it all.

At this hour, ducks dominated the skies as they grouped up and prepared for night.From the Lone Point observation tower, we heard the raucous chorus of thousands of ducks settling down into the marshy weeds. Flocks poured into the clearing at steady intervals then vanished into the ground cover. I

We beat dawn out of Dyersburg early, heading north 15 minutes before sunrise. Shortly after passing under Interstate 155, we spotted Sunday’s first bird of prey sat perched on a telephone pole. That ruffled bird would be the first of four dozen smaller raptor sightings, topped off by 17 bald eagles.
 

Could not identify this one

Every pole-topping hawk we spotted along Tennessee Route 78 had a similar look, like they had yet to shake off the cold night. With their feathers fluffed out, they looked like the best-fed hawks in the world. In the sunrise, the hawks glowed with new colors.

By the time we covered the 30 miles between Dyersburg and the lake, we had seen more than 20, along with a pair of coyotes trotting through the dormant farmland. We did surprise them. As we gazed at them through binoculars, these coyotes gazed right back. They likely skittish from familiarity with armed humans.

Near the Black Bayou Wildlife Management Area, something large glided about 20 feet over the road before landing in a tree 100 feet away. We stopped the car and quietly approached (you can see this eagle at the top of this post).

A fraction of the ducks at Black Bayou

The eagle ignored us but a barrage of rifle shots erupted from miles away, and it fled across a meadow into denser trees. In the management area, a different thunder roared. Thousands of ducks rose and landed From across the marsh, a solitary eagle watched them from a perch high spindly pines.

Four deer romped in an isolated meadow with a blind at its edge. A single eagle soared away as we pulled up. Until we entered the blind, the deer never broke their stares. These animals were used to hunters and weren’t going to let us close the gap.

On a muddy flat crossed by a railroad track and narrow asphalt road, only handful of ducks occupied the grounds swarmed by thousands of snow geese last January. In a thatch of trees a hundred yards away, a few sets of watchful, predatory eyes remained. One adult eagle perched in a prominent dead tree. Last year, the same tree hosted three juvenile eagles. Is the adult bald eagle sitting in the same tree where we saw the juvenile eagles last year just one of those birds one year older? Did its white head feathers grown in and its eyes lighten? Only an ornithologist could tell for sure.

Back at the Grassing Island station, dozens of duck hunters’ trucks surrounded the main boat launch. Only a boat path broken through the thin ice signaled their presence. Aside from the occasion eagle perched in a distant tree, the viewpoint was abandoned.

Grassy Island ice at sunset

The freezing temperatures restored the thin ice, pushing its boundary several hundred feet further into the lake. It broke only around the beaver den. Once eyes adjust to the binoculars and the shape of distant eagles, they grow easier to spot. They cut a sharp figure atop those trees and after a little seasoning, the confusion with haphazardly designed squirrel nests stops. Some eagles made it easier still. Two other eagles soared above this marshy stretch of lake while we alone observed them.

 Reelfoot greatly improved its eagle-hunting materials for 2014; an ad-heavy brochure replaced the faded photocopies that made it all but impossible to find the nests. A wildlife refuge staffer directed us to the next-heavy section close to the Mississippi.

At a stop sign riddled with bullet holes immediately south of the Kentucky border, we hit Levee Road before pulling onto the levee itself, which ran 70-100 feet above the riverbank, where a thick stretch of forest blocked the river views.

After a few moments watching a lone eagle on nest-guarding duty, we ventured down into the forest and the banks of the Mississippi. The river moved swiftly here; the Missouri Boot heel was on the opposite shore, and south of us was the Kentucky Bend, a piece of the Bluegrass State lopped off from the rest and totally surrounded by Missouri and Tennessee.

Look to the left of the nest

In the stands separating the levee from the rich farmland, two more nests stood out from the spindly trunks. One definitely had an occupant standing on its upper levels. We stopped at the state park headquarters for the only close view available of bald eagles, a group of injured birds ineligible for release back into the wild. Two red-tailed hawks huddled with two much larger eagles, but somehow they all kept the peace. Well-fed raptors won’t usually attack each other.

When passing Samburg, a tiny lakefront community, three large raptors swooped out of a bald cypress stand, then coasted 20 to 40 feet above the road. At first they looked like hawks, but the wingspan was too large. A trio of immature bald eagles “played,” looping and cutting dexterous aerial maneuvers above a muddy south east of the lake.

In their aerial display, the eagles cut sharp angles and tumbled over each other before letting the updrafts carry them further across the prairie. While the adults built nests and lay eggs, the children venture out to play. No matter their age, those eagles would migrate back to Reelfoot every year. It was their place. But for a day, we could share the territory.

Immature eagles at play. Perhaps next year they'll have white heads.