It was early spring in Rochester, New York, along the shores of Lake Ontario. I was sitting in a grandstand with one other person, who was an expert in his field of study. The field for which these stands overlooked did not have sporting players vying for championships, per se, but there was plenty of action, and perhaps a competition at times among the participants passing through the "arena."
We watched the entertaining spectacle before us, two fans enjoying the thrill of seeing raptors in flight, on their migratory path along this shoreline bordering the huge obstruction to their path, Lake Ontario. We were at Braddock Bay, renowned center for raptor research, and a premier hawk watching site for nature enthusiasts worldwide. My eagle eyed companion, Brett, was the official counter for this season of migration, responsible for recording how many of each raptor species passed by this popular post each day.
This grandstand would normally be full of interested onlookers, scanning the skies for passersby, watching the marshes for Northern Harriers (marsh hawks), or watching for the chaotic lifting off of hundreds of geese, which could indicate the rare occurrence of a passing eagle. The stands were empty due a severe storm warning, one that could really knock your socks off.
I could hardly blame as I now saw the distant deep gray menacing cloud line advancing quickly from the horizon. Earlier I had asked Brett if he was leaving due to the weather. He said he would stay since raptors sometimes soar on the edge of fronts to conserve energy during migration. That insight gave me reason to stay as well, hoping to have time to run to the car before the storm attacked.
I must say this storm front looked scary, seemingly rearing up like a giant tidal wave from the horizon, advancing steadily toward us. Had I to fare this beast alone I'm not sure I'd have the salt, but I was comforted that this pending doom would be shared.
The gray ghost of a storm was at the edge of the fields, haunting us as we focused our bins on its edge looking for fellow adventurers, winged, who showed no fear of this dangerous force. We could hear the raindrops pelting the ground mercilessly, punishing anyone who dared to stay outside in its presence.
Then it appeared, just in front of this terrible mass, almost as if it were leading the army of water soldiers to ravage the countryside. It's wings looked like stiff planks as they ruled over the wind and harnessed its incredible power. The all white head and tail distinguished this majestic and powerful ruler of the skies as the adult bald eagle glided straight and effortlessly toward our awestruck figures.
We watched as it passed serenely over our heads, appreciating the magnitude of this gift to the fullest, knowing and accepting it was also heralding our watery doom. Immediately after it passed the clouds unleashed their fury, drenching us like an overpowering beach wave. The torrential rainstorm would soon change into a blizzard, dropping two feet of snow in 24 hours, with wind-blown drifts much higher, changing the landscape to smooth curves of whiteness. Other areas approached four feet of snow. Yet I am still thankful for the jewel before the storm, and the storm itself, both of which were unforgettable even twenty years later.
Thank you for appreciating our jewels, the wildlife that surrounds us every day.
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