Yesterday, as I was sitting in the employee parking lot of Silverwood Theme Park waiting for my son, I witnessed a sight that took me back to my logging camp time. It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday, albeit it was a touch on the crisp side at a high of only 47 degrees Fahrenheit, so I found myself strangely thankful for my car's Easy Bake the Kat windows. Instead of driving home, only to leave and drive again to pick up my soon to be retail cashier trainee fourteen year old, I decided to take my plot outline notebook for the novel I am currently drafting and spend some rare quiet time in imagination-land.
While I was brainstorming ways to give my protagonist her thirteenth mental breakdown, I sensed some movement out of the corner of my eye. High above my little blue car was a rather large bald eagle gliding in the updrafts. Higher and higher the raptor drifted upward, only to slowly circle downward upon the wind before ascending towards the stratosphere again.
Mental anguish administration forgotten, I smiled at the gliding creature and thought fondly of another time where a soaring eagle brought me a bit of mirth, well, it was more than one eagle actually, and there was more terror than mirth, but I digress.
During my time in the Alaskan wilderness logging camp I became used to seeing many unconventional sights. Everything is just a little bit larger in Alaska, from the mountains to the mosquitos, and eagles are no exception. Somewhere in one of my grandparent's photo albums is a picture of my grandpa and three other men holding a bald eagle that was unfortunate enough to dance a fatal duet with some powerlines. The bird's wingspan was ten feet from tip to tip. Eagles in Alaska are big.
That said, I think it was the combination of the roving gang of ATV and motorcycle riding adolescents that visited our farm the previous day in combination with the serendipitous eagle sighting that reminded me of the incident I am about to tell you of. Full disclosure, I am smiling right now.
One of our rare bits of entertainment as youths in camp was being able to tear around on an assortment of old Honda 3-wheelers and four wheelers. Most of them didn't have brakes and were not of the cool, new automatic variety. In fact, just yesterday I was having a conversation with my son about why I refuse to be a passenger on any ATV, my on/off switch scar tattoo that adorns my right knee cap serves a permanent reminder of that personal law. Anyway, riding through the wilderness without direction or destination is pretty rad, I highly recommend it. It was during one of those forays that I got to see one of the coolest/terrifying things I've ever witnessed.
My friend and fellow camp dweller J had the most annoying little brother ever. Like, seriously, he would squeal on you for breathing. One time we got so annoyed at him that we threw him in my friend's bathtub with a bunch of silver salmon. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Well, we were out riding ATV's by the log yard, and inhospitable stretch of steel grey sand and winding estuaries that dumped into Icy Bay. While we were flying along, I noticed a shadow pass over us. The shadow was a flock of large eagles. In front of us was J's little brother, the pest and pestilence that he was, flying along on a Honda Big Red 3-wheeler. All these years later, I feel as if Nature had decided to deliver us a bit of righteous indignation for putting up with K's horrible antics, for one of the eagles swooped in and began pecking and clawing at K's helmet clad form. Even above the din of the old engines and the screaming of the eagles, we could hear K squealing like a stuck pig. His cries of terror reverberated off of the rock walls that jutted to the sky above the log yard beach. My mouth popped open as all of the eagles began attacking K. Honestly it was a bit weird, I still don't know why the glittery 80's era motorcycle helmet triggered them so.
We all gunned our engines as we tried to keep up with K Eagle Flay, he had put the old wheeler into the ketchup, depressing the throttle as hard as it could be smashed down. All around him were eagles the size of sixth graders, lashing and pecking. And suddenly, just as like a passing squall the feathered attackers dispersed and disappeared into the low lying clouds.
The subsequent week was glorious, as K wouldn't leave the protective embrace of his family's abode. And in the spirit of unexpected and spectacular respite, I thanked the soaring creature above me in the parking lot for the gift its ancestors had bestowed upon me and my friends that misty day.
And as somewhat of the time, the cited images are from Pixabay, the non-cited were taken on my prone to dives of dashing and daring iPhone.