Something always seems to be happening with the wildlife here on the White River in Arkansas. The first scene occurs one morning as Dick and I take our daily walk. A huge racket echoes from a tall tree across the river. “The heron eggs must have hatched,” I say, and we stop to investigate.
We count at least seven nests in a heron rookery on the other side of the river and watch as several adults fly back and forth from the river where they fish in its shallow waters. It’s been quiet for the past three weeks, but today the screeching cries of newly hatched baby herons fill the air as the adults scramble to feed them.
The next drama occurs when Dick spots an eagle sitting on the sandbar directly in front of our RV site.
I recognize the sliver flash in its talons. It’s a fish, a good-sized one.
We watch. For a short time, the eagle gorges on the fish, tearing with beak and claws. Finally, picking it up, the eagle tries to fly, probably to its nest perched atop a large tree a quarter-mile down river, not far from the heron rookery.
Flapping its wings, it attempts a takeoff. And flounders, dropping the fish. It quickly retrieves the fish and returns to shore where it gorges more of it. We figure it’s trying to lessen the weight of its meal to bring back to its nest. Fascinated, we watch until, finally the eagle, yet again, tries to fly away with it.
At this point, a heron squawks its ugly sound, upset with the eagle’s presence. With long gangly legs hanging, it spreads its wings and dive-bombs the eagle who drops the fish and retreats to a nearby tree, probably hoping to retrieve its meal eventually. Who got the fish? The heron or the eagle? We never did know.
It did raise the question of why two rivals have built their nests so close, but who knows the way of birds.
However the most dramatic and chilling wildlife drama happens one night, somewhere between 2 and 4 in the morning.
The hoots of an owl had been waking me for the last few nights, sounds that quickly disappeared to the north. Not so this night. The loud sound of an owl’s “Whoo hoo hoo hoo” wakes me from a sound slumber. I hear it again, loud and harsh. Was it an owl fight? There is a squeal, another owl hoot and the squeal abruptly stops. I hold my breath, expecting to hear more, but an eerie silence fills the air.
In the morning, I asked Dick if he heard the noise and after comparing notes we reach a grim conclusion. Somewhere very close a hunting owl caught its prey. A possum? We don’t know, but whatever it was, it is dead.
Ugh. Murder in the night. Not a pleasant thought.
Leave a Reply