Outdoor Calling

Until recently, the last—and only—photography class I ever took was back in the ’90s in high school. To put that in perspective, I mainly recall learning how to use a darkroom. Working in the dark with chemicals to make pictures magically appear on paper was fun, but in the decades since I’ve had a sneaking suspicion I have a lot left to learn.

So, I got up my nerve and signed up for a one-week online class through Maine Media Workshops earlier this month. The night before our first workshop found me searching for 10 shots to represent my work and share for discussion, and wondering if out of thousands of pictures I’d taken recently none were good enough.

Of course, this was why I signed up, and in the end, the class was a small, lovely, supportive group who met for a few hours each day. I entered expecting to learn how much I didn’t know about photography technique, but the opposite happened. I realized (well, was told) I already knew how to use my camera to take a picture. Instead, I ended up rethinking what I wanted to compose and craft, spending more time looking for the light (or lack of), pushing myself to try new angles and consider my options, allowing more room for creativity—which all makes sense since the class was “Composition and Craft.”

For homework every day, which I did at home, mostly in my yard, the process generally went like this: set out to take pictures in the evening after class/work/family duties, realize it wasn’t working at all because of fading light or feeling uninspired, start to worry that I had absolutely nothing to share with class tomorrow and they would realize I am a fraud, stop to see what I had, decide to try something else, end up with some unexpected pictures to share.

Sticking with the work, even when I felt like I was failing, having to try something else, led to pictures I wouldn’t have otherwise taken.

This Chuck Close quote sums up the process for me:

“Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself. Things occur to you.”

I had to have something to show each day, so I ended up with something to show each day.

Here are a few pieces that came out of that work. I don’t know if any are “good” or not, but regardless each one made me think differently, more intentionally, deliberately, and creatively about my photography and how I approach the process going forward. There’s still a lot to learn, but I’ll keep showing up for the process to work and for things to occur.

It’s Earth Day, but I’m thinking of it as Thank a Muskrat Day.

I recently was introduced to Muskrat, or rather a muskrat, who lives down the road and swims back and forth in the stream between lakes. I was looking for Mink when I first noticed the trail of water that followed a small face and eyes just above the water surface. Once I figured out what, or rather who, he was I saw him more regularly—swimming under docks, diving underwater with his long tail, carrying up plants to eat on a log.

Shortly after, I started reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which opens with the indigenous origin story of Skywoman Falling and the creation of Turtle Island*. While I was generally aware of this story, I was surprised and delighted to discover in Kimmerer’s telling that little, unassuming Muskrat is its hero (in my opinion).

At the time, the world is covered in water. As Skywoman falls down to it, she is caught by Geese who place her on top of a great Turtle. All the diving and swimming animals—Loon, Beaver, Otter, and more—take turns venturing into the water’s dark depths to try and bring some mud up from the bottom to create (or recreate) the earth for Skywoman. Some never return.

Only Muskrat succeeds at last, mud clenched in his little hand, and loses his life in the process (no!). The mud is placed on Turtle’s back and the world is reborn as Turtle Island, where we in North America live today. (Thank a turtle today too.)

The story is about creation, but also sacrifice, gratitude, reciprocity…and I kept getting stuck on the magnitude of the animals’ sacrifice and a lack of fairness. True, Skywoman brought great abundance to all through the earth, but my cynical side kept considering the status of our earth today, and tallying up its winners and losers. I wanted to cry out to Muskrat and the others “We’re not worthy!”

Gifts require gratitude though, and I realized I had it backwards. Instead of eco-despairing and focusing solely on what animals, nature, and the earth have lost due to us (a lot), I could focus on their sacrifice and gift, and on gratitude and reciprocity.

“What can we who recognize the debt possibly give back?” asks Kimmerer in another essay. It’s not meant to be a rhetorical question, but an active, ongoing questioning of our actions—what we ask for, what we take, what we give. We need to be equal to the gift, and the creation of earth is an immense one.

Muskrat, Turtle, Loon, Beaver—I had pictures of most of these creation characters (dare I say heros?). Earth Day seemed like a good day to share and honor them as we consider how to repay our debts.

Geese

Turtle

Loon

Otter

Beaver

Muskrat

^{*There are various versions of this indigenous origin story, with the central theme being the creation of the earth, or North America, on the back of a great turtle. Check out Kimmerer’s book for her telling. I found The Canadian Encyclopedia informative as well. “Turtle Island” is also the name of the Pulitzer-Prize winning book of poetry by Gary Snyder, whom I was lucky enough to hear do a reading once at my college.}

Thirty-three hours. Five days. One bird.

That’s how long I spent, over two weeks, trying to see a single bird here in Maine, a Steller’s Sea Eagle—or rather the Steller’s Sea Eagle, the only one of its kind in North America. Each day I missed the eagle, sometimes by minutes, my sunk costs increased, as did my desire to see the bird. At the same time, my low bar for a sighting kept dropping.

I just wanted to see the bird from a distance…please. A brief fly-by would suffice…maybe.

Technically, I saw the Steller’s Sea Eagle (STSE) at sunset on Day 4. It was a momentary glimpse through a scope—the third in a lineup that I tried, as the light was lost. It felt anti-climatically like looking at a stranger’s social media post. Despite what was technically a sighting, I went home unsatisfied. Then I prepped to get up at 4 a.m. the next day and try again. I would use everything I’d learned and commit a full day to the eagle. I’d arrive before sunrise, with a plan, be logical, go with the odds.

It worked. Or maybe I was just lucky. I saw the eagle twice that day, both times perched more than a half mile away across open water and then flying. I also saw the sun rise from the ocean, a Bald Eagle in falling snow, an adorable Black Guillemot swimming in the bay, and at the end of it all a stunning sunset while sitting alone by the water. It was a good day.

That first moment of finally seeing the Steller’s through my own camera—even on an island a half mile away—was thrillingly better than the previous day’s dusky scope. There it was! Just sitting in a tree. After forty minutes of watching it perched, the bird stretched its wings, took off, and flew down the inlet and past me. This felt well earned.

Look on social media and you can find amazing closeup pictures of the same Steller’s Sea Eagle. These are not those kinds of pictures. So, even after finally seeing the bird last week, I wondered whether it was worth sharing mine. Did they add anything of value to the Steller’s frenzy? Did the world need any more pictures hyping this bird? Ultimately, I decided there’s value in showing a realistic viewing from afar.

Context matters. Especially where wild things are concerned.

After all, this bird is famous. A LOT of people want to see it, driving and flying to Maine from around the country. While I’m not an obsessive Life List birder (at least I wasn’t), I get that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And now that I’ve seen the rare eagle, I don’t want to be a gatekeeper, distancing others from the outdoors and nature.

So, this is also an opportunity to remind myself of ethical birding and wildlife watching: do not get too close to an animal; don’t influence its behavior; if it notices you, you’re too close; don’t flush it and waste its energy. (Most of my pictures were taken at full 600mm zoom and from a half mile or more away.)

I expect most people to fall into one of two camps, to think:

• Who wastes days standing around in the cold just to see a bird? Crazy. or
• What a cool and amazing bird to see.

I understand both, so I’ll share some thoughts from my five days of searching, waiting, wondering:

• First, the ability to spend five (non-consecutive) days looking for a bird is a fortunate privilege of working for myself. That said, I still had to give up some things, rejigger my schedule, but decided I’d remember these days more—especially if I could find the bird.
• As the days passed, I wondered if I was becoming a bit obsessed. Was this healthy? Was the Steller’s becoming my white whale? (That didn’t end well for Ahab.)
• With time and frustration, one starts bargaining with the fates; Just let me see it once, please.
• Or adopting a Linus-Great Pumpkin mindset; I am the sincerest of the eagle searchers; please rise up and pick my patch of sky, Great Steller’s.
• FOMO and social media can make it feel like everyone else has seen the bird and spectacularly up close. Not true. Most people I met had not seen the eagle yet; some were stopping by for a quick look and others had been trying for days. I wished most that kids whose parents brought them would see it, or local folks, like the aquarium scientist, police officer, and boatyard workers I chatted with.
• Worried about crowds? Go on the coldest weekdays, especially days when no or few eagle sightings will be reported. Most of my 30-plus hours were spent, coldly, standing or wandering around a few areas without many people close by. My double-layer neckie worked well for warmth and as a mask when others were near.
• The people I did interact with were kind, courteous, and helpful.
• Over those five days, I got to watch and notice numerous seabirds and Bald Eagles.
• It is possible, on the fourth day of looking for a very big bird, to walk alone down a dirt road, pass a tree among trees (twice!) less than 100 feet away, in which the largest eagle in the world is perched, and never see or flush it from the dark branches. After realizing this happened, I simultaneously wanted to cry and felt oddly proud of my ability to practically walk to the eagle, but not disturb it. If the eagle sees me, but I don’t see the eagle, does that count for something? (No.)
• That still makes me want to cry a little.
• Seriously.

It’s easy to scoff at the idea of people wasting time, money, or resources to look for one bird. I asked myself, what was the point? Could I justify this? But people are interested in and drawn to birds. So, I also asked myself, how do we convert that goodwill to actions that value and protect nature?

Supporting the places that advocate for and provide space and habitat for birds is a good start. I made donations In Honor of the Steller’s Sea Eagle to Maine Audubon (in addition to my annual membership) and Boothbay Region Land Trust afterwards. I also bought my annual Maine State Parks pass. Just imagine if everyone who looked for this bird gave a little something.

Also, this Steller’s Sea Eagle might be the ultimate spark bird, converting untold numbers into avian lovers and advocates.

I’d consider looking for the Steller’s Sea Eagle again—if it hangs around Maine and the crowds retreat. It was exciting to see such a huge, rare bird. (I was going to call it “impressive,” but I think all birds are impressive.) And those five days and thirty-three hours were undoubtedly good practice in patience and mindfulness.

But I’ve also returned my focus to hyper-local, backyard birding out the kitchen window. I still see you, chickadees and woodpeckers! Plus, the very next day after spotting the eagle, while picking my daughter up at school, I was excited to unexpectedly see a Sharp-shinned Hawk fly into a bush. And then the next day a Bald Eagle flew right over our car…

When I venture beyond my backyard, birdwatching often entails seeing something different than what I intended or hoped to see. If I’m paying attention, and get lucky, I sometimes learn or notice something new.

While searching for the famed Steller’s Sea Eagle on the Maine coast this past week, I saw a number of stellar (not Steller) sea birds—birds that survive and thrive through frigid winters in the Atlantic Ocean, birds that can dive hundreds of feet underwater, staying down for long minutes, birds that have their own unique migration journeys.

Here are a few stellar highlights, including some birds that were new to me.

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Black Guillemot

I think this bird is the cutest. I saw Black Guillemots for the first time last summer, but wouldn’t have recognized them in their whitish winter plumage till now. Every time I think I’ve learned a new bird, I find out I have not.

Razorbills

Razorbills are adorable and remind me of penguins, if penguins lived in the Northern Hemisphere and I’d ever seen a real penguin in the wild. Razorbills—the penguins of the North Atlantic.

Red-necked Grebe

I’ll be honest; I’d never heard of this bird before. While standing on the rocky coast staring at faraway smudgy trees, a guy who’d driven all the way from Philly to see the Steller’s Sea Eagle told me there were Red-necked Grebes swimming nearby. I thanked him as if I knew what he was talking about. I’d later see this bird at Reid State Park and once home and ID-ing it think, oh that’s a Red-necked Grebe. Pretty.

Common Loons

The Common Loon is a common summer resident on the lakes where I live, but I don’t usually see them in their winter homes on the coast. So this was a treat, like unexpectedly bumping into a friend from home while on vacation. These ones were busy diving for seafood in the harbor.

Long-tailed Ducks

We jokingly call them all ocean ducks at my house, but in fact there are many families and species of sea ducks, most of which are excellent divers and all with different names. I’ve now learned a few more, like these Long-tailed Ducks, which unsurprisingly have long tail feathers.

Common Goldeneyes

It was relaxing watching the Common Goldeneyes rise and fall with the waves, diving together, then wondering where they’d pop up. The very next day I saw more on the Kennebec River near home.

Surf Scoters

I’d never heard of a scoter before—it’s yet another duck—but it beats its nickname of “old skunkhead.”

White-Winged Scoters

Also available in white-winged variety.

American Black Ducks

American Black Ducks are fairly common, but I’d never seen—well, more accurately never noticed—one before. They look a lot like female mallards, who they hang out with. Then I saw a pair swimming in the harbor. Later I saw flocks in a lagoon. They’ll likely be everywhere I look now.

Mallards

The most familiar of ducks, maybe of all birds, let’s not forget the Mallard, or as my teenage son says, a “regular” duck. So common they often don’t get noticed, Mallards are the ancestors of nearly all domestic duck breeds.

Red-breasted Mergansers

Mergansers—still ducks. Red-breasted ones are also called “sawbills” for the tiny serrations on their bills. Since they need to eat 15 to 20 fish every day—which means diving underwater 250 to 300 times—a good grip is important.

Gulls

Suffering from the same overfamiliarity issue as Mallards, gulls often get dismissed as just more seagulls. But like ocean ducks, there are so many varieties and different plumages. I don’t know how people keep them straight. I often end up assuming they’re all Herring Gulls until I learn differently, thanks to Merlin Bird ID.

Bald Eagles

Hey, we’re eagles too! I’m lucky to see Bald Eagles semi-regularly, but it’s still impressive to stand at the edge of the ocean and have one fly by and over your head. They’re big and powerful birds, though the bird word is that there’s an even bigger and more powerful eagle somewhere out there…

All pictures were taken by me, Alicia MacLeay, either January 1 or January 3, 2022, in Georgetown, Maine, from Five Islands Wharf, Ledgemere Nature Preserve, or Reid State Park. Click on an image to see it larger.

“The eagle flew” a lady announced to me through her car window and immediately drove off. Darn it. On New Year’s Day morning I showed up a frustrating 15 minutes after the most famous bird in North America left its latest known viewing spot, on the coast of Maine.

The eagle—a rarest of rarities Steller’s Sea Eagle—hails from Asia but has been traveling solo around North America since 2020, and making headlines wherever it makes an appearance. A week ago it stopped in Vacationland, and I figured if this bird could fly all the way from eastern Russia or Japan, I could make the hour-long drive to see one of the biggest eagles in the world.

Despite the woman’s warning, I opted to wait at the harbor in hopes the eagle would come back that way. (Silver lining: there were now parking spots!) The next three hours consisted of standing in the winter rain, scanning trees and skies, hopping around to stay warm, wishing I had taken the Chex mix out of the car, waiting for updates from the local lobsterman out in his boat, and wondering if the bird would come back if I just went home to my family.

Should I stay or should I go? The eagle was tantalizingly near, on an island directly offshore. Alas, it was on the other side, and I did not have a boat. I eventually called it and headed home.

But Steller FOMO was high. I returned two days later, as it was still being seen in the area. With temps in the single digits (but no rain!) I again stood along the harbor shore, this time staring at a possible black blob with white spot in a tree a mile or two down the coast. Scopes, binoculars, and cameras were all aimed its way.

Was it the eagle? Did the white patch of a wing move? How many people can collectively conjure an eagle if they’re desperate enough? Reader, it was not an eagle.

I’d gone into the day reminding myself not to get Steller tunnel vision though. To notice what was there with intent. As much as I wanted to see this darn bird—it’s huge in size and reputation—the new fellow was not the only bird around. Plus, the Maine coast is beautiful in winter.

Knowing I risked missing the eagle yet again by moving on, I decided to take a walk and explore a nearby nature preserve—a lovely quiet spot above the waves—and later the local state park’s beach and lagoon. Maybe I’d see something new, maybe not, but at least I’d change my viewpoint. It beat staring at the same spot endlessly.

As it turned out, no one would see the eagle that day, and its whereabouts have been largely unknown since. It was admittedly disappointing to miss seeing the bird—so close!—but I can’t complain about time spent looking out on an ocean from cliffs, walking along a winter beach, noticing birds on land, sea, and sky. They showed up, so I did too.

A few thoughts:

• While I set out to see one specific bird, by expanding my scope I ended up seeing eight new-to-me birds species.
• Birders are generally friendly folks, and if you’re carrying a camera will stop and talk.
• That black and white blob in a tree could have been a Steller Rorschach test; the further people drove to see the bird, the more likely they were to believe it was the eagle.
• While standing around with Steller’s Sea Eagles on the brain, I wondered who was this Steller who had numerous animals named for him. Turns out Georg Wilhelm Steller was an 18th-century German naturalist who worked in Russia. His Wikipedia entry makes me think he’s prime material for a thrilling historical narrative book.
• It’s encouraging to know so many people care about birds.
• However, we’ve lost billions of birds in a lifetime—a quarter of all birdlife since 1970. So if you’re willing to spend hours to try and see one bird, consider supporting organizations that work to protect all birds and their habitats every day. And keep your cats inside.

I’ll keep checking for Steller updates, but I’ll also keep reminding myself to find what’s stellar wherever I am. And if I never see the eagle, I hope it’s finding its way home. Imagine the stories it will have to tell.

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Disappointed there are no pictures of the Steller’s Sea Eagle in this post? Me too. It flew, as birds do. You can check out Some Stellar Non-Steller Birds I did see though.

All pictures were taken by me, Alicia MacLeay, January 1 or January 3, 2022, in Georgetown, Maine, from Five Islands Wharf, Ledgemere Nature Preserve, or Reid State Park. Click on an image to see it larger.

It’s Global Big Day. Look outside today, notice any birds, and you can be part of the largest biodiversity-related citizen science project in the world. Consider it a home science lab for all of us.

Whether you see a lone bird or flocks where you live, record your observations on eBird, which is managed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and was founded with Audubon. Cumulatively, all of that collected data helps scientists understand global bird population trends and answer conservation questions. You needn’t be a veteran birder or ornithology professor to join in. With the free eBird app you can record species from the field or kitchen window, and keep track of the birds you see on a single day, and over a lifetime.

Not sure what that red-white-and-black bird is? Answer a few simple questions—size, colors, location—on Cornell Lab’s free Merlin Bird ID app for impressively accurate suggestions. Since downloading Merlin, I’ve been surprised by how gratifying it is to identity and learn a new species.

Here are some of the birds I saw in my yard and submitted this Global Big Day. Yes, that’s snow in May.