I have lived in Finzean for the past fifteen years and in all that time have observed a Golden Eagle only twice.
The first time, whilst flat on my back in the heather having climbed a hill, early in the first season after we arrived here in the days before the grouse came back. We were resting on the face of Craigenducie when we spied him, a tiny speck a mile high in the sky.A definite member of the mile high club then. A MILE high? How did I know it was a mile high? because The Gamie said so....and he tends to know such things, how did I know it was an eagle?
Once seen never forgotten....and he came down a bit to take a closer look at us mewling and calling, he circled briefly close enough for us to see his defined outstretched wing tip fingers, the marled underbelly, before perhaps deciding we were not a delicious morsel of choice. In fact an eagles eyesight is so good that he must have known this from first spying us - I can only assume he was mildly curious. We watched him spiral effortlessly skywards on the updraft, leaving us with the sense that we had been dismissed.
Not one often prone to sentiment, Hedge does bring me back a piece of heather from the first grouse count in July every year. Carefully pressed in his top pocket, usually white and newly blooming it sits on my desk until the bells fall. Once he brought me back a feather - the downiest, lightest, softest thing imaginable, from the under belly of an eagle and which I rashly gave away to someone who seemed to want it very much. I thought it a commonplace thing and I'd be bound to get another. It had it's own definite energy, in much the same way that a sea shell evokes the sea when you hold it to your ear. This feather had a warmth if you wafted it near the skin on the back of your hand.
It must have drifted down a mile or so through all the invisible eddies and the up draughts to come to rest on top of a purple heather bed, perfect before any rain fell or the dew rose to spoil it before being gathered up as a certain love token from my unsentimental 'keeper.
Eleven years pass and its March 2015. A frustrating telephone call informs us that the foxhounds may not be run over the hill incase they stray near a secret place, a known nest site, for fear of disturbing any potential avian guest from making possible selection.
This is annoying to say the least as this large part of the hill is notorious for foxes and impossible to control by other methods. Hounds sweeping through will cover the ground in minutes and leave you in little doubt if there are foxes present. Unhindered, a family of hungry young foxes and their trachelled parents will cause untold damage to the ground nesting birds population. And this was a "just in case" scenario as the site has not been used for a number of years. A short term solution leading to longer term loss.
Meanwhile and quite by accident during a stalking expedition on a completely different part of the estate, a large bird was spied gliding through a forest raid. The stalker could hardly believe his eyes or his discovery that a pair of Golden Eagles had in fact graced us with their presence. Whilst everyone's attention was averted they silently built their eyrie elsewhere. It's hard to believe that two birds with the wingspan of more than 7ft can go about their business in this busy world without being noticed more.
The nest was not particularly high, but deep and neat and opposite a steep bank, making visibility possible straight into the nest, albeit a midge infested but briefly thrilling experience. On first viewing through binoculars there seemed to be something red, a squirrel? or a fox! Oh the irony!. There also appeared to be a lamb......which turned out to be a two week hatched eaglet.
It's often said, but whatever did we do without the Internet? Searches turned up images of the exact size and development from egg to chick over weekly stages. We stayed away from the nest and looked at the key at home comparing the scientific notes to our diary dates wondering how 'our' eaglet was faring as the wind blew and the clouds tipped out copious amounts of rain. After a particularly inclement evening we took a wide berth and saw the nest had grown considerably deeper. Some Grouse carcasses but very little mess to give the game away. We found a trophy of a different kind, a single primary wing feather resting on top of a patch of green bracken. The thought that Native American Indian's had whole headdresses full of these amazing totems, as talismen go - I'm not giving this one away for love nor money.
Time passed and an expert ringer came to tag our girl. He shimmied up the tree and gently but unceremoniously lowered her down in a sport's bag. Tipping her out she shambled about with the gait of a vulture completely unperturbed at being at ground level and impervious to comments relating to her grumpy demeanor! He told us that even if she had blown out of the nest that parents would continue to feed her, it would only make her initial launching that much harder and of course much more vulnerable to predators. Her beak was impressive and at eight weeks old her talon span was as big as my hand, these were what we were to be mindful of - impossible to retract and as sharp as any surgical instrument if they gripped your skin it would be a painful process- for us not her. I was impressed by her bulk, raptors I learned put all their growth into bone where as flight birds put it all into feather, her downy legs were as large as an adult bird, hence the ring at this developmental stage would actually get looser not tighter as the down wore off. She had glazed elbow pads - calloused looking armour plating on the back of her legs, which is what she rested on before she drew herself up to full height on the nest.
Some animals have an otherness about them. I've seen it once before in the eye of an Arab mare when a particular wind lifted her tail and she seemed to sense the ancestors of her birthright. Looking into the eye of a golden eagle - even a young one that has not yet fledged or seen the world from a mile high - is a strange and powerful experience.
Whilst regarding us with no sense of fear or panic, she seemed to look through me and into my soul. Fanciful as this might be, the ringer said that with luck we would be the only people to ever hold this bird, she tolerated us well enough. I felt like I was in the presence of greatness AND I got to hold her on my lap!
I caught sight of her parent only once from the other side of the hill about a mile from the nest - the merest flash through the trees and so fleeting that I mistrusted what I had surely seen. A pterodactyl came to mind. Some moments stay with you for ever, the day I looked into the eye of the eagle will surely be one.
back in the nest, this was the last time we saw her before she fledged.
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