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We began in the North Cascades National Park, a protected area of some of the highest peaks in the range, which stretches from southern British Columbia to northern California. The range reaches its highest point at Mount Rainier, a volcanic summit in Washington topping out at 4,392m. With little more expertise than, ‘If I were a bald eagle, where would I live?’, we left the North Cascades Visitor Centre and set off on SR 20, the North Cascades Scenic Highway. The crowds thinned as the mountains opened.
We were stopped again and again by beauty. The scale of these mountains sometimes fuddles the brain. At a trailhead leading high into the hills along a sprightly stream, we began our first foray into the wilderness. The North Cascades are home to a vast population of animals. Mammals with sharp teeth include coyote, bobcat, lynx, cougar, mink, river otter, and black bear, with deer and mountain goats further down the food chain. Deciding the river was too steep for salmon and therefore not attractive to bald eagles, we turned our attention to the minutiae of the woodland.
We’d heard rumours of a bald eagle near the Sun Mountain Lodge, where we were staying, close to the frontier town of Winthrop. Built in the foothills of the North Cascades in the Methow River Valley – a tributary of the mighty Columbia – it seemed a promising base. At reception, we were directed to the lodge outfitter, who rents bikes and arranges horse rides. They sent us down to Patterson Lake, with instructions to ‘speak to Steve’. Steve was a kindly man who had lived in the area most of his life, with a bone-dry wit and a glint in his eye. ‘There sure is,’ he said when we asked about bald eagles. ‘A couple, with one or two juveniles, at the far south of the lake. Been here for years.’
Then we spotted it: a bird of prey soaring on thermals high above. A fully grown female here will weigh 4–5kg, with a wingspan of around two metres. Even a kilometre away, we could make out the wing tips spread like fingers. We rowed hard, hoping it would descend to the nest. Bald eagles lay eggs around February; by June, the young are fledging. It was a juvenile we saw first, soaring awkwardly but already powerful. We followed it back to the nest – a vast lattice of branches, the largest of any bird in North America. The one we saw was perhaps two metres across. Nests like these are used for life, rebuilt each year.
We moored along a kink in the shoreline with a clear sight of the nest and stayed until the Milky Way arced across the night sky. We drank beer and watched the nest, John capturing the youngster’s precarious landings in the treetops. Not once did we think of the eagle on the presidential seal or the banknotes in our pockets. We simply watched, mesmerised, for hours – the bald eagle in its rightful home.
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