May 5, 2015 Bald Eagle Fledgling and the Indian Drifter

On the porch of the log cabin office are elderly ladies and volunteers.  As this is the county my mother hailed from (as they used to say), I am familiar with these ladies from my childhood.  They are of pale white skin that they have always covered with hats. They have neat gray curly permed hair and they rock gently in rocking chairs after a long day of canning and cooking and feeding the family.

I ask about the Bald Eagles, if the chicks are in the nest beside the wide rocky Catawba River.  "There is one ", says the volunteer, "That one is still staying in the nest, cuddling deep down". If I am lucky, I might see him move or a parent return to the nest.  The Rocky Shoals Tiger Lilies are not blooming yet. It will be one or two more weeks, but their long iris-like stems are waving from the rocks.

The eagle nest is to the right, down the Thread Trail. You go past two benches (not picnic tables).  Far out on the rocks I see Great Blue, so tall that his neck is curved twice. A yellow Goldfinch perches on a branch beside me. I pass a lonely fisherman on the bank, then I meet Frank Ross and his Dad, James, from Rock Hill with their little dog.

They come here often and know the eagles.  There is a little turnoff near the nest and Frank points out the nest of sticks and branches high up in a tall pine.  With my binoculars I can see the chick moving for a moment. Frank takes me off trail to the foot of the pine. He knows it because it is the only place two large pines stand together.  James tells me that once the nest fell down and the eagles replaced it. The pair of eagles came in the 90's and have had their fledglings in February.  Frank says he has found many fish bones at the base of the tree.

Back at the parking lot, I find a sparkling red and black motorcycle parked beside my Jeep. It has a leather seat and studded leather saddlebags. Along its brilliant side is the golden image of a Native chief with full headdress.  A helmet with leather gloves inside dangles from the handle bars.  "Indian Drifter" is emblazoned on the front.

I do not see the rider, but I know he must be the descendant of those who forded the wide river here, those who paddled their canoes down the rivers to Edisto where they built the shell mounds, the ancient conservators of this land which once belonged only to God.