Autopsy

In regards to my previous post "Phoenix", and upon conclusion of eagle autopsy results, Phoenix was a girl.

Phoenix

For the past few months, I have been watching a little eagle hatchling grow via a live webcam on Hornby Island. His name was Phoenix, and he lived high up in a large nest overlooking the ocean, carefully tended by both of his parents. He was born from one of two eggs - the other which never hatched. Unfortunately I never got to see Phoenix hatch himself, but shortly afterwards was daily witness to his life from a wee hatchling.

It was quite something watching him grow from a little grey piece of fluff with a black beak, barely able to stand, to a large, black feathered, gangly teenager who began to take up the entire nest while stretching out. As a hatchling, he would hunker down underneath mom or dad, and be protected by the elements which the open nest was so exposed to. As he grew bigger, he would stagger around like the most unmajestic bird one could ever see, almost threatening to fall off the side of the nest with one clumsy step. My boyfriend and I used to joke that perhaps his mother mated with a buzzard, for all the grace he had. When Phoenix would sleep, he was most un-bird like. He would lay on his side, stretching one wing across the span of the nest, and his two feet as far out in front of him as possible. I have never seen a bird sleep like that. And his feet grew so big and yellow, and we would joke about them as his 'yellow sneakers'.

Thousands of people across North America - and likely beyond - watched little Phoenix. The day was near when he would make his first flight, as he was beginning to hop up on the camera box and stretch his wings in the air. He had begun spending so much time on the nest parametres, looking out at the awaiting world beyond. It seemed only a short matter of time before he stretched those wings and let the wind carry him into the next stage of his life.

And so I was shocked and saddened to learn last night that little Phoenix was suddenly sick. Apparently Doug and Sheila Carrick, who own and operate the camera equipment, noticed his condition and tried to get an experienced eagle handler up to the nest to save our little friend. Hearing this news, I tuned in last night to the webcam, and there was Phoenix, taking laboured breaths. I felt helpless as I watched his little black body move up and down in heaving movements. I hoped someone might get up there to help the little guy, and quickly. But at 8:15 p.m. last night, moments after I logged out of the cam, Phoenix collapsed in the nest, took one more look at the ocean in the distance, and died.

Apparently the parents were keeping vigil in the surrounding trees. I later witnessed footage of the removal of Phoenix's body from the nest, which included a clip of the mother in a nearby tree. As his body was being taken away, the mother extended her neck and opened her beak a few times as if to give a good-bye shrill, or a protest, but no noise ushered forth. Then she flew away.

Posts have been pouring in from everyone on the Hornby Eagles Facebook forum. Just today there have been hundreds of comments from people about how horribly sad they feel, that they feel like they've lost a family member. These people, like myself, would tune in every day to see this little eagle grow - to witness his first glimpse of the world, his first steps around the nest, and the growth of his first feathers. A friend of mine told me that her dad, who viewed Phoenix daily on his big HD TV, will be heartbroken. "He spoke of that eagle like he was my brother", she said. For many of us, he was like a brother.

Despite that death is an intrinsic part of life, there is nothing more sad to me than an eagle who never got to feel the wind under his wings. But this is, for reasons unknown to us, as nature intended. I resign myself to the burden of acceptance, and say some prayers for a little eagle I once knew.

RIP Phoenix.