The Hunt

I have two paths to work. The shortest which takes me down a dim and dreary interstate complete with bad billboards, road raged drivers and exhaust fumes which, at rush hour, quickly saturate the air. This route is about 8 miles and, even in the worst of traffic, it can typically be traversed in under 20 minutes.

The alternative route is longer and much slower. Yet, if time permits, it is the route I prefer. It snarls some 15 miles along the banks of the Mississippi River. The road elevation rises and falls along the way, at times taking you down to nearly water level and then, suddenly, to the banks 50 feet over head. The road crisscrosses the river like a serpentine, across bridges which are varied in style and longevity. It is a peaceful and serene commute with much to be thankful for. Often I catch a glimpse of a crew whisking at a rapid pace back to their boat house. Or a hiker along the sandy banks of the river. Or, as in today, a Bald Eagle soaring overhead.

With a light calendar and an empty mind, I chose the long way to work. The car top was down and the radio gave me a sigh when I asked it to play Zucchero instead of usual Bloomberg Business. I explained to the radio..."it is Friday, relax". Overhead, the eagle was doing circles and s-turns with a precision that would produce envy in any mortal pilot. I looked at my watch and thought, to hell with work for a bit. Soon the car was parked, the camera was out of the bag and across the bridge I went. By this point, the eagle was perched on an old oak branch and I, 50 feet above, was perched on the edge of the bridge and directly over the raptor. We were both hunting. He for food and I for an image of him getting his food. We both could see fish at river's bottom, he certainly better than I. The more he hunched waiting for the fish to surface, the more I tightened my grip on the camera and readied my finger to release the shutter. Both of us waited with rigid bodies while the fish played hide and seek below, likely laughing at our anticipation. But, patience is the virtue of any decent hunter.

Ten minutes passed and none of us moved. Not the fish nor the raptor nor the middle aged man. Each was frozen awaiting the movement of the other which would have set off a chain reaction which would have been enjoyed by two of the three species that had a vested interest in the hunt. But, a few minutes more, the fish tired of our little game and off they swan, launching the eagle from his perch. The hunt was over. Or, so I thought.

Knowing that I could not permanently deny the inevitable day at work, I crossed the bridge to return to my car. By this point in time, the sun had begun to burn through the ground fog which had previously gripped the calm waters of the Mighty Mississippi. In the aft, the fog obscured slightly one of the bridges I had previously crossed. The fresh growth of trees was vivid in the foreground and the water was a mirror image of the sky. It was calm and quiet. Then, the silence was broken by the slight "blip" of a shutter's release.

The eagle did not reach his goal, but I did reach mine.

Have a wonderful weekend. I will catch up on journals this weekend.