The Walk Around
The eagle's nest was on Stage Island. The kind nest should not be confused with the type of nest upon sailing ships, in which a sailor would stay high above the deck with nothing better to do but wait to shout "land!", "iceberg!" or "Tha're she blows!". No, the eagle's nest was on a small island off the coast of Georgetown, in the Gulf of Maine.
Stage Island, too small to be inhabited by any person with an abode bigger than a tent, has a simple as any lay out, when viewed from above. Taking on a shape similar to a small dinner bell, handle included, Stage was home to nothing more than trees, small rodents, small birds, and a small myth about a haunted well. With the dinner-bell shape in mind, the bell part itself was pushed up in the middle, creating a small "pocket," as it were. There was a very small rocky beach here, and could not be seen from the mainland.
The "handle" of the island was attached to the "bell" by a low isthmus, which could be covered during an unusually high tide. The higher parts of the "handle" were covered in short heather, and a single hemlock tree. On the eastern side of the "handle," after it had already connected with the main island, was another beach. Because, from the shore, this beach bore a vague resemblance to a stage, the island was thus named.
Our house sat upon a hill, at the tip of Georgetown, over looking the ocean and Stage Island. The house was built early last century, and our family has been vacationing in it since its construction. At current, three family members were willed by my great-grand mother to own the house, and thus the summer was divided into thirds. My aunt and uncle's share of the summer had come, and as they had children similar in age as my own, I had stayed behind. The rest of my family went back south to finish the summer in our usual residence.
As any parent may tell you, a group of bored teenagers is an accident waiting to happen. The three of us, as my cousins were twins, were no exception to the rule. We didn't stay in the main house, but rather in an old boat-house on the northern end of the hill on which the main house sat. It was comprised of two parts, a small flat room, and a long, slanted, hall. In the flat room there was a table, on which many games of cards were played. The slanted part, it was slanted as such so moving boats in and out wouldn't be such a grave chore, was at least twice as big. A bar was built there, and built on a slant to counter act the slant of the floor. We won bets, my cousins and I, for saying that it was indeed flat. Several wouldn't believe it, but when tested with one of many empty liquor bottles around the House, it was found that the bottle would either stay still or roll up, against the slant. There were three crude beds, too, in the slanted part; all built on a slant themselves to counteract the more apparent one.
Though it was called "the boat house," the only boat it held these days was a small and worn-down row boat, which only lived there during the winter. During the summer, the boat house was a place of card playing and merriment. I'm sure that the reader will need no assistance to his imagination as to what three young men, with plenty of young women around, can do unsupervised. I will say nothing more than, it wasn't nick-named called "The Whoopee Bar" for nothing. This was our house, our castle, our kingdom.
One night, as my cousins and I lay on the slanted dock that led from the water to the wide boat house door, we were in reverence of the stars. Small pricks of light laid in an even chaos across the empty nothingness beyond. The stars have inspired many over the centuries, and they didn't fail when it came to the three of us.
"Man," My cousin, Alex, said lazily. "We are just, so…small." Sam, his twin, and I both agreed.
"Did you ever get the feeling," I said, "That there people up there, looking right back at us?" Alex agreed, Sam stayed quiet.
"What if," begin Alex again, "there are three dudes on, like, Mars lookin' right back at us?"
I laughed a little. "Dude, there ain't no Martians lookin' back at us."
"Screw you, dude." Alex said. We were quiet for sometime. Sam, usually the quietest of the three of us, spoke.
"Remember last year, when there was that thunderstorm all around, but stars right above us?"
Alex and I both admitted that we did, and soon we begin to reminisce. North of the island we summered on, was the city Bath. The eerily blood red clouds of the thunderstorm lay over the northern horizon, in the general direction of the city. Tony, a friend we met last year who had yet to arrive this summer, told us about the book War of the Worlds, what with the walking machines and the total Martian invasion. As all four of us were tired, and a few under the effect of the Reef, the silly notion of a Martian attack against the city of Bath became a reality. And soon, we were all scared out of our wits.
"Dude!" I said, now standing on the dock as we reminisced about the "invasion." "You and Tony were totally already to run away into the woods!"
"Dude," retorted Alex, "You're the one who was talking about all the lame ways to catch fresh water and live off the ocean!" I told him to get lost, and sat back down. After a moment, we were silent. It was Sam, again, who broke the silence.
"Last summer was cool," he said, in an absentminded way. I agreed, having fond memories running about my mind, and so did Alex, I assumed he had memories running laps around him as well.
"Remember when we went to Stage?" Asked Alex. It was a boring trip, but I admitted I remembered.
"We should go back, I bet it's different," Alex said, sitting up.
I was quiet for a time, while I thought it over. Sam spoke before I got a chance, "We should go, I want to get sea glass for my girlfriend," and then he was silent. The beach that faced south, to the ocean, on Stage was covered in sea glass and various debris that the sea cast upon it. And with that, we set a course for Stage.
The journey was not very long at all, just across the small bay that formed between two peninsulas at the tip of Georgetown, one of which had our house upon it, the other had Tony's house, among others. In the deepest part of the bay, (one which we had named Little Harbor Head Bay, a mouthful if anything) was a collection of moorings. A dozen or so, maybe, some occupied, some not. They were home to the small boats vacationers in the area owned. These marked the half way point in our trek across the bay, one which I was very relieved to see. We had no motor boat, and being the tallest of the three, I had to row the old, worn down dingy that hibernated in the Boat House.
I could row myself with ease, but with two others nearly my height, I was weighted down very much. My cousins complained the whole way, or at least, Alex did.
"Go faster dude," he said, "You're doing it wrong, man,", "Here, let me do it," and after a time of this, I gave in. He rowed, grew tired, and passed the task to Sam. We rotated, a few times maybe. The only reason I mention this switching, is to emphasize that we were already fatigued by the time we reached Stage.
The boat jerked when we made landfall. Alex, who was standing in the bow in a pose as we approached land, fell forward into the wet sand and the shallow water. Sam, who was rowing, was blamed, and scolded. Harsh words were exchanged, and there was some shoving, but nothing more serious that simple sibling aggression. When it was settled, we fanned out along the beach.
It was like any other ocean beach, soft pale sand, with equally soft and pale drift wood collected at the highest part of the beach. Small stones were closer to the water, and I was sifting through them to see if any caught my eye. Sam was walking toward the western side of Stage, where the "handle" and "bell" met. Alex walked on the other side, looking into a tidal pool which rested between the bell of island, and a long parallel rock formation father out. Long ago, my father found a massive Star-Fish there, as large around as a dinner plate, and Alex set out to break the record, or at least find a rival. Standing on the highest part of the rock ridge that called an end to the little beach, he summoned:
"Hey guys!" Sam and I both looked over, "This way!" Alex pointed down to the tidal pool. We walked over to join him, and being the fool I was, my feet had no protection, but my cousins both wore flip-flops. I was slightly hesitant in my footing, but Sam jumped right beside his brother.
"Okay guys," Alex started, "Every year, we're gonna walk around the island. Every summer, starting now," he waited for a response, which was a lame one. Sam jumped out ahead, and started to walk along the rocks. Alex hit the back of his hand against my chest, and started off as well, and I followed, watching my footing carefully.
This part of the journey, too, was also completely uneventful, save for the end. Sam and Alex switched back and forth as leader, and every once in a while we would be called down by one of them, to see something interesting in the elongate pool. I ventured up to the forest, and after reliving myself, I found a rather fitting walking stick. Using this as an aid of lessening the weight off my feet, I was able to gain quickly upon my cousins. Alex found a stick as well, and charged at me. As lion cubs fight among themselves as practice for adulthood, so did the two of us on the rocks. The whole rock-scape had a varying slope from forest to sea, and I had the high ground. But as I half defended, and half used the stick to keep balance and change footing, I became easily over come. I fell backward. The hand I put out to block my fall became very cut up, blood flowed slowly from my hand, and Sam came to my rescue.
"I'll save you!" he shouted in a silly manner, bounding quickly across the rocks, stick in hand.
The two of them fought a bit, while I checked out the damage done to my hand. It was nothing serious, thankfully. A scrape, merely a slightly serious, very wide, scrape. It would heal quickly, with the aid of the ocean. My foot, on the other hand, was a different story. I pivoted on my left foot as I fell, and slit it with startling efficiency. It was bleeding slowly, and would grow worse as I continued to aggravate it in my walking. When Sam and Alex stopped, the victor unnoted, and came over to me. They questioned my ability to go on, the idea of going back was brought up. I said no, it would be fine, and that it wouldn't be half bad to have a nice big scar there. And so, we went on, me relying more and more on my walking stick, which was split in my fight with Alex.
The rocks curved around the back side of the island, revealing a small, rocky beach. More pale driftwood could be seen high on the beach, and a log was moving slowly among the waves. Bright colors could be seen among the dune grass, this was why I can here.
Sam looked for glass, slowly walking back and forth, moving small stones with his fingers now and again. Alex and I, however, searched the grass.
"I found one!" he shouted, throwing his discovery out of the tick-infested grass and onto the beach. It was a yellow and white, half bleached by the sun, lobster buoy.
"Nice!" I shouted back, standing on a large log. Quickly he produced another, similar, buoy. This too, he threw on to the beach. I asked if there were any more.
"Nah man, I think that's it," he said. My family had several at home, and didn't need anymore. My aunt and uncle on the other hand, though I'm sure they really didn't need more, had only a few. These two would go to them.
"Hey Sam!" I shouted, to tell him of our finds. He looked up at me, then pointed to the sky behind. I turned around, and saw something that has awed many. It was a mature Bald Eagle, soaring majestically over the low trees, and out to sea. I had never seen one this close, and was too amazed by its size and being to wonder why it was here. We were no stranger to big birds of pray, by the Boat House, over looking Sagadahoc Bay, was an Osprey's nest. They had been nesting their for years, and we had gotten to know their habits rather well. But a full fledged Bald Eagle, is something else entirely. The three of us watched in silence as it flew out over the sea, and turned toward the west, toward the main land.
The three of us walked to a common spot on the beach. We talked about the "awesomness" of the sighting. I mentioned that it was "wicked cool," after which Sam and Alex mocked my New England terminology. We progressed, after I washed out my foot, toward the western part of the island, and toward home.
The lay of the land on this stretch of coast was far different than the last. Here, the band of passable rock was far narrower, and instead of a peaceful and almost inviting pool below a gentle cliff, was a chilling scene of large waves crashing under the rocks themselves. We imagined, though none of us knew for sure, that the cliff face grew concave as it approached the water, creating a cave, of sorts.
"If I fall," I thought as I walked, stick in one hand, buoy in the other, "I can swim." But as I looked closer, and as a wave parted, I saw there were rocks not a foot below the surface. The feeling of vertigo gripped me at the moment, and I quickly took a step back, sending a jolt of pain up my leg, for I landed on my wound. I winced, making a slight sound of anguish. Sam looked back, and I nodded to him that I was fine. We pressed on.
The cliff side faced the mouth of the Kennebec River, which could easily have accounted for the larger waves. I walked as close as I could to the edge of the forest, where the rocks were more regular, but even there I would get misted by a large wave crashing on the rocks away to my right. Presently, after thinking the whole walk around was a mistake, I saw a large shadow flash before my eyes, quickly followed by a call. I got the sensation that I was being carefully watched, followed by the nagging that I was forgetting something, or was missing out on something. The eagle. I looked up quickly to my cousins, who were already in the fray.
They hurried as quickly as they could among the rocks, calling my name every now and again. They looked up as often as they could, and seemed to making small attempts to cover their heads. Another shadow flew by, and I looked into the air.
Swarming around were the great birds of pray. Maybe five or six of them, wing span as wide as I am high, flapping seldom, but when they did, I could hear the air getting out of the way of the Eagle's power. I started to move again, but slowly because of my foot. Looking up ahead to Sam and Alex my eyes lay up the Nest. High in a large dead tree was a massive Eyre, an ominous high-throne of power and wisdom. The time I spent in admiration was cut short, for I felt a strong feeling of presence behind me. Time, it seemed, slowed down. I could almost see with my minds eye the source of power behind me. It was angry, the thing behind me, and it wanted me gone. In a fraction of a second, I knew what was behind me, and I ducked as quickly as I could tell my muscles to. Which was almost to slow. With a call of frustration, the Eagle flew over me, on hands and knees, and had to quickly reorient itself as to avoid a collision with the rocks. It gained altitude, and suddenly I was aware of the other eagles. I didn't need to be told twice I didn't belong, I could take a hint. I flew across the rocks, half hopping, half catching myself from failed hops, eyes constantly on the skies, the feeling, the fear, of presence coursing though me. The rush of adrenaline gave me the power to forget my massive gash in the bottom of my foot, and I ran as I normally would have. If not a little faster. I dropped the buoy I was carrying for Alex, and made better use of the walking stick at my disposal.
Shadows of the great birds I saw racing across the jagged rocks. I ducked now and again when the feeling of being watched was over whelming. It was instinct, not my education of even common sense, that guided me over the rocks.
Pausing for a moment, I looked about to see how far I had come, to find I was not ten feet from my company. The sound of powerful wings and screeching filled the air as the family of Eagles, a mating pair and three equal-sized juveniles, swooped around in defense of their home. After telling Alex that walking around was a "dumb-ass" idea, I asked why we had stopped. Not a moment after the words had danced off my tongue, however, I saw why. A sizable part of the rock-way had fallen into the ocean, creating a crevasse running all the way up into the forest atop the island itself. The fallen pieces of rock could still be seen, yet to be covered in sea-weed, twenty feet below, at the bottom of the precipice.
The Eagles, recovering and getting organized after our flight through their territory, seemed to be circling and swooping closer and closer. Over the pounding serf, and the calling birds, my cousins and I had to shout to one another.
"What are we going to do?" asked Alex, a silly question if there ever was one.
"Go around it!" I shouted back, I saw no reason why not.
Alex shouted about thorns in the forest, and trees being in the way. I shouted that if I could make this whole trip with a fucking bleeding foot, he could walk through some fucking thorns. Before he could rebut, an eagle dived, breaking apart our council. When recovered, I found Alex using his buoy to beat away two massive birds, and of Sam, there was no trace. Lying on the rocks, I watched the sky for the other eagles, they seemed to be eddying around their Eyre. A shiver of fear flowed over me, if the remaining eagles decided to attack, we would be gone. Hell, I thought, Sam was already gone.
Hope left my heart. I hadn't cried since I was ten, and I still haven't to this date. But right then almost broke my record.
I was about to get up, about to stand and help Alex with his bird problem, which was obviously unsolvable, when, from the north, toward Home, the Boat House, toward Hope, came another call. My heart sank lower, at first, I feared more eagles, but then, as I listened more carefully, I found it different.
It was sharper, and it repeated quickly, rather than the one long call of the Eagles. Then I saw them, four Ospreys, three together and another father behind. They came to fight the eagles, as they often did for territory and fishing grounds. They were swift and quick, and their coats were gray and white, matching the sky. I dared a hope.
"The Ospreys are coming, the Ospreys are coming!" I shouted, with a smile, but the joke was lost on Alex. He either didn't get it, was to busy to laugh, or didn't see why more warring birds of pray were helpful; I assumed the first, Alex was not the reading type. He was fighting near the rock's edge, and I saw him constantly looking over his shoulders to see how much space he had. Two young eagles were about him, beating their huge wings rhythmically, filling the air around with a slow "woom, woom, voom." They had their legs out facing to Alex, their long dark talons shining like knives in the sun. I saw on Alex's arms that he had already seen how deadly those talons could be. Standing, I took up my walking stick spear-style and hurled with a war-cry it at one of the eagles. It missed, but it came close enough to scare them off. The Ospreys called again, and the attention of the eagles was drawn away from Alex. His eyes locked mine, and I got the impression he was thinking, "Gee, sure did take your sweet time, huh?"
"Guys!" Came a shout. We both looked, and Sam was poking his head out from the crevasse, beckoning us to come. After rushing over, he told us he had fallen down there. He said that he may have cracked or broken a rib or two, but was otherwise fine. As quickly as we could, we clambered down the face of the cliff. I looked over to Sam now and again, he winced each time he shifted weight from one arm to the other. The climb was irritating my foot almost to the point of my giving up and letting go from the rock face, and my arms felt weak, as they were already fatigued by rowing across the bay. My muscles seemed, at the moment, to be made of Jell-O, a sore wave of weakness surged down my arms each time I pulled myself up. I could only assume that both Sam and Alex were feeling the same sensations in their arms. Alex the most, for his arms were bleeding profusely from the talons. But we made it, and hurried quickly away from the battle on the other side.
We turned around the final corner of the island, to come back to the quaint and quiet little beach where we landed, I paused and looked back. I saw five large birds dog-fighting over the coast with four slightly smaller birds. They called and screeched as they dove. As I turned to walk on, I caught in the corner of my eye an Osprey getting a hold on a juvenile eagle, wrapping his talons around the young one's shoulder blades. The eagle was driven into the rocks by the Osprey, and with the bone crushing impact he screeched out a blood curdling death cry. I shivered as I looked away.
My cousins called, waving at me to move on, Sam holding on to his side, Alex holding his bloody hands up to his mouth to shout. I walked back as quickly as I could, limping on my left foot as I went.