Recently while in Oregon to visit family for the first time in years, we went walking in a couple of beautiful tidal wetlands along the coast. I had occasion to spot a number of birds that I would never see in New England including the local chestnut-backed version of the ubiquitous Chickadee and a beautiful Spotted Towhee. But, here I am writing about the Osprey family we watched at length on two different days. There are plenty of Osprey where we live - in fact they are found on every continent except Antarctica. Osprey are the most widely distributed raptors after Peregrine Falcons. And they are captivating to me wherever I find them.

Unlike hawks and eagles and even falcons, Osprey are a single species in a single genus in a single family with minor geographic variations. Unlike any other raptors, fish comprise 99% of their diet. Soaring at over 100 feet above shallow water, the Osprey will suddenly dive with feet extended in front and snatch its prey from its “side of the knife” of the water’s surface. Flying away the Osprey can rearrange the catch so that it is oriented forward to back for the best aerodynamics. In the right conditions, Osprey are successful fishers in 75% of their attempts. But then they have had a lot of practice, since they have been around in the animal kingdom for 11 million years.

Osprey that breed in northern latitudes like Oregon or New England will migrate south in winter to ensure access to fish. Some migrate thousands of miles like those from Massachusetts that were identified in South Africa. In spite of the distances, Osprey tend to return to the same locality if not the same nest year after year.

The Osprey - Mary Oliver

This morning
an osprey
with its narrow
black-and-white face

and its cupidinous eyes
leaned down
from a leafy tree
to look into the lake - it looked

a long time, then its powerful
shoulders punched out a little
and it fell,
it rippled down

into the water -
then it rose, carrying,
in the clips of its feet,
a slim and limber

silver fish, a scrim
of red rubies
on its flashing sides.
All of this

was wonderful
to look at,
so I simply stood there,
in the blue morning,

looking.
Then I walked away.
Beauty is my work,
but not my only work -

later,
when the fish was gone forever
and the bird was miles away,
I came back

and stood on the shore, thinking -
and if you think
thinking is a mild exercise,
beware!

I mean, I was swimming for my life -
and I was thundering this way and that way
in my shirt of feathers -
and I could not resolve anything long enough

to become one thing
except this: the imaginer.
It was inescapable
as over and over it flung me,

without pause or mercy it flung me
to both sides of the beautiful water -
to both sides
of the knife.