In October we received a call from a worried Calistoga Resident.
A mother barn owl had a nest high in a treetop with some young owls in it, has been electrocuted. Could we help? The babies would surely die slow terrible deaths. Even though it was late in the afternoon, our on-duty volunteers called PG&E who quickly sent Gary Tognozzi and Steve Frediani to the rescue. They went up in their bucket truck and gently removed the baby owls. They were delivered to the center to be raised until they were ready for release.
The
majority of the owls we treat at the Wildlife Center are victims of
obstacles – fences, especially those strung
with wire or barbed wire, high-tension wires and automobiles. However,
poachers, poisons and pesticides also take their toll. Three great
horned owls were recently rescued – an adult with a fractured wing and two
baby owls. All were
rescued
from the same property on Atlas Peak Rd, but at different times. The
first rescue was an owlet found underneath a cotton wood tree. The
nest couldn’t be seen and the owlet was brought in for care. Five days
later, and adult owl was discovered on top of the house of the people who
found the owlet. When it was apparent the bird couldn’t fly, the same
rescue team was dispatched to capture the birds. It was then taken to
the vet for further examination. Fortunately, the injury was not serious, a slight fracture, only requiring a
wing wrap. Three days later, the second owlet was found on the ground
and brought in. The owlets are doing well on a hand fed natural diet.
After three weeks the adult’s wing wrap will be removed and the owl will be
put into a large flight cage for observation of flying ability before being
released.
The first phone call came in late spring; a goose with a cord tangled on its leg was limping around Kennedy Park Pond. Wildlife Rescue would receive half a dozen calls about this goose and would make at least as many capture attempts before we succeeded.
I made it my personal goal to capture this goose and visited the pond numerous times. I tried to lure him at different times of the day with different treats, different helpers and at different locations around the ponds. Nothing worked. He seemed to sense that I was there to do more than feed him and always stayed just out of reach. In September I was given the name and number of a woman who often went to Kennedy Pond to feed the geese and would be willing to help try a capture. I contacted her and we agreed to meet at the pond a few evenings later.
Ruthanne Farmer is a petite woman with a big heart. She greeted mew with a warm hug and introduced me to her husband Floyd. They visit the pond on a regular basis and were well known to the flock. In fact, Ruthanne had named the gimpy goose ‘Foot’ and he would eat out of her hand when she called to him. Perfect! Now my only worry was that my presence would spook him and it seemed my fears were valid. He came to Ruthanne, ate from her hand, but kept a wary eye on me and moved off if I got too close. I wondered if goose memories were really that good or if they were just good at guessing intentions. Finally I saw a chance, made a lunge, touched feathers and grabbed air… missed by an inch.
I figured that was it. He would not let me near him again that evening and I walked over to Ruthanne to set up another meeting. As we talked she continued to toss out the last of her bread and darned if Foot didn’t come back. I stood close by her side as she called to him. He came and I grabbed. I got one hand around his neck and the other arm wrapped around his body, holding him close to pin his wings. He squawked and kicked as I carried him to my truck. Meanwhile, Ruthanne assured onlookers that my intentions were benign.
The cord had been on his leg so many months that is was embedded in the flesh and new skin had grown over it, except where the two ends met in a knot. Here the flesh was a raw open sore. I cut and pulled at the knot with a pair of needle-nose pliers and what emerged was a smelly, slimy, puss-covered piece of string. No wonder he limped; it must have been extremely painful.
After thanking Ruthanne for her invaluable help and promising to let her know Foot’s fate, I rushed him to Dr Harman for treatment. Shirley cleaned and probed the wound, checking for any last bits of cord. She then gave him medication for infection and put him to bed. Foot would make a good recovery.
The next step was to find Foot a new home. Most people visiting Kennedy Pond don’t realize that it’s a horrible place for waterfowl. It’s overpopulated, stagnant, filthy with little natural food sources, and too accessible to the public. Not everyone who visits the pond does so with good intentions. I have seen children throwing rocks at the birds, people allowing their dogs to chase the geese, and birds that had been hit by cars. The cord around Foot’s leg did not get there by accident; someone tied it on him.
People continue to dump unwanted Easter pets at the pond and the birds continue to propagate. The overcrowded conditions are ideal breeding grounds for several diseases which could wipe out most, if not all of the pond’s population. The pond is sometimes visited by migratory wild birds, these diseases could wind up infecting other flocks. We weren’t going to go through all the time and trouble to catch and cure Foot just to put him back in a dangerous and dirty environment. Phone calls were made and Foot now has a home on a private property pond.
Janet Barth
It was a dark and stormy night. Really, I swear. The call came late and the distraught voice on the line wanted to know what to do about an owl under her bed.
“What’s your address?”, I asked. I live in Napa and have developed the theory that the later the call the longer the drive.
“Calistoga”,
she answered. Yup, I knew it.
I found my way there threw the blustery dark and was met at the door by a gracious and grateful lady. Once in the bedroom, I peered under the bed and … nothing.
“There he is!” exclaimed the daughter standing guard in the doorway and pointing at the dresser. And there he was, all seven inches of screech owl sitting on the top of a framed mirror. His feathers were slicked down and his ear tufts were up in his ‘I’m a tree branch and you can’t see me’ mode. We weren’t fooled. I might have missed him in an oak tree, but he stood out like a sore thumb perched on stained walnut.
I got out my tea towel and made a grab. He didn’t struggle. A quick exam gave evidence of an eye injury and head trauma, a common occurrence in screech owls. They often are hit by cars while hunting the roadsides at night, but unlike so many other bird species, they tend to bounce rather than break.
As far as we could figure, the owl was hit on the road below the house and carried into the house via the cat door by the family cat. Once conscience, the outraged screech owl would turn into a hissing, feather-covered ball of needle sharp talons and beak. We guessed the feline dropped him under the bed and went looking for less aggressive prey. I packed him up and back to Napa we went.
I would like to thank the Calistoga caller for becoming a member of the Wildlife Rescue Center and for the yummy bottle of Mumm’s. Two weeks later, I drove back up to the house on the hillside and released a fully recovered owl back to the wild. Little Screech showed his gratitude by stretching wide his wings and flying off as fast as possible.
Janet Barth
Click here for info on Great Blue Heron
“I’ve got a delivery here.” Janet announced.
“Another one?” I knew she had another heron. I had been mobbed by little starving greenback herons who has fallen from their nests. This one was a big delivery though. It was a Great Blue with a five-foot wingspan. This juvenile heron had fallen from its sixty foot high nest and could not fly. If one falls from the next it is usually because it was pushed by a stronger sib. If it can’t fly and make it back to the nest, it’s coyote bait. This one was lucky on two counts. It survived the fall and was spotted by a vineyard worker.
Janet, who isn’t reactive to poison oak, waded through the thicket to catch the poor fellow. She brought her delivery to my house, since I’m the waterfowl rehabber. I examined it and found nothing wrong but emaciation and dehydration. However, I was unlucky on two counts, I forgot to wear my examining gown and I’m reactive to poison oak. Ah well, I keep learning. I did remember to hold on to its head, since it tried to slash out at me several times with its powerful beak. They have a nasty and sometimes dangerously blinding bite. That’s a good sign. It still had some light in it.
It wouldn’t take food, so I hydrated it orally, warmed it up and left it alone with a bowl full of fish. I checked it later and found three fish missing. Another good sign! No forced feeding! After a few days of observation and several fish later, I moved it to a large outdoor cage with a small pond. It immediately took to climbing. I couldn’t help but sit behind the weeds and quietly watch this elegant primitive bird slowly wrap its feet around the branches and gracefully move with outstretched balancing wings. Its wary eyes always searched for danger, and when it sensed movement, it stood tall and rigid with great nobility, blending into its background.
WRCNC is working in conjunction with Kenwood Rescue Center on their heronry project. They accept our herons, rehab them, and them release them. Kenwood is conducting a toxicology study in association with UC Davis and takes a needle muscle biopsy on the birds. They also conduct autopsies on the ones that don’t make it. In fact, the last Great Blue Heron we had delivered two weeks earlier had been shot. Kenwood was only able to determine that through x-ray since the heron’s feathers were so thick. I always feel I’m contributing to our knowledge of marsh birds besides offering fledglings some buddies to grow up with when I send our herons to Kenwood.
Since herons return to their place of birth, we knew they would return to Napa. So our heron was transported to Kenwood until it was adult enough to fly. It was difficult to transfer it because I know I would never get to see it go free. So I appreciated it when Kenwood called later with good news. I felt lucky on two counts. They and tagged and released the Great Blue and spotted the bird flying wild two weeks later and it flew with another Great Blue . . . a wild one.
Pam Jackson
I had just settled down to Masterpiece Theater when I received a call from the Napa Sheriff’s Dispatch. The dispatcher connected me to a young man attending a wedding reception at a winery. He had found a young barn owl under an oak tree. I told him I was on my way. The bird was in hand and this would be a quick and easy pick up.
Clos Pegas is a strange looking place during the day, but at night it was positively eerie. I walked through the grounds to the courtyard in front of the winery where an ancient Valley Oak stood as a centerpiece. I looked for someone who looked as if they were looking for me, and looked for an owl looking as if it wanted to be somewhere else. Nothing. I entered the tasting room and instantly the woman behind the counter realized I wasn’t a guest of bride nor groom. Must have been the hiking boots and pet carrier. I followed her into the bowels of the winery, marching through dimly lit pink stucco tunnels. We passed niches filled with wine barrels and groups of people dressed to the nines holding Champagne (excuse me, sparkling wine) glasses. The whole thing was beginning to feel more than a little Felliniesque.
We had reached the end of the tunnel and still no bird. My guide went off to make further inquiries and I stood there trying not to feel conspicuous. A young man approached and asked if I had come for the owl. I nodded and was led back to a knot of people surrounding a woman holding a fledgling barn owlet. She was stroking its head and clucking to it.
“That’s the sound mother owls make to their young,” she explained to the group around her.
“Oh dear”, I thought.
I walked up, introduced myself and set down the carrier. By the time I straightened up, she had taken off down the tunnel toward the tasting room.
“We need to talk”, she called back to me over her shoulder. I could see my hopes for a speedy rescue and home-by-ten dwindle along with her receding form. I snatched up the carrier and gave chase.
Back at the tasting room, she explained that her mother was the President of the Society of Something to Do With Wildlife (sorry, can’t remember the exact title) and she had been raised by wild animals (okay, she may have said with wild animals). It was her intention to take the owl home with her where she could give it far better care than any mere wildlife rehabber. I held onto my temper and in reasoning tones explained that wildlife rehabbing was only permitted under special license from the Fish & Game Department. She announced she would get a permit as soon as she returned home with the owl.
“Where do you live?” I inquired.
“L.A.”, she replied.
I envisioned the little tyke strapped into a first class seat of an airplane being fed Perrier and peanuts. Who wouldn’t agree this would be better than leaving it in my care? I stared at her in disbelief while all my L.A. prejudices came to the fore. I do realize that not everyone from L.A. is a ditzoid, but my patience and powers of reasoning were quickly diminishing. I briefly considered making a grab for the bird and bolting for the parking lot. She looked in pretty good shape, but she was wearing high heels. I could probably take her on. She must have seen something in my eyes for she backed up and placed the wine counter between us. I took another deep breath and explained that transporting wildlife out of their locale was also illegal without special permit. Again she indicated that this would be no problem.
At that
point the Calvary arrived in the form of Dr. Franquelin of the Calistoga Pet
Clinic who had been called by one of the winery staff members. After
introductions, she again voiced her intentions and Dr. Franquelin repeated
all of what I had been telling her. Her resolved weakened in the face
of authority, but she held tightly to the bird. I asked her if she
would at least allow the doctor to examine the nestling since it had fallen
fifty feet from a nesting cavity in the old oak tree. There was no
reasonable way to refuse the request and she reluctantly handed over the
owl. Dr Franquelin did a quick exam and pronounced the bird emaciated,
dehydrated and in need of immediate attention. He handed the tyke to
me and I quickly popped it into the carrier. Thwarted, she now
demanded the owl be immediately returned to its nest and asked that the Fire
Department be called to assist. The Calistoga Fire Department was
called and informed her they hadn’t a ladder that would reach the nest site
as Calistoga didn’t possess any buildings over two stories. With that
she gave up and stalked off muttering imprecations. I arrived home at
eleven.
Epilogue. The orphaned owlet was successfully raised with another orphan, taught to hunt, and both were released in a barn that’s nicer than my house. If there’s a moral to this tale I haven’t figured it out yet.
Janet Barth
I received a call from a woman walking with her two children in Alston Park on a warm summer’s evening. They had come upon an owl on the ground unable to fly, and were concerned as the tree stood close to a heavily used trail.
Elaine and Brittany met me in the parking lot and we hiked to the top of a hill where Nick stood guard over a little pile of feathers. There, huddled on the ground at the base of a Coastal Oak, was a fledgling barn owl. I examined him (he was fine), popped him in a carrier and took a look at the tree. During the exam a man on a mountain bike joined us and offered his assistance.
Directly above us was a hollow where two large limbs came together. It could be a nest site. I stood on the seat of Mark’s bike to climb into the tree, but once up I could see that this was not the nest site. Elaine and her kids explored the other side and found a hollow where a limb had broken off. I couldn’t see it from where I was, but Mark thought he would be able to locate the spot, so I climbed down and Mark climbed up. Not only did he find the nest, but he could see two more feathered faces peering up at him. Nick gave me a leg up and Elaine handed me the carrier and after a 60 second lesson on how to safely handle a barn owl, I passed the bird over to Mark. He leaned way around and over and popped him in the hole. The owlet immediately snuggled down with its nest mates, contented.
I thanked Mark, Elaine, Nick and Brittany for their help in a most satisfying rescue. We said our goodbyes and I left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you meet up with good people in order to do a good deed.
Janet
Click here for Cooper's Hawk info
I was visiting my sister, a volunteer with the Wildlife Rescue Center, this Christmas when she called to ask my help. There was a small hawk trapped in a winery and the owner, David Graves of Saintsbury Winery feared for its safety. Would I like to help? Would I! I grabbed my jacket and took off.
As we pulled in, Dave and wildlife rescuer Tod Surber from Sonoma Bird Rescue greeted us. Rod said the hawk was a Cooper’s hawk and had been in the building for three days already. Rod had tried to entice this uninvited guest to vacate the premises by covering the large windows, turning out the ceiling lights and opening the large double doors. The Cooper, however, ignored this invitation to freedom.
The only way we had of netting the bird would be to spook it off the rafters. After conferring, Janet climbed the stairs to a catwalk above the steel wine vats, while Ted and I climbed the opposite end. We each had a net. After several efforts to net the evasive Accipiter, we realized this was not going to be easy. Time and time again the tiny hawk thwarted at our attempts at capture and would perch out of reach on a rafter. Soon it realized that the rafters represented safety and refused to leave its perch.
By now, David was in the action too and climbed over the catwalk onto the top of a 60’ tall steel vat. He taped two lengths of PVC pipe together and attempted to nudge our uncooperative Cooper off his ‘I know you can’t reach me here’ perch. I decided that David was a very brave man. Several swipes later, Tod joined Dave in the heights by jumping onto a fork-lift platform which then hoisted him into the air, hoping to intercept one of the Coop’s sporadic flights. Rod was also a very brave man. But no luck. A Nerf football was brought into play to nudge our raptor into flight. But this latest and silliest attempt was perceived as a game of dodge ball by Mr. Cooper and he merely moved from perch to perch with each toss.
Finally, he took to the air once more and Janet, our hawk hero, netted the allusive Accipiter. The building echoed with our sighs of relief. Once all parties were safely back on ground, the Cooper was checked for injuries. He was fine, just dehydrated and hungry. Rod took the bird home to rehydrate and feed him. Dave thanked us with complimentary bottles of Saints bury Chardonnay and Rod promised to return that evening to release the bird.
This was a
unique experience for me. Caring about nature so often takes a
backseat to the ‘progress and profits at any cost” business creed. Saintsbury Winery, however, cared enough to protect and preserve something
as small and as precious as a Cooper’s Hawk. Good job guys!
Susan Barth
Here’s a story told from the point of view of the citizen at large who comes upon
wildlife in need and published in The Memorial Memo,
an employee
publication of the Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital.
Having survived a near-fatal ordeal, a gorgeous heart-faced owl scurried from a cage, spread its great wings and flew across a moon-mirrored lake toward home. It was alive because of a Memorial Hospital employee – hospital financial analyst Georgia Lujan.
Georgia and her husband, Amos, have themselves a summer memory that will long have them scanning the sky above Lake Berryessa in Napa County. One recent Friday afternoon, they were on their boat, enjoying the calm that would end with the arrival of an army of weekend visitors the next day, when something flashed through the air overhead.
“We saw this eagle swoop out of a nest (in a lakeside tree) and grab something,” said Georgia. “We thought it was a fish.” The bird, perhaps and eagle, falcon or large hawk, carried its prey to the shore, then set about to kill it. Georgia and Amos watched, spellbound by the natural spectacle, as the raptor held the prey in its talons and stabbed at it with its beak.
The Lujans steered their boat closer, intending not to intervene, but just to get a better look. Their approach frightened away the bird. Suddenly freed, the prey they’d assumed to be a fish suddenly flapped two large wings and struggled into the air. It flew a short distance out over the lake, then tumbled into the water.
Georgia and Amos hurried over in their boat. They saw that the wounded animal was an owl, flailing in a desperate, futile attempt to get airborne. “Every time she tried to take flight,” said Georgia, “she tipped over with her head under water and her feet up in the air.”
Amos plucked it from the lake and wrapped it in a towel. It was an adult barn owl, bloodied and wet and terrified. When they reached their house, Georgia got on the phone while Amos held the wounded bird on his lap, speaking to it soothingly and stroking it. After several dead-end calls, Georgia reached Janet Barth, a volunteer with the Wildlife Rescue Center of Napa County.
Janet told Georgia no one should touch the owl because wild animals in the hands of humans may seem to be calm, but are in fact frozen with fear. Georgia passed that information to Amos, who at the moment was rocking the owl and singing to it. The couple placed the owl in a cat carrier and waited for Janet, who had offered to drive to the lake to pick up the bird.
Janet thanked the Lujans and took the owl to Napa, where she initiated treatment of injuries that included talon wounds to the head, a destroyed left retina and a small puncture to a lung.
Come the following Monday morning, Georgia and Amos, anxious to know how the owl was faring, drove to Napa for a visit. Janet told them that the partially blinded owl probably would survive, but could not be returned to the wild unless it showed itself still capable of hunting. The Lujans were heartened to learn that owls locate prey primarily through their keen hearing, relying on their vision mostly during the pounce.
One week later, the owl much healed and, to the Lujan’s relief, had killed and eaten several mice that Janet had placed in its aviary. It was a happy occasion when, eight days after the rescue, Georgia, Amos, Janet and several Lake Berryessa neighbors got into boats and took the owl in a cage to the same part of the lake where the Lujans had plucked it from the water.
It was dusk, too late in the day for hungry hawks to be on the wing. At the instant the cage was opened, the owl pulled itself into the air on it four-foot wingspan and headed out toward an island. The people in the boats cheered.
“She flew right across the full moon,” Georgia said. “She was so beautiful.” “We’ll make a point of going back to her island and looking for her.”
Chris Smith
Many of our stories have sad endings as the following one.
It is an example of a rehabbers worst fear when the rescue call is answered,
especially if it is an endangered species.
It was a gray November morning and I was due at the courthouse for the process of jury selection in two hours when I got a call from John. He needed help with an injured hawk, which, to my dismay, turned out to be a Peregrine falcon; one of the two birds on the endangered list. She was sitting at the edge of a vineyard with one wing drooping down to the ground. It was fairly obvious what had happened. Chasing her prey with the incredible speed that these birds can achieve, she dove too close to the vineyard wires holding up the vines and struck one with her wing. After a careful capture, a quick look confirmed that she had indeed broken a wing. I returned home, stabilized the wing and got the bird settled, called the Fish & Game Dept. as required when handling endangered species, and then dashed off to the courthouse to fulfill my civic duty.
When I returned home that evening, there was a message from Fish & Game telling me to follow our normal procedure for an injured raptor, but I knew I was out of my league with this one as Peregrines are not your usual hawk. Any mistake on my part could mean euthanasia for this stunning creature. I called my favorite resource, Nancy Sommers at the Wildlife Center in Kenwood and she referred my to Kendell Jewett, a local expert in Peregrine falcons.
Kendell was more than willing to drive down from Healdsburg the next day, but I had no way of knowing when I would be through at the courthouse so we left the meeting time open. Luckily judges and lawyers seem to need two hours to eat lunch which might be just enough time to hook up with Kendell. We agreed to a halfway meeting point at the corner of Hwy 29 and Calistoga’s main drag. He was there waiting for me and I handed the bird over with a sigh of relief. Kendell, who is a member of the Peregrin falcon project (a breeding program established to help replace falcons lost to DDT use), had one of his non-releasable falcons with him and he took a few minutes to educate me about peregrines in general. I was fascinated and torn between getting back to the courthouse in time and asking a zillion questions. I have no idea what the penalty for prospective jurors who keeping judges waiting is, but phrases like ‘contempt of court’ and ‘you will be fined to the amount of…’ kept running through my mind.
I wish this story had a happy ending, but the falcon’s wing could not be repaired and she had to be euthanised. However, there are silver linings to this cloud: meeting Kendell and his beautiful bird, learning a little about Peregrines and not being selected for jury duty.
Janet Barth
These little Ravens came from a tree being cut down at a residence in
Healdsburg .The tree cutters saw the nest but unfortunate for the raven family
kept cutting the tree anyway.
Springtime is NEVER a good time to cut down big trees, it is best done in October and November for this very reason.
The
workmen did at least bring the nest down intact with the babies still
in it. The Center was called on Mother's Day along with the other two
rehabilitation
groups in Sonoma County. I went up to Healdsburg and picked up the
little guys who were about a week old and hungry as could be. They were cared
for
constantly
for a day, feeding them every half hour and getting them
well hydrated.
While
consulting with Wildcare and theCorvid Connection in the East Bay, it was
decided that we would try to
return the birds to their general nest location. We felt that the
chances that the adults would continue to care for the birds in a tree
adjacent to their original nest tree was not great, but we believed it
was worth a try since reuniting the babies with their parents would be
the very best thing for them.
The next day I took the wee ones back to the site in Healdsburg,
accompanied by a tree climber, Jim,from Small World Tree Company.
We chose a tree very near to the original nest site and Jim began setting up for the climb.
I had found
an enormous lamp shade (about 40" in diameter) which I inverted
and I placed the nest in it. It was all carefully wired together so
that the nest would remain intact in its new location. I had painted
the exterior of the shade with camouflage colors so it would be more
invisible in the tree. To make a long story short, Jim hoisted the
nest up and wired it into its new location about 60' up in the chosen
tree. I then sent the babies up and he placed them in the nest.
Because the babies were so young, I knew we couldn't leave them up
there very long to wait to see if the parents would care for them.
Their ability to thermoregulate was limited and they needed food at
frequent intervals. I think it was about 2:00 when we left the site.
The finders, who were very involved with and concerned about the
babies, were instructed to watch /listen for adult raven activity and
record what they witnessed. The birds were left up there overnight.
One of the finders was up before daybreak, watching with binoculars
from a distance for the first couple hours of daylight the next
morning. The report was that the adults had been around the tree all
evening and in the morning, circling overhead, calling and flying
through the tree, but they did not land to feed the crying babies.
(This sort of nest replacement works quite well for the raptors but it
did not work with the Ravens because, the corvids have much
more defined spatial recognition than other birds and they are much
more attuned to and distrustful of changes in their environment.) The
finders and I were in touch in the early morning hours and I decided
that the babies needed to be brought back down You can imagine my
distress as the finders reported the voices of the babies getting
weaker and weaker as the hours went by and I couldn't make contact
with a tree climber to go up to Healdsburg. Finally, I found a second
tree climber, Simon, who agreed to come. We carefully
brought the birds down around 11 the following morning.
Amazingly all 5 little guys had survived. I immediately hydrated them and
started to feed them at 30 minute intervals again, I kept them for
about 5 days before transferring them over to Elaine Friedman (Corvid
Connection). Elaine specializes in the corvids and is set up to care
for them better than I was. She also has a couple resident adult
Ravens who are quite vocal. It would greatly benefit the little ones
to at least hear other ravens as they grew.
Elaine had
the birds until the end of July, when they were transferred to WildCare
for placement in an aviary. They then went out to WildCare's flight
aviary in Olema in the middle of August.
In the
beginning of September I picked them up and brought them to our rehabilitation
barn where they
stayed for about 5 weeks. Each day they were fed a sumptuous meal of grapes,
melons, walnuts, boiled eggs and mice.
In mid October, they were set free by means of a soft release, meaning the barn door remained if they felt they needed shelter. The same meals were left for them each day outside the barn on a fallen redwood tree. They were around in full force until I left for Florida in mid-December and they were still heard and seen in the area through January.
Linda Knight
Another unusual story – when a very observant driver saw a cormorant in a tree for the third day, he knew something was definitely wrong, and called WRCNC. We discovered the bird had a fishing hook lodged in its beak and the attached line had entangled the bird in the tree. A miracle it was still alive. We rushed it to the center where Dr Harman removed the hook and gave it fluids. It recovered and we released it back to the Lake Hennessy area where it had been found.
The tory is told a poem by C. Stark
the fisherman had snagged and left high
in the oak tree by the lake,
the cormorant hung for three days.
Toward the end, its dark body
hardly moved,
starving silently,
silhouetted mute against the spring sky.
The bird was rescued then,
the fish hook removed
from its orange and yellow throat,
its wound cleaned,
its body fed
until the moment when it screamed,
furious against confinement,
and was returned to the lake
where in a kind of ecstasy,
black wings opening to the wind,
it flew upward before plunging
deep into water,
submerging, swimming low,
bill on its snaky neck
pointing upward.
Of this I can tell
but not of one man’s indifference to his act
that tangled an artless bird
or exactly how the cormorant caught itself
or why it ceased its struggle to live
or of the impulse that made another
risk himself to save the dying bird
and return it to the lake
or of the cormorant’s rage
to be freed to sky and
water. . .
The eyes see what was set in motion.
The voice names it.
The mind can seldom conjecture
other minds’ intentions.