Aki and head out early this morning to see the Sheep Creek delta in low angle sun. Well, that is why I dragged the poodle-mix from her bed. She settles in quickly once we leave the car. We are four hours from low tide so the wetland feeders—crows, gulls, ravens, and one eagle—are hunkered down near the water. Only the eagle is animated. It bursts from a spot along the creek after being attacked by gulls. Three or four of them chase the eagle in an aerial dogfight twenty feet above the ground. In minutes, the bald eagle is back its spot along the creek. Minutes later the gulls, bright as angels in the early morning light, finally drive it off. Raven, shinny black in full sun, watches with apparent detachment. I wonder who he roots for.

At least two score of bald eagles lounge on exposed tidelands. More watch from perches in the spruce trees we pass under. Most of the mature birds, the ones with white heads and tails, chill. The immature ones fly out and back from the trees, sometimes getting into a tussle with other young birds. They are all waiting for the hatchery truck to finish the transfer of young king salmon from truck to an enclosed pen that now floats on the waters of Fish Creek Pond. It’s as unnatural as humans in character costumes standing in line for days before the opening of a Star Wars movie.

The released salmon smolt that survive eagles and predator fish will swim into the Gulf of Alaska. Six years later, maybe thirty pounds heavier, they will return to the pond, circling it until caught by a sport fisherman or they die of natural causes. A few will follow the pink and dog salmon up Fish Creek to spawn but nothing will come of their effort on the unsuitable gravel.

Those birds not looking for an easy meal, like green winged teal and sand pipers work the estuary waters. I surprise a northern goshawk while it eats a shrew. It bursts into the air and over the heads of some eagles roosting near the top of a spruce tree. The goshawk is ignored by the eagles but not a crow, who chases the bigger bird from its sky.

I try not to write about the weather, about the wind-whipped rain that soaks the beach sand and forest duff. But all is weather-related. Swollen creeks have already eroded strips of the beach down to rock and gravel. Wind and waves have driven off the waterfowl residents. Only the smallest, the biggest, and the grouchiest birds remain. Aki ignores them all. She doesn’t acknowledge the tiny sparrow that settles briefly on a pilling stump. The little dog sniffs while the kingfisher scolds from an alder limb. She does slip back into the woods when the eagle appears, but if you asked her, she would deny that she saw it.