As we drove up the Selway River on Saturday, Adrian pointed out an Osprey on its nest. The broad bowl-of-a-nest sat atop the thin point of a conifer snag that leaned ever-so-slightly over the river. I think of those leaning snags, lost from the forest and bound eventually to meet the river, as composing the ‘Osprey zone’—the best spots from which to watch fish move in the water below.
The Osprey was chattering when I stepped from the truck to get a better look. The bird looked up river and then down, up and then down, slowly and methodically. The repetitive motion of the bird’s head shifted upriver when a hawk screamed—the Osprey focused quickly on the call of the other bird.
A light breeze above the river channel ran through the feathers of the Osprey’s head. The loose feathers at the back, just below the bird’s crest, flipped in the wind. They were yellow in the sun.