Trapping Eagles in Adak, Alaska – circa 1981

•September 4, 2012 • 6 Comments

A fine young gentleman named Adam Edgerton was born on Adak Island, lived there until he was three years old, and was compelled to return as an adult.  He started a fundraising campaign to help cover the costs and create a book of photographs to document his adventure.  Please visit: http://www.indiegogo.com/rediscovering-adak to learn more about this amazing project.

In his own words:

“I was born on Adak in 1985, where my father worked on the Alaska Maritime National Wildlife Refuge. We moved away when I was three, but the distant memories, stories from my parents, and photos of being born in such a unique, isolated place stay with me to this day. I feel strongly compelled to return, explore my birthplace, and share my perspective on what it once was and what it is today with the world.”

Adam has an attachment to the island similar to the one that I and many others have.  I only lived there two years (1979 to 1981), but it will always draw me back.  I have not had the opportunity to physically go back yet, but one of the ways that I relived my time there was to write my book The Nantok of Adak Island.  While it is a science fiction novel, it includes many events based on my actual experiences there as a high school student living life on an isolated Aleutian island.

My internship with the (then named) Aleutian Islands National Wildlife Refuge (AINWR) was one of the most amazing things that ever happened to me.  In my book, the main character experiences several things that really did happen to me.  Some of these are more embellished than others, but they are based on true events.  For example, I really did get to perform a necropsy on a huge female sea otter that died giving birth.  I really did get to trap and mount a Norwegian brown rat, which was added to the refuge’s official collection.  I really did go through a bit of initiation from the biologists that included counting hairs on caribou and sea otter pelts.  One of the most amazing things I did that I did not mention in the book was that I got to help trap and band bald eagles.

Several of the biologists were working on a project of monitoring the bald eagle population on Adak.  They were experimenting with several methods of trapping.  They tried everything from padded leg traps, to traditional falconry bow nets, to a cannon net like the one used at the beginning of the old Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins, except that one caught a flock of Canada geese.

This YouTube video gives you a rough idea of how a cannon net works: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gi9NJBOWHuo

After they trapped the eagles, they banded them with small aluminum bands that fit around their “shins”.  These each had a unique number that identified the bird wearing it.  The problem was that you could not read these bands from a distance.  They needed a way to identify the adult birds from far away.  They came up with an interesting approach of painting the tail feathers.  They would take the snow white, pristine tail feathers of these spectacular adult bald eagles, divide the feathers into thirds and then paint them three different, contrasting colors.  If the average citizen did this, they would be locked up and the key fed to a polar bear living above the Arctic Circle, but because this was all in the name of science, defacing our national emblem was perfectly OK, in fact it was interesting.

From a great distance they could say, “There goes bird blue-orange-white.”  They could look up “blue-orange-white” in their log and cross-reference it with the band number.  Having known these biologists and remembering their sense of humor, I would wager that the first bird tagged in this fashion was red-white-blue.  The other thing I remember was that they had to make sure they read the colors correctly.  Red-white-blue from underneath would be blue-white-red from above.  That’s two completely different birds!  I’m sure they figured it out, but I remember them having long scientific discussions about which way to do it.

My internship there was through a program called OJT, which stood for on the job training.  As I remember it, it was only for seniors and it was the last period or two of school.  I think they paid ½ minimum wage, or something like that.  I don’t recall caring about the money at all, although I’m sure I did.  Pizza and a movie was probably a day’s wages when you only work about three hours a day at ½ minimum wage.

Even the days in which I had to wash the AINWR boat were interesting to me.  There was a maintenance guy there who often had to find things for me to do.  He had an awesome beard.  I call it an Amish beard.  It’s the big bushy beard on the chin but the upper lip is clean-shaven.  Man, I wish I could remember his name.  He retired while I was there and the stories they told about him at his retirement party were so impressive.  He was one of those really special people you encounter only every so often, someone who I can only dream of being like, someone who makes you feel really inadequate if you don’t climb Mt. Everest or walk on the moon.

So, one day this big crate shows up and it’s the cannon net.  You would have thought it was a stripper showing up at the Marine barracks the way the (male) biologists acted.  Pick your analogy with the female biologists.  I learned long ago not to try to impersonate the female mind (notice that there are no strong female characters in my stories – any male author who writes a strong female character obviously has a ghostess writer – or something.   I’m so glad very few people read this blog.)

Anyway, everyone was excited.

We set the cannon net up in the parking lot of the AINWR headquarters building.  Someone went to the butcher department at the commissary (that’s military talk for grocery store – Adak was a Naval air station, in case you haven’t read my book . . . . yet) and got a bunch of “scraps” to use as bait.  It was mostly pink, pulpy bone-dust from inside the band saw they used to cut up the big chunks of meat.  There were a few chunks of fat and bone and gristle thrown it.  They scattered it around the area where the net was supposed to cover and then we all went back inside to wait.  And wait.  And wait.

There was only one small utility window in the door facing the parking lot.  This was the regular size door that was next to the big rollup door that opened to the garage area inside the headquarters building.  Only one person could look out at a time and it was easy to tell who was the senior biologist at that particular location at that particular moment.  Eventually, I was the one looking out the window.  This obviously meant that I was left alone to watch for eagles to show up, everyone else having gotten bored or cold (the garage was unheated).

True to form, I eventually got distracted by something in the garage and lost track of time.  When I finally remembered to look out the window, there were about ten eagles and 20 or so ravens rapidly eating up the bait.  I ran into the office area and as casually as I could muster I blurted out something to the effect of, “Holy crap you should see all the damn eagles out there!”  There was a cacophony of desk chairs falling over, coffee cups being slammed down and winter wear being grabbed off of hangers and coat hoods.

All of the biologists and other staff came to see.  There was a countdown, a boom, and we all scrambled out the single door.  Someone must have stuffed a big fishing net in my hand and the only instructions I remember getting was “Don’t let them get out from under the net!” as I ran out the door to help.

Bald eagles are big.  I mean really big.  Imagine a turkey with wings the size of ironing boards being held down by a net no more substantial than a bed sheet.  Their beaks are the size of desk staplers and their feet are as large as a grown man’s hand, but a hundred times stronger, each talon as sharp as a awl, faster than a rattle snake strike and as strong as a pair of vice grips.

There were probably eight or nine bald eagles and a few ravens caught under the net.  Biologists were running back and forth, understandably hesitant to jump on one of the eagles and subdue it.  Eventually they found enough blankets and burlap sacks to cover all of the birds and calm them down.  They banded each eagle, one by one.  The adults got new paint jobs on their tails.  They even banded all of the ravens.  I got to hold one of the adult bald eagles while it was being banded.  It was like holding a medium size pit bull.  The strength emanating from this animal was terrifying.  I was able to stay out of range of its talons and beak.  Not true for a raven that I held.  Even though its eyes were covered it new exactly where my hand was when I got too close.  Even though it did not draw blood, it felt like having a chunk of skin grabbed with needle nose pliers and brutalized by an evil electrician.

Words escape me as to how mind boggling that hour was.  It affected the rest of my life in such a positive way.  I went to college to study wildlife biology (I graduated with a degree in environmental engineering, but that is another story).  Shortly after college I obtained my falconry license and trained several birds, eventually becoming a Master falconer.

I vaguely remember one of the biologist taking photos of all the action.  I also knew that the AINWR kept all of their photos as carefully catalogued slides in a large filing cabinet.  It wasn’t until several years later, after recounting this story to multiple incredulous, but polite friends and family that I wondered if there was any photographic evidence of this event.  Before the advent of the Internet I sent several letters to AINWR asking them if these photos existed.  None of these inquiries were answered.  Many years later, I emailed someone who still lived on Adak and asked them if they would check.  They tried but had no luck.  Many more years went by.

Thirty one years later, along comes Adam Edgerton, raising money for his return trip to Adak.  I made a donation and asked him, that if he had time, would he please check to see if these photos existed.  I hoped that his photographic mind and connection with the refuge through his dad would make him interested in searching out these photos.   He sent a very polite reply and said that he would be happy to look.  I tried not to think about it too much.

After his trip, he sent me an email.  He had found several slides and a couple prints, and photographed them.  Here is what he sent me.

Taken just before the cannon net was fired. You can see it on the ground on the near side of the birds.

Taken just as the net went off.

Holding down the net. That’s me (age 17) on the far left.

Subduing one of the angry immature birds.

Close up. Not happy.

Getting ready to release bird “white-blue-white”. (It reads the same from top or bottom!)

Adam, thanks so much.  You have no idea how much these photos mean to me.  Good luck to you and your book project.  I can’t wait to see it.

Sincerely,

Russ

I Miss Humboldt County

•August 10, 2012 • Leave a Comment

As I sit here in 100+ degree weather looking out through the heat waves at a grass field so dry that it looks like it could spontaneously combust, I recall my last trip to Humboldt County a few years ago.  It was the first time since leaving college that I went up there by myself.  It was for work, but I took a day to go to Patrick’s Point State Park and hike down to Agate Beach.  This is one of my favorite places in the whole world.  Some people may not be impressed, but there is something about it that just feels right to me.  The entire beach is made mostly of pebbles about the size of M&M’s (peanut and regular).  Each one is smooth and rounded by the surf.  There are so many colors and varieties, like little planets.

A water color I did of some rocks from Agate Beach.

My family and I love to come here and have agate hunting contests.  We have contests for who can find the most agates, the biggest, the prettiest, the most interesting, etc. etc.  That way, everyone gets to win at least one category.  I know, that’s pretty wimpy.  After all, who can lose when you are enjoying it so much.  The most coveted award is for, of course, the biggest agate.  I almost always find the most.  I just have an eye for them.  I only know one person who was better at it than me.  His name was John and he was a geology-major and room mate of mine when I was going to college at Humboldt State University.  He could find three or four that were the size of peach stones.  I’m convinced that finding agates is a function of Karma.  John had very good Karma.  I’m sure that there is a science to it too – tides, seasons, storms, geological layers – but why get serious about something that is so relaxing.  Just show up, plop down and start hunting.  What makes me miss hunting agates at this moment is the cool feel of the damp pebbles, even cooler than the other side of your pillow.  My favorite time to hunt agates is during a torrential downpour while wearing a good rain suit.  I could do it all day long.

About 2 hours worth of agates. Nothing bigger than a Mento. Treasure, nonetheless.

Oh, in case you don’t know what a beach agate is.  Have you ever seen those older 70′s style wind chimes that were made of thinly sliced and polished stones that looked like quartz or marble and they have rings in them like tree rings?  Those are agates.  Google it  if you need to.  Beach agates are basically those but busted into small chunks and polished by God and the sea until they are wonderfully unique little stones.  They range from deep rust color to clear.  They always look to me as though they have been dropped in white pain and the paint has only been partially rubbed off.  This is what distinguishes them from beach quartz.  Agates are are more transparent and have the white “clouds” on the surface.  These are apparently a mineral that is harder and more durable than the clear part, so it is left on the outer surface.

It’s funny that the “prized” find is an agate and I always get excited when I find one, but I think I really like the plain ol’ rocks just as much.  I always toss a few of the more colorful ones in my pockets and when I get home I put them all in a small jar, carefully filled with water, but no air bubbles.  They are, of course, most beautiful when they are wet.  I would be a crime, I think, to put them in a stone polisher.  We cannot possibly improve on God’s fine work.  Like people, there are billions and each one is as unique as the stars.  Some are agates that we are searching for, some are colorful stones that bring beauty to the world but are found inadvertently.  All require a certain amount of good Karma to realize the pleasure they bring.

It’s darn hot right now.

My Favorite Beer

•June 28, 2012 • Leave a Comment

My favorite beer is the one I happen to be drinking on a breezy day after it has been way too hot for way too long.

My favorite beer is the one where I notice a distinct hoppy flavor that I didn’t notice last time.

My favorite beer is the one handed to me by a good friend in a good mood.

My favorite beer is the one that is surprisingly good the first time I tried it.

My favorite beer is usually served within 100 feet of where it was made, but not always.

My favorite beer is the one I’m holding when I say, “This is the best burger I’ve ever made.”

My favorite beer is the one opened for me by one of my two sons.

My favorite beer often has a bird on the label, sometimes a raptor sometimes a hummingbird.

My favorite beer is usually served in the shade on a hot day and in front of a fire on a cold day.

My favorite beer is the one I really needed after a long, hard day.

It’s time for my favorite beer.

The Bear featured in “Sunday Shorts”

•June 24, 2012 • Leave a Comment

My short story, The Bear, is being featured in “Sunday Shorts” a Goodreads group.  Thank you to Kriss at www.cabingoddess.com.  Definitely check out her blog.  She mentions in her profile that she lives in a one room “dry” cabin in Alaska.  I thought, “OK.  Dry is good.  Who’d want to live in one that leaks?”  Turns out that “dry” means no running water!  What a character!  She reviews books and posts recipes with a common theme.  For my short story, the theme was Alaska.  I’m honored.

Speaking of cabins in Alaska, this photo is a picture of a cabin on Adak that had a rickety old skateboard ramp. That’s me (circa 1981)!

Photo courtesy of my good friend Chris Wilbur.

Here are the other short stories that have been featured in Sunday Shorts: Click . . .


Now Available: Dog Leg Bayou – A Short Story

•June 20, 2012 • Leave a Comment

I just e-published my second short story, called Dog Leg Bayou.  It is about two young men, cousins, who go fishing on an isolated Louisiana bayou.  One is a local and one is visiting from California.  Their personal values clash as a series of dangerous events are brushed off in their desire to “catch the big one”.  It is about 9500 words.  If printed in paperback, it would be about 30 pages.  An nice summer weekend read.

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So, what’s a “Nantok” anyway?

•June 15, 2012 • Leave a Comment

A Nantok is a small, intelligent primate that has evolved to have some incredible skills.  They are humanoid in appearance.  They resemble a cross between a tiny Asian human and a squirrel monkey.  They have straight black hair, only on top of their head.  Their skin is pink and slightly fuzzy.  They wear very skillfully made fur clothes that fit them so well it looks like their own fur.  The adults are eight to ten inches tall.

They are telepathic.  They communicate mostly through telepathic thoughts and emotions.  They have a spoken language that is too high pitched for humans to hear and it is only used in formal occasions amongst themselves.  They can also sense thoughts and emotions of humans when close enough.  Humans with especially strong latent telepathic skills can communicate with the Nantok, although human contact is extremely rare.  It occurs maybe once every few hundred years.

They have evolved a communal genetic memory.  All animals have some sort of genetic memory.  It’s how birds know exactly how to build a next without being taught or shown.  The Nantok have learned to save memories to their genetic code, much like a flash drive.  Because they are telepathic, a colony of Nantok become one huge network of shared ancestral memories.  Some Nantok are better at retrieving deep memories than the rest.  These are referred to as “historians” and they are very important to the colony.

Because of this amazing memory, they have perfected the art of biological chemistry and pharmacology.  They can tell how sick or healthy an animal is just by tasting its blood.  They have learned to make many miraculous kinds of medicines and drugs through thousands of years of experimentation, from medicines that make wild animals fearful or docile to poisons that can paralyze or kill large animals (or humans) almost instantly.  Most of these come from a single basic mineral that the Nantok rely on for many things.

Nantok descended from monkeys that lived in Southwest Asia.  They evolved completely separately from humans.  As they evolved, they spread out over the globe.  Because of their small size, and despite their superior intellect, Nantok were nearly wiped out by early humans.  They exist unbeknownst to each other in very small, isolate pockets around the globe.  No human knows about the Nantok except through very rare legend and fable.  Because of their vivid memory of being systematically hunted and exterminated by humans, they are extremely wary and hostile towards humans.

Learn what happens when a teenage boy is accidentally captured by a colony of Nantok that live on and isolated island in the Aleutians by reading “The Nantok of Adak Island”.  Available at . . .

Smashwords (all formats)

Amazon (Kindle)

Apple (iBooks)

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Hello WWWorld!

•June 9, 2012 • 6 Comments

Hi All,

This is my new blog website to promote my fiction books.  I’m also working on a non-fiction book, but it is so completely different that it would need its own blog (Understanding Residential Heating and Cooling Systems).

Currently, my two available stories are “The Nantok of Adak Island“, a 90,000 word sci-fi/nature/action novel and a short story called “The Bear“.  Both are set in Alaska, where I lived for two and a half years.  Even though it was a relatively short time and a relatively long time ago (1978-1981) it still has a big impact on my life and my personality.

Thanks for visiting.  More to come!

Russ King

 
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