The Sky Gave Me Eagles and Vultures - June 14, 2025

This Saturday morning began with bright overcast skies and a gusty wind—not exactly ideal conditions for wildlife photography. Still, I ventured out with hope in my heart, chasing whispers of a skylark sighting in a nearby area. I wandered, scanned, and waited... but no skylarks appeared. For a brief moment, I thought I’d be heading home without a single photograph.

And then—nature, in her infinite unpredictability—delivered something astonishing.

As I made my way to a stretch of beach, I noticed what looked like either a turkey vulture or a bald eagle off in the distance. Curious, I headed toward the shoreline. What I discovered took my breath away: a congregation of bald eagles—both adults and juveniles—along with up to ten turkey vultures and countless seagulls, all spread out along the beach. It was a scene of wild chaos and quiet majesty.

With my camera in hand, I began capturing the drama: juvenile eagles standing in seaweed, adults soaring, gliding, landing, and scanning the water.

The juvenile bald eagles stole the show with their striking plumage—marbled in rich chocolate browns and creamy whites, they looked like walking Oreo cookies. Each one was uniquely patterned, a beautiful in-between phase before they grow into their iconic adult colors.

Watching the juvenile bald eagles take flight was absolutely mesmerizing—there was something so raw and intense about it. Their wings were wide and powerful, yet their movements still held the uncertainty of youth. So new to this world and yet already so brave. I couldn’t look away.

I caught a photo of one juvenile bald eagle standing alone in the seaweed and wet sand, with the mountains behind him and the sea stretching out beside him. He gazed up at the sky, and I found myself wondering—what must he be thinking? Was he just as curious as I was about the swirling commotion of eagles and turkey vultures flying above? In that quiet moment, it felt like we were both watching the same mystery unfold.

I’ve been working on improving my flight photography, and the juveniles gave me the perfect opportunity to practice. Their slow, sweeping takeoffs and landings challenged me to stay focused—literally. I’m still a work in progress, but my shots are already so much sharper than when I first started months ago. Every outing teaches me something new.

The turkey vultures, hunched and watchful, picked through the debris, their wings like cloaks pulled close. At one point, as I moved closer, the entire group of vultures began to circle overhead—emerging from the trees one by one, rising higher and higher in slow, ghostly spirals above me. I stood still in awe, feeling like I could almost reach up and touch them. My body was electrified. My soul was on fire.

Turkey vultures don’t have strong talons or beaks like eagles. Instead, they rely on their sharp sense of smell and incredible soaring abilities to find food, often riding thermal currents for hours with minimal wing flapping.

Did You Know?

Turkey vultures are nature’s clean-up crew! They feed almost exclusively on carrion (dead animals), helping to prevent the spread of disease in ecosystems by removing decaying matter.

One turkey vulture perched confidently on top of a piling, and as I whispered (okay, maybe a little loudly), “Work it, work it,” he actually struck a pose. I swear he heard me—head tilted just right, wings slightly out, giving full runway attitude. Total top model moment.

Despite their eerie reputation, turkey vultures are shy and non-aggressive. They play a vital role in keeping the environment clean and healthy, and they almost never kill live prey. Up close, their faces are striking—bald, wrinkled, and pinkish-red, with a prominent hole above the beak where their nostrils are. It’s not a flaw—it’s a feature! That open nasal passage actually helps them pick up the faintest scent of decay on the breeze, making them expert scavengers of the skies.

In that moment, time ceased to exist. The noise of daily life, the grief I carry, the weight of responsibility—it all slipped away. I wasn’t just watching wildlife—I was part of it. The wild didn’t just show up for me; it pulled me in, wrapped me in feathers and wind and raw aliveness. I kept whispering, “Oh my word, this is amazing,” over and over, unable to contain the wave of joy that swept through me.

As I carefully walked the beach, I found angles to capture intimate portraits of the birds in their element. Along the way, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of coastal life: thousands upon thousands of mud snails with spiral shells that looked like tiny unicorn horns. Mussels, hermit crabs, barnacles, vibrant open shells, and even several dead fish fed the commotion of the shoreline. And then the true surprise—my very first lion’s mane jellyfish sighting! There were many, scattered in seaweed, delicate and striking.

Did You Know?

Mud snails are small but mighty members of the shoreline. Their spiral shells help them burrow into the mud and protect their soft bodies as they move through tidepools and mudflats. These snails play a critical role in keeping the shoreline healthy by recycling nutrients and aerating the sediment. Some regions see them in massive numbers—just like I did today—which is both fascinating and a reminder of how interconnected our ecosystems are.

The lion’s mane jellyfish is the largest known species of jellyfish in the world! Its tentacles can reach over 100 feet in length—longer than a blue whale. While the ones I saw were much smaller, they were still mesmerizing with their reddish-orange hues and gently trailing arms. The colors were intense and absolutely amazing—deep rusts, glowing ambers, and soft pinks rippling in the shallow water. I was completely fascinated. I’d never seen anything like them in person before, and I couldn’t stop staring. These jellyfish deliver a mild sting to humans, but their role in the marine ecosystem is huge—they feed on plankton, small fish, and even other jellyfish.

I also came across the discarded shell of a crab, left behind on the wet sand like a quiet echo of life. Its delicate armor was cracked and hollow, but still full of color and texture. There was something hauntingly beautiful about it—a reminder of the constant cycle of life, growth, and letting go that plays out every day along the shoreline.

At one point, I found a quiet rock to sit on and simply watched the world move. The eagles, gulls, and vultures fought and fed, soared and squawked. I snapped a photo of the sand, dotted with the crisscrossing footprints of all the birds who had danced along the beach before me. It felt like a living story written across the shore.

Even after I left the beach, the surprises continued.

Driving home, I noticed a dark shape in an empty field off the highway. I pulled over safely and was stunned to see two turkey vultures in the grass. It looked to be two turkey vulture siblings sticking close together, gently picking through the grass—most likely searching for lunch. There was something tender about their bond, a silent understanding between them as they moved side by side, reminding me that even scavengers share moments of connection.

They picked through the earth, and when one took off, two red-winged blackbirds launched after it. One of them even appeared to ride the vulture for a moment mid-air—I caught it in a photo collage, a wild and almost mythic image of contrast and courage.

Can you see the Red-Winged Blackbirds?

Then, as if to cap it all off, I heard the unmistakable call of a bald eagle overhead. I looked up to find one circling the field, watching the scene below. I raised my camera and caught a final shot—his watchful eyes glinting, his presence commanding.

I was buzzing. Joyful. Recharged. And deeply, deeply grounded.

This wasn’t just a photo adventure—it was therapy. It is church. It is a reminder that healing can arrive in the form of feathers, wind, seaweed, and silence.

And it wasn’t even a full day out—just five and a half hours—but it reminded me that we don’t need long stretches of time to experience magic. This half-day was overflowing with life, wonder, and photographic treasures.

I live for moments like these. This is why I’m a wildlife photographer: to witness, to feel, to connect, and to tell the stories of these powerful, curious, colourful creatures who share our world—and to heal in the process.