Why Lead?

After searching the edge of the woods by the parking lot in the Cottage Grove Ravine Regional Park I felt like I had a laser sight aimed at my forehead. Looking up, I spotted the source. Two eyes were fixed on me like a hawk... er, like an eagle, actually. The message on my phone from the Washington County park employee provided directions that led me directly to the bird. He had told the Raptor center that it was behaving strangely, not flying off like a normal eagle when approached.

A reason might be the fact that he was safely in a tree about twelve feet off the ground, well out of reach. Indeed, a healthy eagle would fly off in any case. My challenge now was to figure out how to get him down. Simple. Just shake the tree, right? That ought to get him moving.

Nope. Even as I started to climb the tree, which sat at about a forty-five degree angle to the ground, allowing him to firmly grip its trunk, he didn't move. I shook and shook. Nothing doing. He was definitely not well. As I contemplated my next move, I could hear labored breathing. Not good. Not sure how I could get him to jump down to the ground, where at least we'd be on even terms, I sat on the tree to brainstorm. As I did, the tree slowly tore itself from the recently thawed earth under my weight, gently dropping toward the ground. That did it. He fell into the prickly brush below. Now to quickly get to him to keep him from beating his wings against that brush, potentially aggravating what seemed to be a broken wing.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, he tucked that wing in and started for the clearing of the parking lot, showing he still a little feisty, at least. I circled around, slowly crouching, keeping my eyes hidden behind my ball cap (eagles take their cues from your eyes). Just as I approached his legs, he bolted once more into the brush. A good sign, but not in his interest, since he clearly couldn't fly, beating his wings into the brush. This time I rushed him and went for his legs. He opened his wings as wide as he could and reared back, providing good access as I grabbed both legs in my left hand. He submitted quickly, even letting me corral his wings without protest.

These were all signs of an eagle neurologically impaired, very often an indication of lead poisoning. The trip to the center was continuously punctuated by soft and short eagle screeches coming from the carrier in the back of the Jeep. It sounded more like crying. The crew in the clinic also believed this was an advanced case of lead poisoning, meaning there was little or no chance of survival.

Hunting is an activity I never grew up with, but a right I fully endorse. While I don't understand the thrill of a successful result, the enjoyment of the outdoors, walking in the woods, exercising a father-son (or daughter) tradition, the camaraderie of the hunting cabin, the excitement of firing guns, makes sense to me. What does not make sense to me is why, after these many years, lead shot remains an option.

I've read and heard the arguments, how the non-lead options are not as effective, and quite a bit more expensive. When I demonstrated my incompetence in matters of the gun (see blog posting, Game Hunting), I bought shot without knowing better, selecting on price, of course. Ended up staying in my cabinet (couldn't return it) when I learned the loads contained lead shot. Went back to Fleet Farm to buy a non-lead alternative. The primary argument against alternatives, it seems, is cost, making it more expensive to hunt, perhaps discouraging some from the sport. That's a rational argument, but it still doesn't make sense to me. Especially not when I hear that soft cry and erratic breathing in the back of my Jeep.

Final Destination?