Tag: Mr. Perfect

A Great Blue Heron usurps Island Creek Osprey Nest 4, wrapping up the Osprey season for 2026.

An Eagle landed on the Perfects’ nest last week, Sept. 17, something of an annual announcement that the Osprey of lower Island Creek have left on their southern migration.

Junior had not. He perched on a piling across the creek from that nest and erratically cried complaints at the invasion of the Ospreys’ arch enemy. But no other Ospreys joined the complaint, suggesting the few remaining Ospreys circling the upper creek are visitors, heading south as well, looking for a bite to eat.

LB, Junior’s dad, hadn’t been seen for a week prior to the Eagle’s visit. He’d put migration training into overdrive the week before that and stopped Labor Day weekend bringing fish to the nest for Junior.

LB had already, patiently, used the floating bait  to demonstrate to Junior how to fish and catch meals for himself. Junior usually looked the opposite direction, kept keening for delivery. Over Labor Day weekend, LB retrieved only an occasional bait fish, but ate it all himself, abandoned the habit of delivering his second retrieval to Junior.  Even so, Junior never dove for a bait fish.

There had been more fresh fish deliveries by then. The supplemental bait fish sharply fallen from mid-summer when LB would accept up to a dozen bait fish a day to feed himself and Junior.

By August, LB was supplementing the bait fish with a few, small, live fish. Lily also brought a couple fish to Junior. A few times, in the scarce weeks of July, Lily would take a bait fish for herself, but she never delivered a bait fish to Junior, only fresh.

A few days of watching his dad retrieve–or not–the bait fish floating by and no bait fish reaching him, Junior stopped visiting his natal nest. LB visited the neighborhood off and on into the second week of September, and most likely Junior got live fish from LB elsewhere. But by mid-September, Junior appeared to be on his own.

He stayed nearby, in the loblollies of the North Copse his parents had claimed as Nest 4 territory. He occasionally brought a live fish to eat there. But he wasn’t a regular visitor by the time the Eagle appeared.

A lone Osprey call still carries across the creek in early morning, but probably not Junior’s. When a Blue Heron perches and preens undisturbed upon an Osprey’s nest, most likely that Osprey is out of town. That happened this week on Junior’s natal nest.

With Junior gone, it’s a wrap on Island Creek Ospreys 2026.

This is what I’ve learned, what I know now: Tossing bait fish isn’t going to cut it, for oh so many reasons. Not the least is how little reason there is to imprint an Osprey with a homing instinct for the Chesapeake Bay. The bay can no longer support an Osprey breeding season.

Here’s Timothy B. Wheeler of The Chesapeake Bay Journal, with a sobering report on  Osprey Nesting Woes in the Chesapeake Bay, published here by Maryland Matters.

Read it and weep.

Previous Episode 2026-5 Losing Big Sis, Gaining the Sky

Junior perched above the remains of Big Sis.

Note: There are cautions on nest cam sites warning of potential violence on bird nests and the emotional toll. By “emotional toll” I mean “sadness.” Life frequently ends unpleasantly on nests.

The night following Lily’s grab of a lobbed Alewife, a violent storm left only her youngest chick, Junior, alive. He’d nearly reached his elder sibling’s size with three days of bait-fish supplements. Big Sis had grown so substantial her feathers mounded above the lip for a week before assimilating into the nest.

LB delivered a frozen Alewife to Junior, the first fish he’d ever faced opening for himself.He’d likely survived on pieces Big Sis dropped while learning to feed herself. It can take an Osprey longer to get the hang of self feeding than of flying. Their beaks grip and tear, they don’t saw or slash. And fish skin is tough.

The trick to opening a fish, it appears from cams and telescope, is to eat the head first. Dead or alive, fresh or frozen, doesn’t appear to matter. The head is the quickest way in, provides the biggest nutritional hit, and eases the subsequent unzipping of the scales to access the rest of the meat.

Lily returned to Nest 4 the morning after the storm. Lying next to the pile of feathers she fed pieces of the Alewife to Junior, lying on her other side. Later LB delivered another fish to Junior, which Lily also took, feeding fewer bites to Junior this time.

The next day, July 23, LB flew his fresh, decent-sized fish over the nest where Lily stood and Junior Fish Called. LB took the fish into North Copse, and on a branch above the nest ate the entire fish.

Lily hangs around the North Copse, but not Nest 4. She grabs a bait-fish every other day or so. She only shares her fresh catches with Junior, dropping them so quickly I only identify her by knowing that’ not LB’s behavior.

If LB sees a bait fish tossed into the creek, if he is not already occupied with another fish in his talons, he’ll go for that Alewife. He’ll share what he gets almost 50/50 with Junior. The technique sent Junior flying on July 28, 2026.

Junior’s first flight was to the dead loblolly in the side yard, then a hop to the live one once I’d spotted him. He headed back to his nest, overshot it for a spot-on landing on Nest 5. No one home at Nest 5. Good thing. A few days later, Mr. Perfect chased Junior who had merely taken a shortcut across air belonging to Nest 5.

But no trouble om his first flight. Junior flew from Nest 5 to Nest 4 just as soon as LB landed there with a fish. Another quite good landing.