There is a particular feeling that washes over you when you find yourself in the presence of something wild and magnificent – a mixture of reverence, excitement, and a curious sense of recognition. As I carefully adjusted my camera settings, my weathered hands moving with practiced precision despite the tremor that had become my constant companion, I felt that familiar thrill course through me.

The eagle sat as though posing specifically for my lens, its white head gleaming like a beacon against the soft blue of the early morning sky. Through my viewfinder, I could make out every detail – the fierce yellow of its hooked beak, the intense focus in its eyes as it surveyed its domain. This wasn’t just a bird; this was America’s symbol, a creature of such majesty that our founding fathers had chosen it to represent everything our nation aspired to be.

For nearly ten minutes, I remained perfectly still, documenting this unexpected encounter. The eagle preened occasionally, stretching its magnificent wings before settling back into its sentinel position. I switched between video and still photography, determined to capture every nuance of this incredible creature in its natural habitat. The super zoom on my Lumix performed admirably, bringing the distant bird so close in my frame that I could almost count its feathers.

Back on our ranch in Kansas, where I spent my youth riding fence lines eagles were rare and treasured sightings. I’d spent decades hiking mountain ridges with increasingly sophisticated camera equipment, hoping to capture just such a moment as this. Yet here it was, gifted to me on a Florida vacation, as though the universe had decided I’d waited long enough.

Bald Eagles of Florida: A Conservation Success Story

What many visitors to Florida don’t realize is that the state hosts one of the largest breeding populations of bald eagles in the lower 48 states, second only to Minnesota. The confluence of abundant water bodies, ample fish, and tall trees for nesting creates an ideal habitat for these magnificent birds.

Nokomis and the surrounding Venice area have become particularly notable eagle territories. Shakett Creek, with its rich fishing grounds and tall pines along its banks, offers ideal conditions for eagle nesting. A typical bald eagle nest – called an aerie – is enormous, often measuring 5-6 feet in diameter and weighing hundreds of pounds. Eagles mate for life and return to the same nest year after year, adding new materials with each season until these structures become massive monuments to avian architecture.

The eagle I was watching that morning was likely part of a mated pair. November marks the beginning of nesting season in Florida, which runs counter to the patterns I was familiar with in the Rocky Mountains. In this warmer climate, eagles begin their nesting activities in late fall, with eggs typically laid between December and January. By the time spring arrives, eaglets are already testing their wings.

This reversed seasonal timing explained why my Thanksgiving visit had coincided perfectly with increased eagle activity. What I had stumbled upon was not just a beautiful bird, but a participant in an ancient ritual of territory establishment and nest preparation.

From Near Extinction to Thriving

As I watched the eagle through my viewfinder, I couldn’t help but reflect on how close we came to losing these magnificent creatures forever. Growing up in the 1940s and 50s, bald eagles were becoming increasingly rare sights across America. The pesticide DDT had wreaked havoc on raptor populations, causing eggshells to thin and break before chicks could develop. By the time I was a young man, the bald eagle had become critically endangered.

The banning of DDT in 1972 and the protections afforded by the Endangered Species Act marked the beginning of one of America’s greatest conservation success stories. The bald eagle’s recovery from fewer than 500 nesting pairs in the lower 48 states to more than 10,000 today stands as testament to what can be accomplished when we recognize our mistakes and take decisive action to correct them.

Florida’s eagle population has been particularly robust in this recovery, with more than 1,500 nesting pairs documented across the state. The very bird I was photographing that morning was living proof of humanity’s capacity to step back from the brink of ecological disaster.

The Magic of the Superzoom

My Lumix FZ80 may not be the most expensive camera in a professional’s arsenal, but its 60x optical zoom capability has made it my constant companion on wildlife expeditions. That morning on Shakett Creek, it proved its worth yet again, bringing the distant eagle into sharp focus without disturbing its natural behavior.

For an old rancher whose eyes aren’t quite what they used to be, modern camera technology has been nothing short of miraculous. I often think about how my father and grandfather would marvel at the capabilities we now take for granted. They taught me to track wildlife, to move quietly through forests, and to respect the creatures whose domains we were privileged to enter. But their opportunities to document what they saw were limited to memory and occasional photographs that required careful rationing of expensive film.

The digital revolution has transformed wildlife photography, democratizing access to what was once the exclusive domain of National Geographic professionals. My camera’s superzoom that morning effectively eliminated the quarter mile of creek water between me and the eagle, bringing us into intimate proximity while allowing the bird to remain undisturbed in its natural behavior.

The Patience of the Hunt

Anyone who’s spent time attempting to photograph wildlife knows that patience isn’t just a virtue – it’s an absolute requirement. Much like the still hours I spent in hunting blinds as a young man, wildlife photography demands a special kind of meditative stillness, an ability to become so quiet and unobtrusive that you begin to blend into the landscape itself.

That morning on the dock, I settled into the familiar state of watchful waiting. My breathing slowed, my movements became minimal and deliberate. Through decades spent in the wilderness, I’ve learned that the most remarkable encounters often come not from pursuing wildlife, but from becoming so still that the wild world forgets you’re there and continues its business around you.

The eagle seemed to approve of my patient approach. For nearly twenty minutes, it remained on its lofty perch, occasionally preening or surveying its domain, but showing no sign of alarm at my distant presence. This allowed me to capture not just still images but several minutes of video footage – documentation of a moment I had sought for decades.

Sharing the Wonder

One of the greatest joys of wildlife photography in my later years has been the ability to share these experiences with those who might never have the opportunity to witness such moments themselves. My grandchildren, growing up in an increasingly urban world of digital distractions, light up with wonder when I show them images of creatures living wild and free. Through my lens, I’ve become a bridge between their world and the natural one that shaped me.

When I returned to my sister-in-law’s house that morning, camera full of eagle images, I couldn’t wait to share what I’d experienced. Over coffee, I showed my wife and her sister the footage I’d captured, describing in animated detail how the morning light had played across the eagle’s white head feathers and how still the creek had been, mirroring the pine and its regal occupant in perfect symmetry.

Later that day, as the extended family gathered for our Thanksgiving preparations, my eagle became a conversation piece, drawing even teenage grand nephew and neice away from their phones momentarily to marvel at America’s national bird in all its wild splendor. In those moments of shared appreciation, I felt the value of my early morning vigils and the importance of documenting these increasingly rare wild encounters.

The Call of Wild Places

Though I’ve spent much of my life in the rugged landscapes of the American Southwest – riding through pine forests, hiking alpine meadows, and wading trout streams – I’ve come to appreciate that wildness exists wherever we make space for it. Florida’s waterways, so different from my beloved mountain terrain, nonetheless harbor their own kind of wilderness and wild inhabitants.

That bald eagle in Nokomis taught me something important: that while I will always be a mountain man at heart, beauty and majesty aren’t confined to any single landscape. The same spirit that draws me to New Mexico’s peaks had found expression in this Florida raptor, reminding me that what I truly seek isn’t specific to geography but to connection with the wild and free.

As I approach my 85th birthday, my passion for documenting wildlife remains undiminished, even as my body protests more loudly on mountain trails. That eagle sighting in 2011 has stayed with me, a perfect moment captured through my lens – a reminder that sometimes the quarry we’ve been pursuing for years appears exactly when and where we least expect it.

The images I captured that November morning have earned a special place in my collection. While I’ve photographed elk bugling in mountain meadows, bighorn sheep navigating impossible cliffs, and cutthroat trout rising to a hatch on crystal-clear streams, that Florida eagle holds its own alongside my most treasured Rocky Mountain moments.

Finding Wilderness Wherever We Are

As I write this from my home office, surrounded by decades of photographs documenting my love affair with the natural world, I’m reminded that the wilderness ethic that shaped my life isn’t about specific locations but about a way of seeing and being. Whether I’m navigating a mountain trail or sitting on a Florida dock, the same principles apply: move quietly, watch carefully, respect boundaries, and be prepared for wonder.

That unexpected eagle encounter along Shakett Creek has become emblematic of a larger truth I’ve come to embrace in my later years – that while I will always be most at home among mountains and mesas, the wild heart that beats in all natural places speaks the same language. The bald eagle that posed so perfectly for my Lumix that November morning wasn’t just a magnificent bird; it was a reminder that wildness finds a way to persist, even as our human footprint expands.

And for an old rancher whose soul was shaped by open spaces, that persistence of wildness offers hope beyond measure.

If you’re interested in experiencing your own bald eagle encounter in Southwest Florida, the areas around Venice, Nokomis, and Shakett Creek offer excellent opportunities during winter months. The nesting season from November through April provides the best chances for sightings, with local conservation organizations occasionally offering guided eagle watching tours.

About the Author spent his early years working his family’s cattle ranch in Kansas before pursuing a career in wildlife photography. Now retired and living in Santa Fe, New Mexico but wintering at Lake Mohave, Arizona he dedicates his time to documenting the wilderness and wildlife of the American Southwest, with a particular focus on the Mountains and Deserts of Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico. His work has been featured in New Mexico Outdoor Sports Guide blog and hundreds of NMOSG YouTube video publications.