Birth of the Phoenix

It was a very cold morning. The sun had yet to show over the horizon, but I was already in my car, heading for the dam at Lake Red Rock near Knoxville, Iowa. I had never visited the dam quite so early, but this morning, I had a secret hope; something I hoped to accomplish. I crossed the dam and wound down a few side roads until I reached a small parking lot along the banks of the Des Moines. I parked, grabbed my Jack Bauer bag from the seat beside me, and set out. It was a short walk to the old bridge that now crossed only half of the river. By this time the sky was lightening and out across the river, I could see what I had come for. At the end of the bridge, I took out my camera and screwed it onto my monopod. After a little height adjustments, I was ready. There were eagles here!

I spent hours that frigid morning, watching the eagles swoop to the river, skim the water's top and fly off with a fish writhing in their talons. I snapped off countless photos, always hoping that one of these national symbols would come a little closer. As the morning waned, I noticed an eagle perched in a branch on the near side of the river. Behind him, the sun had risen and showed red through the trees. I moved nearer and waited. I took a few pictures . . . and waited again. I moved around a few times, changing the composition of the bird and the tree and the sun. Then there it was. The sun had risen to the perfect height. The bird sat perched upon the choicest branch. The bridge had been built to the exact height. And I stood there with my camera at the very moment that all these elements came together, silhouetting the bird against the crimson sky. I pointed and clicked and clicked and clicked . . . . and the bird took flight . . . .