The longest day - on a wing and a prayer

There are many great things about working for the RSPB and many great things about working on Mull. At the end of this long summer's day, all of those things began to merge into one adrenalin filled finale. I hated doing it but I had to leave the chicks safe in their new ground nest while I half walked and half ran back to the nearest farm and a phone line. By the time I got there I could hardly speak. After a cup of tea and a few calls, everything seemed to swing into action. Before I knew it we'd assembled a hit squad who were going to do there level best to save these eaglets from experienced mainland-based RSPB colleagues to Strathclyde Police officers who do so much to help our wildlife here. Despite being on night duty for a week already, Finlay was there in an instant. Sue from the local farmhouse who also runs a B&B, delved deep into her freezer and extracted a whole, huge wild-caught salmon to keep the eaglets alive! We set off back along the coast to the chicks. They had clearly not thought much of my temporary ground nest and they'd gone walkabout. In a way this was all a good sign as it showed the chicks were recovering well from their ordeal - especially chick 2 who had earlier been so weak and forlorn. I was amazed and delighted when he also followed his brother's antics of trying to take chunks of flesh from our arms as we gathered them both up again. They hadn't gone far this time and seemed in much better shape. The adults were there too, still alarmed and bemused at the antics of us all far below. Whilst part of our team took the opportunity to carry out a full health check on the chicks, the rest of us scaled the cliff face to find a suitable new ledge and constructed an entire new nest. Soft grass lining and all. With the sun setting and, we thought, a very respectable new eyrie completed, we carefully hoisted the chicks into their new home. We placed the whole salmon alongside them to keep them going and quietly retreated back along the coastal trail. It was getting dark now; they wouldn't go anywhere at this time of night and we were all completely bushed. We'd lent Mother Nature a helping hand or two, now it was time for things to take their course. There was nothing more we could do. If we'd taken them into captivity to recover, the adults would have quickly lost interest and we may have been left with two eaglets unable to cope in the wild. We all knew that there were no better providers than the parent eagles. It really was their best hope.

After another restless night, dawn broke beautifully calm and sunny. From the opposite side of the great sea loch, my eye strained through the telescope to see any sign of life. Nothing moved. An hour later, still nothing. Two hours passed. No movement. No adults. No nothing. I scanned along the cliff face, further west to the furthest tip of the peninsula. There, in dark silhouette, sat a sea eagle. The sun occasionally caught a glimpse of white on the tail. It was an adult. My heart sunk. I just assumed an adult would be near their chicks - if they were still alive. Another hour passed. Suddenly it launched off from the rock and flew out to sea for half a mile or more. It was going in the wrong direction. Then it banked, legs down, swooped to the surface and plucked a fish or an auk from the surface of the sea and started flying back to shore. It neared its original rock but kept going. Please, please keep going. It did. It was flying purposefully now. Go on! Keep going! I was probably shouting out loud. I realised my jaw, my neck and my shoulders were so rigid with the strain of it that they all ached. It was still flying, prey still in talons. Along the cliff face, passed the old nest site and finally, finally it was above our new nest. And with that, as if it had done it a hundred times before, it dropped down onto the nest rim and up jumped two very hungry and animated chicks. One grabbed the new prey, the other seemed satisfied to carry on eating the salmon. Our 'free-fall' family were back together again. The feeling of relief and pride in what we had all achieved for these birds was overwhelming. The adult then jumped aside and sat on the nest rim preening in the early morning sun. Anyone would have thought she'd built it! It was time to head for home, a cup of tea and a bowl of cornflakes. Now it was up to them.

Footnote: two weeks later both chicks fledged naturally and on schedule from their man-made nest. They spent the autumn with their parents before doing what all young sea eagles do - wandering far and wide. That winter we got reports of one on the Mull of Kintyre; later still the other was back on Mull. Then one was on Islay. And then just this week, the report that triggered this recollection, one of them was on Jura. From that visitor who reported the missing nest so swiftly, to the local help, the B&B, the farmer, the landowner, the police and to those who've reported them since, it was a huge team effort. Because of them all, two young sea eagles were flying on Scotland's wild west coast where they belong. They are two of the luckiest eagles alive. Long may they wander!

Dave Sexton RSPB Mull Officer