The Furious Spinner

What it is, ain't exactly clear...

I've been busy. Up at night, running around during the day. I'm doing research for what I hope will be an in-depth piece on the bald eagle killings in Oregon. Wednesday I drove to Wilsonville to the Department of Fish and Wildlife's Office of Law Enforcement and spoke with Special Agent Christopher Brong. Seventeen bald eagles have been found dead in the Willamette Valley since 1991. Most of them died from Fenthion poisoning, an organophosphate pesticide—yes, those same pesticides I have been fighting for years. What forensics has determined is that a sheep carcasses (or portions of) were laced with the pesticide. The eagles then fed on the sheep. You've heard me go on and on about these pesticides being neurotoxins, so you can imagine how the eagles died. Their nervous systems were fried—either as they flew or as they stood over the carcass. In any case, they died. Law enforcement suspects that area farmers, concerned that eagles were targeting their lambs, have killed the eagles. Eagles are opportunists, either scavenging for food or going after easy prey. It is unlikely—perhaps even physically impossible—that bald eagles have lifted the lambs to their deaths. Probably, a farmer found a bald eagle feeding on a dead lamb and assumed the eagle had killed the lamb.

Brong let me ask him questions for three hours. I am fascinated by this subject. I am always interested in how other people view situations. My grandfather was a farmer. My father said if Grandpa thought something was killing his livestock, he would go after the predator and kill it. My father said they would try to kill foxes because the government offered a bounty for every fox killed.

"Did you ever kill one?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what made you think the fox was preying on your chickens?" I asked.

"Well, when I found him he was chewing on a chicken. Can't guarantee you it was our chicken, but since he was in our chicken coop...."

On Monday, which happens to be our 23rd wedding anniversary—and 24 years to the day we meet one another—we'll be in Ashland, Oregon, looking at dead things. We're going to the Department of Fish and Wildlife's forensics lab, so I can see what work is going on there.

I told my agent I wanted to research this story and do a book, and she said no one would be interested! I've queried a few magazines and got a "nay" already from one. I'm going forward anyway. We'll see where it all goes. 0 comments

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