Craft Island, Skagit Bay Estuary (1/26)
Craft Island at the mouth of the Skagit—Eagle Island, depending on the day. The tide ran too high to press closer, but the sound carried: a dozen pitched whistles, rising into overlapping screeches, each note stacking briefly before falling quiet again. Early January found the estuary still holding the weight of December. The river had crested weeks earlier, but the lowlands remained saturated, channels swollen and reeds bent under lingering water. Subtle signs of animal trails cut through the marsh, half-erased by mud and tide. When the water pulls back far enough, Craft Island can be reached on foot, though even then it’s a slow, careful crossing.
Eagles held the island and the air above it. Four perched low, while others rode the updraft higher out over the bay, wings fixed and steady. Snow geese fluttered in the background, their calls threading through everything, sometimes distant, sometimes directly overhead. A northern harrier passed through the frame more than once, low and deliberate, while swans and scattered waterfowl held the quieter water along the edges.
The scene carried on as it always does—busy, layered, and indifferent to being watched. Filming was less about capturing a moment than standing within a system already in motion. As I stood on the muddy embankment, it gave way beneath me, though I stayed upright. The water rose quickly, nearly up to my chest, filling my boots in an instant. I paused there a moment, taking it in—A pungent blend of petrichor, and the briny scent of barnacled rock and sea salt filled the air. The unmistakable smell of the Salish Sea and the Puget Sound, raw and alive, and for a moment, it filled everything around me.
Eagles on Craft Island (1/26)
