From Chapter 3 (First Teaching Position, Salisbury School 1937–1938): Wassaw Island was full of wildlife, from seabirds to deer to alligators, and my visits there crystallized my desire to study natural history. I had my first experience with poisonous water moccasins, collected some charming, three-to-four foot long kingsnakes that were quite tame, and I made study skins of the birds felled by Emerson Quaile and another hunter. Apparently, no ornithologist had visited the island, so, as de facto naturalist, I made notes of the many bird species I saw. My experiences there over two spring vacations provided me with the material for my first published paper, “Easter on Wassaw Island,” which appeared in a regional ornithological journal (Folk 1939).
Hoping to catch an alligator, we went hunting for them in the evenings. In the end, Milmine, McMaster, and I succeeded in getting a noose around the head of a 6-foot ‘gator, which we put in the swimming pool so we could photograph it the next morning. After we got our shots, we let the fellow go. But the most unusual experience on Wassaw Island had to do with a young bald eagle. I’d always had a passionate desire to photograph baby eagles in their nest. At either end of the island stood two large Southern Jack Pines with nests that still had young eagles. These large evergreens had trunks like walls and no branches low enough for a person to grab, and I knew it would be nearly impossible to climb the tree. Even with the help of a man who worked for the owners of the island, I not only was unsuccessful in reaching the lowest branches, but also managed to nearly kill myself by falling—I probably would have if not for the providence of having that man along with his good reflexes and strong arms to catch me!
I still wanted some pictures of baby eagles, so after thinking the situation through and gathering some tools and supplies, I went to the nest at the other end of the island in hopes of a better result. I nailed pieces of wood to the trunk of the massive tree to make a ladder, which I finally managed to ascend. Eagle’s nests are huge, spanning six feet and weighing several thousand pounds. Eventually, I made it to the nest, and there I was perched on a branch beside it and delightedly taking pictures of the babies, when to my horror, one of the young eagles hopped out of the nest and fell to the ground; fortunately its fall was broken by the flapping of its wings in a frantic attempt to fly. The uninjured bird let me carry it back to the cottage, where everyone was of course entranced by the strikingly beautiful young raptor. I hand fed the eagle as it perched on the porch rail, and it seemed content to just hang around the cottage. However, since everybody was to leave the island within a few days, we were concerned about whether the immature bald eagle could survive on its own, but we knew we couldn’t possibly take our national bird on the train with us back to Salisbury! But here is where the resourceful Charlotte Quaile used her imagination and spunk to solve the dilemma. “Of course we can take it back with us on the train,” she said, “we’ll simply call it a chicken!” Thus, along with our baggage, one “chicken” was shipped on the train from Georgia to Connecticut.
For a short time we kept the eagle in one of the large barns on the property. I fed it fish by hand and fortunately knew not to overfeed it, which is a temptation for people rescuing wild creatures, but which can make the animal sick. Our eagle soon was flying much better, sometimes banging into the barn’s walls and roof. It was now wearing a government bird band.
At that point the “eagle committee” decided it was time to release it. The young bald eagle had been quite a celebrity during its short tenure at the school, and the entire faculty and student body gathered on the front lawn to watch its return to the wild. I’ll never know if letting it go like that was the best thing to do for the eagle, but I hope it was. My last sight of that bird is a picture I’ll never forget. As I held my arm aloft, the beautiful raptor extended its lovely wings, rose into the air, and soared over the lake. Everyone watched until it disappeared into the evergreens on the far shore. At the end of the school year, I had saved enough from my paychecks that I could apply to graduate school, although I regretted having to leave this place where I had enjoyed such wonderful times. Because my life there was so idyllic, I feared that if I didn’t return to school right then, I might never do it.
Although I’d always planned to continue my education at Harvard, I had also received an offer from a graduate degree program at the New York Museum of Natural History. A fascinating researcher there had published an article reporting that the pits in the heads of pit vipers are temperature-sensitive sense organs. I had traveled to the museum to visit him, and because of my background in herpetology, he had invited me to be his graduate student. I chose instead to return to Harvard, where I could continue under the sponsorship of my earlier mentor, John Welsh. I had a very sad parting with the Quailes, although I knew we would remain good friends, even at a distance. I approached graduate school as if it were a sumptuous banquet table where it is hard to decide which of the attractive foods you want to select: in what area of Biology did I want to specialize for the rest of my life?
|