Feds collect dead eagles to help Native traditions
ANCHORAGE, Alaska – The bald eagle may be America’s emblem, but the birds are susceptible to the same dangers as the average crow. Each year, thousands of bald eagles are hit by cars, electrocuted and accidentally poisoned.
But unlike crows or any other bird in America, the U.S. government takes a special interest in what happens to these birds after they die.
This is where Steve Smith, maybe the only person in Alaska legally allowed to keep a freezer full of dead bald eagles, comes in.
The U.S. Fish and Wildlife officer is in charge of a salvage effort to collect dead bald and golden eagles and send them to an obscure federal agency called the National Eagle Repository.
On this morning, the freezer, housed in a Fish and Wildlife facility near the Anchorage airport, contains one half-dozen bald eagles wrapped carefully in black garbage bags. One is from the Kenai Peninsula town of Soldotna, another from the Aleutian fishing outpost of Dutch Harbor. Smith will prepare them in airtight packaging to be sent to the Colorado repository. He takes his duty to the national bird seriously.
“Living or dead, I treat them with great respect and care,” he says.
Since the 1970s, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has quietly collected, processed and distributed dead eagles via the repository in an effort to balance conservation efforts with helping Native American tribes continue traditional practices.
At the Commerce City, Colo., agency birds are processed and then distributed to members of federally-recognized tribes who have applied for whole birds, parts or feathers for use in religious and cultural ceremonies. Some tribes have criticized the repository, saying it takes too long to get the birds. The wait for the most requested item, a whole bald eagle, can take up to three years. The average wait for feathers is more than one year.
The Fish and Wildlife’s salvage operations take place in every state where bald eagles are found. But maybe nowhere is busier than Alaska – the only U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service designated region that’s made up of a single state.
During the 2008-2009 year, Alaska contributed 163 salvaged bald eagles to the repository. By contrast, a region made up of the Rocky Mountain States plus the Dakotas, Utah, Nebraska and Kansas contributed 162 birds.
Alaska has the largest concentration of bald eagles in the country – almost half the total population. In the southeastern Alaska town of Haines, up to 3,000-4,000 eagles gather along the Chilkat River’s salmon run during October to December, when the town holds its annual “Bald Eagle Festival.”
Smith gets calls almost every day about eagles – both dead and injured – that are coming in to Anchorage. On this sunny late winter day, he’s on his way to a regional air carrier’s cargo offices to pick up a few birds.
“We take them no matter what condition they’re in – if they’re on the side of the road for a while, if some animal has been chewing on it, we take all of them,” he says. Many of the birds salvaged by Smith are flown in (all the state’s air carriers allow injured eagles to fly for free; dead eagles are shipped as paid cargo) from remote areas.
More and more, Smith also receives injured eagles, who are rushed to a local bird rescue nonprofit for treatment and rehabilitation. Since starting the job in October, 40 injured eagles have been sent to Anchorage, but not all survived.
The birds usually come in one at a time – struck by cars, electrocuted – but occasionally arrive after a massive incident. A few years ago an Ocean Beauty Seafoods truck in Kodiak pulled out of a parking lot carrying an uncovered load of fish slime. In seconds, 50 nearby eagles dove in, attracted to the smell. Around 20 drowned in the goo; the rest flooded into Anchorage’s Bird TLC emergency room for treatment.
“They just started pulling eagles out and sorting them into piles of living and dead,” says Cindy Palmatier, who runs avian rehabilitation services at the Anchorage nonprofit.
Another mass bald eagle death occurred last winter, when an avalanche at the Dutch Harbor city dump killed 12 eagles. One survivor was sent to Anchorage and quickly worked her way into the heart of Smith, who calls the convalescing bird “Avalanche Girl.”
Dealing with dead eagles every day can be grim, Smith says, but increasingly successful – rescues and the knowledge that dead birds’ parts and feathers are going to be used comfort him.
On weekends, when Smith disappears into the valleys and hiking trails around Anchorage he occasionally spots a bald eagle from afar.
“I’m always happy when I see them in the wild and they’re healthy and happy,” he says. “I watch them and think, don’t screw this up.”