Eagle Eyed

A chilly day for watching eagles at Arcadia Lake. Photo by Karlie Ybarra

This time in the year is often referred to as “the dead of winter.” It makes sense in many ways, since this is when our average temperature is as low as it goes, and the sunlight seems to slip away as abruptly as a reluctant party guest. Trees reach their boney hands into the sky beseeching an end to the icy winds, while animals hide in nests and dens for as long as possible.

Mostly, I take my cues from the little critters and stay under the covers as much as the responsibilities of bills and hygiene will allow. In fact, one of the things that I love most about winter is the implicit permission for sloth. “I just couldn’t get out of bed this morning because it’s too cold,” I will often text my husband as I head to work, even though we both know I would probably still be running late even if it were warm (my bed is without a doubt my absolute favorite place).

But one of my New Year’s resolutions—along with reading more, drinking more tea, and wearing glitter whenever I feel like—is to do things. Vague, I know, but therein lies its attainability. When I saw that Arcadia Lake was having its annual Eagle Watch this past weekend, I decided, as a bird lover, new owner of fancy binoculars, and person who lives about a half-hour from Lake Arcadia, this was a thing I should do. With virtually no planning other than “You wanna go to this thing?” and clothes that weren’t nearly warm enough, we embarked on our Arcadia adventure and set to exploring the area’s three parks in search of majestic avian transients.

Though no eagles were spotted, Karlie found a lot of life in the dead of winter at Arcadia Lake. Photo by Karlie Ybarra

As soon as we stepped out of our car, I was reminded another reason why dead of winter is apropos: You will die if you stay out in it for too long. The wind was mild by Oklahoma standards but still packed a punch when it touched any patch of exposed skin. Apparently the eagles weren’t having it either, since there were none that we could see or hear. I wondered if even this short drive was a waste of time.

Then, as we stood by the shores of the placid lake, our ears were perked by a soft swishing sound. “Over there,” my husband pointed, just before a small herd of deer began leaping through the woods just north of us. I’ve seen wild deer many times before, but never close enough to touch them, to hear their gentle swiftness as they run free. Overhead, the shrill declarations of Canada geese seemed comical by comparison. As the geese landed, mallards quacked their disapproval and glided off to somewhere more private. The sun began to set, the wind died, and the water was transformed into a giant looking glass, reflecting the cotton candy blues and pinks of the sky without interruption. The cold was no longer an oppressor, but a period on the end of a lovely thought. We are all cold, together, in this moment.

Winter is hard in every sense of the word. But not dead. Life, and all its accompanying beauty, still grow in every nook and cranny of gray earth. Sometimes you just have to suit up, shut up, and look a little harder for it.

Written By

Karlie Ybarra

Managing editor Karlie Ybarra loves to explore her home state—and meet many of its animal citizens—any chance she gets.