In Stony Creek Bay, up to twenty osprey gathered and fished. Several families were joining the two from the Washburn Tract and the Route 146 nest, who had been coming regularly, teaching the young to fish. Until this year, I had observed the fledglings' growth as increasing in size and learning to use flight muscles; to lift and glide and swoop. But this aspect of becoming independent- catching dinner - turns out to be quite a challenge; even knowing what to do after catching it!

One youngster, flying lower than others, seemed to be practicing flight maneuvers with the gusty winds. I noted them, patching my jeans in sprays. The osprey would point, dive, then sharply bank, looping up. He would tip, turn, tilt, flip. I could see the pearly design in his feathers, feel the air tension in the "fingers" of his wings; see the minor, critical adjustments in movement - very subtle and powerful. Sometimes, he was knocked off balance by a buffeting blast. All around him, other osprey were hovering; he tried this, too.

He even shimmied, practicing the body movements that osprey make, momentarily pausing in mid-air as they swallow a small fish. He imitated the motion, though he had not entered the water or caught a fish! I was impressed by how they have to practice each slight variation; feel it many times, play with it. A couple of times, a parent who was higher would perform a maneuver then call out, as if asking the youngster to pay attention and note what he had done. Or maybe, try it. There are a lot of intricate moves to master.

One caught about a foot-long fish. He struggled with it, remaining a long time under the water. Finally, one wing tore through the water, bent, then another. Then he went under again. Finally, his body was on the surface, but his feet remained under, holding the fish, who must have been giving quite a fight. The osprey jerkily rose, then went down on the water, then rose with the catch in his talon, and bumpily flew along the surface to a nearby rock pile. There, he sat with the fish, looking around, as if wondering what to do next. (When I mentioned this incident to Roland Clement, former National Audubon scientist, he suggested the bird was tired. That made sense!)

A cormorant popped his head up near the rock pile, and the osprey actually waved his tail, as if to announce the happy catch - perhaps his first! With my camera, I edged neared, along a small stand of phragmites. He may have sensed my scrutiny; grasping the fish in his talons, he flew back into the water, and then hopped like a stone to another spot; but he couldn't lift the fish into his beak, and finally let it go and flew off. Not long after, a greater black-back gull was seen on the same spot in the rock pile, eating a fish....

It seems that the osprey, master of flight, capture the attention of everyone around them. I remained until the wind had blown so much rain down my chin that I was soaked from the inside of my jacket! One time, when an osprey dropped the fish as he was lifting off the water, a cormorant appeared beside him. I've read that if an osprey drops a fish, he won't try to get it again. Cormorants seem to know that. Once, as another osprey dove in, a cormorant followed; when the "sea eagle" lifted up, the cormorant followed him as he hopped along the surface.

Others watched, not to pick up the leftovers, but admiring, like I did, the dramatic tips and flips. They responded like I used to, when I saw the Balshoi Ballet on TV - I would have to get up and leap and twirl; similarly, a gull shimmied in mid-air, imitating the osprey; and two starlings also made the motions. After the shaking, they stopped abruptly, landing quickly on nearby wires, to rest in security! For the creatures in the "gallery," the actions are experimental, not essential for their life style. They have the option to pause any time it is too threatening. But the osprey have to keep going, and although they are equipped for it, they have to gain prowess, and that is challenging.