My husband Dave on the left pondering
the project. Jim Jones on the right.
He's my Osprey and Raptor Mentor.
He single handedly helped to restore the Osprey population on Long Island by installing some of the very first Osprey Poles.
We love Jim :)
There I am, proudly displaying what has taken over a year to materialize.... 
These will make a fine nest some day.
I spend so much time looking through that scope. It's aimed right on the nest, and that's how I spotted Henry's predicament in the first place. This was the picture that they ran in our local newspaper The Observer.
This was Henry...... we had such hopes for this majestic creature.
I will never forget him.
Volunteers For Wildlife took him in to assess his condition. He sure did show some spunk.
Hey, "What you lookin' at"????
Last year at this time, I bore witness to the harsh reality that nature is directly influenced by the human population. This is the material, waste really, that was used as nesting material by the Ospreys and later entangled baby Henry.
Every Action Has a Reaction, The Plight Of My Osprey
By Shelley Contin-Hubbs
The Sunday morning of July 23rd, 2006 proved to be much like any other sun filled glorious summer day. After my morning coffee, my ritual would be to set up my telescope from my bedroom deck. Once in place another World opened up to me. Living across from the Jerome Ambro Memorial Wetlands Preserve, there is a vast expanse of wetlands….. The panoramic view can be breathtaking.
As I pulled the lens covers off, a couple of women walked by, oblivious to not only me, but to the world that lay across the field. I can remember they were complaining about something, or someone, and as their words became mere murmurs, I again refocused on my morning routine. This was the time of day that I loved the most. I zeroed in on my target, an Osprey nest that had been occupied by a family of five, mother, father and three fledglings.
The young were devouring some unfortunate live, floundering fish…. learning to manipulate their strong talons to hold and shred its flesh, but something was wrong. One of the babies could only maneuver a foot or so in diameter. It seemed as though it was having trouble with its right leg. I stepped back, telling myself that I was seeing things, but as I struggled to focus, the reality of the situation became clear. This baby was tethered to the nest.
I panicked. What would I do, who would I call, how could this tragic situation be rectified? I knew nothing about handling Raptors, and began to feel very helpless.
I started dialing every number that I could think of….. the Police, Town hall; I made numerous phone calls, much to no avail, remembering and kicking myself that of all days for this to occur, it would have to be Sunday.
I couldn’t imagine how this had happened, or why I hadn’t noticed this before, but the young had only started to take flight, and in doing so, I could see the plight of this suffering baby. When the nest was full, their legs were obstructed by the closeness of their bodies. Now that they soared above, I could see this lone baby stumbling and pulling, yanking its foot repeatedly in the hopes to free itself. As I looked even more intently it became evident that his leg was extremely swollen and discolored.
With my heart pounding, I phoned several Wildlife Rehabilitators. One had told me that they had the exact situation occur the week before in Smithtown, and made several suggestions of whom to call. Apparently, Ospreys are very innovative nest builders, and delight in finding twine, strings, plastic bags, fishing monofilament and debris of all kinds.
No one seemed able to help me, the Police, the Harbor Patrol, no one. I even phoned the rescuers of the Osprey from the week before, and they felt horrible in telling me that it was out their jurisdiction. Finally, I heard some positive news, Volunteers For Wildlife, in Lloyds Neck, work with a rescuer, Jim Jones. They phoned him mentioning my plight and he was anxious to help. He has a passion for Raptors and all wildlife, and has done much to help them. He’s even been responsible for setting up many of these nesting poles thereby single handedly increasing the Osprey population.
We spoke, and he agreed to come out first thing the next morning, the only time possible for him to make it, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too late.
I barely slept that night, wondering how my Osprey was faring…… first thing in the morning I rushed to that telescope. It was evident that not only was he suffering, but he was now lying down, and when he did move it seemed somewhat labored.
Alas, our rescuer arrived, and we hastefully trudged out to the Osprey Nest. We wondered how the family would react to our intervention. It took awhile to navigate through the wetlands, and finally we found our path, at times falling into sinkholes amongst the marsh.
When we reached our destination, the parents and the two able fledglings took flight, circling and circling, ever closer. They never swarmed us, as if they knew that we were there to help. The ladder was set, and Jim made the climb. The baby instantly lifted off, launching hard into the air, immediately making an arc as the tethered noose tightened. He flopped upside down with a snap, as the lead only afforded him about a foot past the nest, and there he hung.
It took several minutes for him to be freed, minutes that felt like hours. There were massive amounts of rope, twine, monofilament, fishing hooks and metal leads imbedded around his foot. Suddenly I was handed the bird. He was encased in a protective bag, a simple pillowcase, but the mere emotion of holding him, and knowing that he would be safe, enveloped me. Jim went back up the ladder and spent several more minutes eradicating the remaining deadly fishing garb.
And then they were gone. The baby Osprey was in need of immediate medical attention.
Attention that I was told had come none too soon. It was made clear that he would not have lived another day, and I was thankful that my prayers had been answered. At least he was safe, and hopefully the injuries sustained would not be too severe.
We joked about our “release party”. We’d call all the media, and make everyone aware of this hearty, robust, exquisite bird of prey. He represented hope, and survival, he represented freedom.
Well, disappointment was forthcoming. The Osprey, my Osprey suffered a severe laceration that severed its tendon, and the wound was infected. He had a fishing hook embedded in his foot, and its wire leader had sliced right through like a knife. But he WAS rescued, and tended too; wounds cleaned, his leg in a cast, meds administered, now only time would tell what his fate would be.
He’s currently healing, two months now, and on the road to recovery. It’s still not known whether he will ever be able to be released, and knowing that Ospreys do not take well to living in captivity, his fate is most uncertain. But what is certain, is that birds and wildlife everywhere are dying, dying because of people’s ignorance, or sheer apathy. If each of us would just pay more attention to the fact that we coexist, not only with other people, but with so many other living, breathing creatures, this World, our World would be a happier, safer place. We’ve all been taught that every action has a reaction, this is certainly evident here.
Pay it Forward, The Plight of my Osprey
By Shelley Contin-Hubbs
The leaves have steadily been turning, and there is a distinct familiarity to the crisp chill in the air. I gaze over the quiet terrain that not long ago was teaming with life. Hours can slip away, while staring out at the expanse of land that is designated, The Jerome Ambro Memorial Wetlands Preserve.
The Osprey that had once been a part of my daily routine, invigorating and renewing my spirit have gone. They were my window to inner peace and a glimpse into paradise. One by one I watched them soar off, first the mother, then father, followed by one juvenile soon after. It seemed as though one final obstinate youngster would hold out for all time, ignoring the ever persistent drive to take wing and fly South, but then it too, was gone. Or so I had thought….. blinking my eyes to get a clearer picture I could barely make out something perched in the nest. It was the end of October, certainly this was no Osprey? I thought that I had heard of instances in which a youngster would stay on and Winter in its place of origin, but I was positive that this was never at this latitude. I strained even closer to get a glimpse, unable to fully focus or fathom what indeed was taking up residence here. I struggled in haste to place the telescope in position. I had nestled it far into the corner of my bedroom, having no longer felt the urgency to check on my brood each morning, since their departure. I found that it became a sad constant reminder that Winter was on it’s way.
Once everything was in place, my heart skipped a beat as I leaned in and peered through the telescope. Perched in audacious glory, was a seagull, in peaceful slumber. This was de ja vu……. it had been at least a month since I’d glanced through the scope, something that had become so familiar to me, an extension of myself. Every morning and several times throughout the day I’d stare out, gaping in awe at this domain. Their world had become my world since early Spring, when I first spotted the Male Osprey’s return, and I’d peek out, and glimpse into Heaven.
Once the female arrived I’d watch their courtship, and then they’d roost. I calculated when the first chick might hatch, and waited in anticipation. I gleefully squealed with delight when I unsuspectingly witnessed three fuzzy heads one cheerful morning. Three young fledglings that grew up strong and fast. But that seemed like ages ago, and I suddenly flashed back to that horrific day when I noticed that one of them, was suffering and tethered to its nest. Our eagerness for his release, after a well choreographed rescue, carried us through the long months of his rehab. A release, that inevitably would never take place.
I’ve not seen such dedication, as exhibited by the rehabilitators known as Volunteers for Wildlife, in Lloyds Neck, with their friend and fellow Raptor Rescuer, Jim Jones. They had gone to such lengths, to nurture and restore health to my forlorn baby Osprey. Their diligence and unyielding efforts led them from Veterinarian to Veterinarian for consult. Lastly, he was evaluated by experts at the Bronx Zoo, where they too were cautiously optimistic for his future. Then suddenly, and for no explicable reason, he took a turn for the worse. Perhaps it was being imprisoned in a cage with the constant unyielding need to move on; or never having had the ability to fully expand his wings, launching high into the air, taking that first flight, and soaring hundreds of feet above the nest. At no time would he have the opportunity to dive, plunging into the cool waters below, latching onto that very first fish. To never taste the blood, and victory of his first kill. To NEVER, EVER, experience freedom. These things still sadden me, and the hurt will remain for some time to come. We all had such high hopes for this little fellow, and the unfortunate truth is that this would never come to pass. I will always wonder the“what ifs”, (if only I had only noticed his plight sooner!)
The month that has gone by truly feels like several, and I can only imagine where the other members of this Osprey Family are, at this moment in time. Each in his/her own rightful place, traveling on a path encoded in its genes. Flapping, and soaring, for thousands, upon thousands of miles. For the young forging on, this is unchartered territory, a totally undetermined destination, and I pray that they are safe.
Most Northeast Osprey fly South over land, crossing the ocean at Cape Fear, and continue to fly further and further South, on its migration. This is often termed the “highway to the tropics”. They will Winter in South or Central America till one day the urge will overtake them to fly back from whence they came, and the young will find a mate. The parents in their monogamy will find each other again, and the species will live on. They all tend to separate in Winter, parents not only from juveniles , but from each other as well, too return in the Spring. The young will rest up and mature, honing their skills, as they may stay in their Winter spot for a year or more, before returning to where they were born; and carry on as those before.
That is hopefully what’s in store for the two remaining siblings. The third of this brood will not be returning, for that this is certain. Injuries sustained in the nest, that could not be healed led it’s caretakers to do the only humane thing. Humane seems like such a peculiar word, as this poor innocent creature would never have been in this position if it weren’t for Humanity in the first place.
So, now the grieving process continues, but in an effort to insure that this doesn’t happen again, it is my intention to take on the personal challenge of advocating for these beautiful, majestic birds. Perhaps educating our young children to be careful of their actions is a good place to start. Pay attention to your surroundings, and ALWAYS leave things better then they were before. Help to clean up our parks and waterways and emphasize the urgency in disposing fishing tackle and all garbage immediately and appropriately. This will be my message.
My mentor in the World of Osprey’s and Raptor’s, Mr. Jim Jones has offered to erect and install a couple of new nesting poles in the Ambro’s Preserve. In this way, perhaps we can honor this Ospreys ill-fated demise. It is my plan to help see this through.
So, next Spring, when life abounds, look up to the sky above this wetlands, Look way, way up high, and watch the miraculous beauty of our native Osprey and remember, that we are responsible for our World, and in turn their World. It is absolutely our duty to pay it forward.
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We are currently in the process of installing two new Osprey Poles. We built the poles several weeks ago, and are currently choreographing the installation that I hope will take place by the middle of September.
It is important for the current babies, "juvenilles" to eyeball these new poles before they make their way to South America. This way, the new poles perhaps will be imprinted in their memories, and they too will have offspring here.
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