There’s a telltale sign that summer is over in the Northwest: the ospreys leave.
These iconic birds of prey typically fly south in September. Until recently, one noisy nest in Bend’s Old Mill District was hard to miss. It was as big as a snow tire, perched high up a skinny pole 100 feet in the air. Every spring for the last several years, two faithful adults come back to this same man-made platform and get to work in full view of anyone passing through the city’s busy whitewater park.
They use razor sharp talons to catch fish in the Deschutes River and they make a cozy home out of sticks they collect. Before their eggs even hatch, they are vigilant parents, standing guard over the nest day in and day out until their young can fly.
A parent osprey returns home to hatchlings at a nest in Bend's Old Mill District on June 24, 2023.
Courtesy of Susan Stendahl
Over the last few summers, I’ve gotten attached to watching this family grow. As a new mom, I’m definitely projecting, but I root for them.
So, when on a recent morning I looked up and saw no nest at all — nothing on the bare wooden platform where an impressive bough had been — my heart sank. I assumed the worst.
I was worried because these birds have a fraught history, especially when it comes to habitat destruction.
Historically, ospreys built nests on top of old conifer trees and dead snags, but as raptor biologist Sadie Pollock put it: “The reality is that a lot of those more natural nesting site opportunities are gone.”
At a nesting site provided by William Smith Properties, and overlooking the Bend Whitewater Park, an adult osprey delivers dinner to its young on Aug. 12, 2023.
Courtesy of Susan Stendahl
A parent osprey delivers fish to its young on Aug. 12, 2023 at a nesting site owned by William Smith Properties, and overlooking Bend's Whitewater Park.
Courtesy of Susan Stendahl
Pollock serves as the education manager for the wildlife rehabilitation center, Think Wild. In August, vets there treated a young osprey that had been prematurely forced out of another nest east of Bend.
“That day we got upwards of 15 calls from different people who noticed the nest was gone and were concerned about the welfare of that family,” Pollock said.
That nest was on top of a power pole. It was taken down by Pacific Power because, as the company told a KTVZ reporter at the time, it had caused a power outage and was a fire risk.
But the abrupt removal stranded a baby osprey, who was not quite ready to fly.
“Luckily there weren’t any major injuries, and we worked with Pacific Power to erect a new pole completely free of power, and essentially use the old nesting material to craft a new nest,” Pollock said.
They put the baby back, and the parents returned within hours. The youngster fledged normally a few weeks later, Pollock said, “So, it was a happy ending for that family.”
Osprey excel at adapting to human encroachment. In that sense, the family I was worried about in Bend’s Old Mill District landed a prime location for urban raptors. Unlike a power pole, their site was especially designed for ospreys, built by one of Bend’s most influential real estate developers, Bill Smith.
“He made a lot of contributions to Bend, his company, his family, Central Oregon,” mused son Matt Smith, “That guy created a lot of stuff, but [the nesting site] was one that he did for himself.”
Juvenile osprey keep watch from their nesting site in the Old Mill District of Bend overlooking the Bend Whitewater Park on Aug. 17, 2023.
Courtesy of Susan Stendahl
Bill Smith’s office looked out over the platform. He died last November, at 81. He was fondly memorialized by the Bulletin newspaper for his lasting legacy as architect of the Old Mill District.
His passing made this year’s return of the osprey especially meaningful for those who knew him.
“It felt like his spirit was back, because he really loved the ospreys so much,” said Peter McCaffrey, vice president of William Smith Properties.
Like the company’s late founder, McCaffrey’s office also boasts a clear view of the nesting platform. He watched the parent ospreys’ painstaking efforts this year.
“It is quite literally one twig at a time that they build this elaborate and sturdy nest up there,” he said.
Two hatchlings transformed quickly, starting as downy little chicks and becoming imposing predators resembling eagles in just a couple of months. McCaffrey observed them learning to fly.
And he knows what happened to their nest.
“The juveniles really tore apart the nest after they got big enough to fly,” he said. “It didn’t look incidental, or like they accidentally bumped it off. It was like they were actually grabbing pieces of it, almost like they were playing with it, and not returning it to the structure of the nest.”
The juvenile birds seemed to enjoy dismantling their parents’ hard work, he said.
“It was a little disappointing at first, like watching a younger toddler destroy an older sibling’s Lego set… But they seemed to be having fun,” McCaffrey chuckled.
Pollock the raptor biologist said she hasn’t seen this behavior before, but that juvenile ospreys are known to be playful and rambunctious, plus there are lots of reasons a nest might start to fall apart. Territorial battles with other raptors could have sparked a chain reaction, or the excessive heat in mid-August could have made the birds restless, she theorized.
Whatever motivated them, the young birds survived the first big test of their lives, and they are now embarking on the next: their first migration to warmer territory. This leaves human fans in Bend to wait until spring, and hope they return and rebuild.
A juvenile osprey picks through the remains of the nest where it was born in Bend's Old Mill District, Aug. 30, 2023.
Courtesy of Susan Stendahl
