Bird on a Wire
My wife Cathy and I are on a month long road trip to visit friends and family in Tennessee, NY, Maine, Massachusetts and Columbia SC, so I offer this unusual story that I wrote for the October 2022 Nautical Mile issue. I hope you enjoy it.
I was a social worker in Massachusetts for 40 years, investigating all manner of child abuse, and seeing up close and personal the mayhem that humans rain down upon each other all to often in this world.
I’ve also been a hunter and a fisherman, and I’ve thumped over way too many creatures running into the path of my cars.
But I was not prepared for what I saw in my back yard the other day. Dangling from a wire running across my Whiskey Creek canal, 35 feet above the water, was a bird; (a common grackle I found out later), struggling to get free.
It must have been there a long time, for it mostly hung motionless, occasionally flailing its wings with what little energy it had remaining, before returning, exhausted, to its lifeless pose suspended over the water.
I zoomed in with my phone camera, feeling a bit guilty that I was recording its misery. Through my lens, I saw that its beak had been pierced from bottom to top by a hook attached to a fishing line now wrapped around the wire.
The line looked like it had been there for years; and there was no bait on the hook. Why did it clamp down on that hook? Did it impale itself foraging in the creek, and then snag itself as it flew away? I put the thought out of my mind as I tried to come up with a rescue plan.
I extended my pole saw as far as it would go, but I wasn’t even close. From the clumping bamboo trees growing along my seawall, I cut the tallest shaft I could, and climbed on my boat; raising my lift to its highest setting, but it was still several feet short.
Casting with my fishing rod, I only succeeded in adding to the tangled mess above thACe bird. The idea of using my pellet gun to end its suffering crossed my mind, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Watching it struggle made me sick. I felt helpless.
A few months ago I had written about the CROW Wildlife Rehabilitation Center on Sanibel, and made friends with its Public Relations and Marketing Director Hallie Mesics; so I called her.
I remembered that mCany of their nearly 7000 annual wildlife rescues involve fishing line encounters, prompting the organization to launch a successful “Mind Your Line” program, installing safe disposal containers for the fishing line and hooks that litter our shores and waterways.
“Call the fire department Bob. If they aren’t busy they’d be happy to try a rescue. It happens all the time,” she advised.
I didn’t want to call 911. I found myself weighing the ethical question of bothering first responders over a six-ounce common grackle. Even the name says it’s just “common.”
Nevertheless, I called Fire Department Station 71, at the corner of Winkler and McGregor, four tenths a mile from my home, avoiding 911. Their voice-mail offered nine options. I tried five, and got five more voice mail options; but none of them offered a link to a live person.
I reluctantly called 911: “911. What is your emergency?” Oh boy. Two sentences into my clearly non-emergency request I got a polite but clear message that this was not the number I should have called.
They quickly connected me to another fire department official, who issued another admonition. I told them about the suffering bird. “I’ll call you back on a non emergency line. Please hang up.” I did.
How to convey the importance of rescuing a tiny bird? How do I explain how upsetting it was to see it suffer?
After my attempt, I was told that the message would be passed along, but there were no promises that anyone would be able to respond. I wandered into my front yard, hoping it was a slow day for the Fort Myers Fire Department.
Soon, a huge ladder truck pulled up, and three firefighters jumped out. Embarrassed but determined, I led them to my canal, apologizing for bothering them, while hoping they understood.
“You know, if it was a heron or something like that, there’d be no problem getting it rescued,” one offered. These guys understood, and put me at ease.
The dying bird got to them too. They said I had done the right thing. Great guys, but they had no way to reach the bird either.
Hoisting a ladder in the middle of the canal and hoping the line held wasn’t a good option. A debate ensued over whether the wire was a power or cable line.
Suddenly, a call came in on their radios, and they were gone. It was over, I thought. Nice try Bob, but you came up short.
Fifteen minutes later, the truck was back. I couldn’t believe it. “Somebody decided to light a charcoal grill in their kitchen. Easy call,” one explained.
FPL was called, and another big truck rolled up. They cut power to the line, and the driver pulled a huge pole from the truck. I grabbed a knife and some duct tape, and the firemen secured it to the end.
I climbed into the canal with a large net, and gave the go ahead to have the technician cut the fishing line. The bird splashed into the water, and I quickly waded out and scooped it up.
The firemen were waiting with wire cutters, and cut the hook’s barb while I scrambled for a small box. The bird was barely moving but alive as we placed it into the box.
The poor thing just leaned against the side of the box, and I closed the lid. I was ready to transport it to a local vet that Hallie said would treat it, but decided to wait a little while to see if it would recover on its own.
Peeking in from time to time, I smiled when I saw that it had gained strength, and more than a little bit of attitude.
After two hours, I gently pulled it from the box, and opened my hands to the sky. It flew ten feet to a nearby bush, landed, and turned to look at me. I gave it a huge smile, and the not-so-common grackle flew away.
Past Commander Bob Moro AP
Fort Myers Power Squadron-America’s Boating Club
