“Maybe the third time will be the charm,” I thought to myself as the large raptor emerged from the water empty-handed and shrugged the excess off his feathers before grabbing the air with his wings. In flight the bird was raptorial, cutting through the crisp fall air with precision and grace. In the water, he was anything but graceful—in fact, to me the Osprey—a large powerful bird of prey a bit bigger than a Red-tailed Hawk—always looks a bit silly floundering in the waves after plunging into the water.

Ospreys nest throughout Canada’s north woods—where they are solitary sentinels in tall trees overlooking clear blue water. They have nested a few times in east Texas, though they are most often seen in the Lone Star State as migrants in the spring and fall—especially on area lakes and reservoirs. They are attractive birds—sporting clean white breasts and black backs and checkered wings. Like several other birds that hang out near water they have dark lines through the eyes to reduce the glare when they dive into the water.

The reason they dive into the water is because they are fish eaters, which they catch by plunging straight down, often going completely underwater in the process. Although the technique is effective, it sometimes seems a bit awkward, as the birds come up from the beneath the surface, shake off the water and then finagle their prey and take flight—that is, if they are successful.

However, despite two attempts, the bird I was watching was still out of luck. But he was going to try again. I figured that. It was like a performance in a stadium, and I—standing alone on the boat ramp at Mt Vernon City Lake—was the only one present. It was one of those glorious fall days—the morning clouds were breaking up and sending rays of sunshine cascading toward the earth. You couldn’t ask for a better day to be at the lake.

I first saw this all-star player five minutes earlier when it had flown from its perch in a tall sweet gum on the western shore. After two failed attempts I could tell he was going to try again because he headed far out across the lake and then turned and approached on a six foot wingspan, heading toward the same spot where he had failed twice before. Gazing deeply into the clear water he suddenly fell like a rock into the water disappearing for a pregnant second or two. He came up. He shuddered. He shook himself off. He raised his powerful wings and took to the skies and in the strong grip of his sharp talons was a five inch prize. He secured it carefully, head first (so as to reduce the drag in flight) and then headed off to eat his meal in private.

“The third time is the charm,” I though to myself as he disappeared into the cove by the dam. A fishing Osprey is something that everyone should experience at least once in their life. It always reminds me of things my parents told me that went something like “If at first you don’t succeed…”