Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 3: Weather Conditions
WILLA
He was exactly on time.
She had been watching the cliff face since six-fifteen and had a grid count of the east face completed by seven-forty, which gave her twenty minutes to review the notes before he arrived. She was at the cottage door when the coast road delivered him: tall, dark-haired, moving with the specific unhurried quality of someone who knew the ground they were walking on.
The community’s coastal liaison, one Finn Ashwood, was not what she’d been expecting on the basis of the survey protocol notes. The notes said: *liaison responsible for lighthouse maintenance and coastal monitoring station*. The notes did not say: *looks like he was made by the cliff face specifically to live on it.*
She noted this thought and filed it somewhere irrelevant.
He said: “Dr. Marsh.” He held out his hand.
She said: “Willa.” She shook it. His grip was unhurried and direct. “You’re exactly on time.”
He said: “I try to be.” He looked at the spotting scope still on the tripod in the garden. “You’ve been out.”
She said: “Since six-fifteen. The east face count was productive.” She paused. “I’d like access to the outer cliff positions.”
He said: “Come in out of the wind first.”
It was not windy. The morning was flat and still, the marine layer already lifting, the sea a polished grey-green below the cliff edge. She noted this and went inside.
The cottage was what the federal program provided for visiting researchers: functional, clean, the specific character of a space that had been lived in by a succession of temporary occupants. She’d set up her monitoring equipment in the second room and her own gear in a precise arrangement that meant she knew exactly where everything was regardless of what time she got up.
She had coffee already made. She offered him some.
He accepted and sat at the kitchen table with the quality of someone who had done this before in this specific kitchen.
She said: “How many researchers have come through this cottage?”
He said: “In the past ten years? Seven or eight.”
She said: “The previous survey visit was two years ago.”
He said: “That’s right.”
She said: “Dr. Petersen. She was here for four days.”
He said: “About that.”
She said: “Her count was within one of the database figure. Forty individuals observed, one noted as possibly offshore.” She looked at him. “She counted from the cottage position and the north track.”
He said: “Those are the standard accessible positions.”
She said: “And the outer cliff face.”
He said: “The outer face requires boat access to the north rocks and there was weather that week.”
She said: “I’d like access to the outer cliff face positions this week.”
He said: “The weather —”
She said: “I checked the forecast this morning. Mild through Thursday, building Friday, clearing Saturday.” She paused. “The outer cliff positions are documented in the survey protocol package as accessible by arrangement.”
He looked at her.
She looked at him back.
There was a quality to his stillness that was not uncomfortable — it was the stillness of someone who was thinking, not the stillness of someone who was deciding how to deflect. She found herself interested in which one it was.
He said: “I can take you to the outer positions. The boat access requires calm sea conditions and I want to check the forecast myself before we commit to the outer rocks. The cliff path positions I can show you tomorrow.”
She said: “Today.”
He said: “I have the lighthouse maintenance run this morning.”
She said: “This afternoon.”
He said: “I could do two o’clock.”
She said: “I’ll be ready at two.”
He almost smiled. It was not a full smile — it was the beginning of a smile that was contained before it arrived. She filed that away too, in a different category from the one she’d been using.
He said: “What’s your study focus? The database survey is population count and condition assessment, but you’ve been here less than twenty hours and you’ve run a grid survey.”
She said: “Population count and condition assessment are the official remit. I’m also looking at the stability figures.”
He said: “The stability figures.”
She said: “Forty-one individuals, six consecutive survey seasons. Zero mortality data. Zero nest failure.” She held her coffee cup. “Do you know what the natural mortality rate is for a bald eagle population of this size?”
He was quiet for a moment.
He said: “Some.”
She said: “Between five and fifteen percent annually, depending on habitat quality and food availability. For a population of forty-one, that’s two to six individuals per year. The database shows zero in six years.”
He said: “This is exceptional habitat.”
She said: “The exceptional habitat would explain low mortality. It would not explain zero mortality.” She looked at him. “It could also explain the unusually high population density for the cliff area. What’s the prey base like?”
He said: “Excellent. The northern waters have been particularly productive the past decade.”
She said: “What fish?”
He said, without hesitation: “Chinook primarily, coho in the fall run, halibut and rockfish year-round. The community does coastal fishing — we’ve got six years of catch data that would give you a sense of the prey base consistency.”
She looked at him.
He’d answered that without consulting anything. The catch data reference was specific — *six years* — and matched the survey window she’d been discussing. Either he had a very good memory for numbers or he’d been thinking about the relationship between the prey base and the eagle population and had the figures ready.
She said: “I’d like to see the catch data.”
He said: “I’ll get it to you.”
She said: “Thank you.” She paused. “Can I ask how long you’ve been the liaison for the survey program?”
He said: “Since the survey designation was applied to the cliff site. About ten years.”
She said: “So you’ve managed all seven or eight researcher visits.”
He said: “That’s right.”
She said: “And the previous researchers — they all used the standard accessible positions.”
He said: “The outer positions require specific conditions. Most researchers who came for a week or two didn’t have the window.”
She said: “I’m here for three weeks minimum. Possibly extended.” She looked at her notebook on the table. “I have the full window.”
He said: “Two o’clock, the cliff path positions.” He stood. “I’ll have the boat access sorted for Thursday if the forecast holds.”
She said: “I’ll be at the cottage path at two.”
He walked to the door.
She said: “One more thing.”
He stopped.
She said: “My morning count was thirty-seven. The database says forty-one.”
He turned and looked at her. His face was composed and attentive and told her nothing.
He said: “The east face from the cottage has partial visibility. The south bay sector and the outer face extension will give you additional individuals.”
She said: “How many additional individuals would you estimate?”
He said: “Depends on the day.”
She said: “But in the range of four.”
He looked at her with the contained quality of the almost-smile and said: “Possibly, yes.”
She said: “Good.”
He said: “I’ll see you at two.”
She watched him walk back up the coast road.
She wrote in her field notebook: *Finn Ashwood. Liaison, ten years. Knows the cliff geography and the prey base data precisely. Response to outer cliff access question: mild redirect, weather conditions (conditions are mild). Response to stability figures: no direct engagement. Response to thirty-seven vs forty-one: south bay sector and outer face extension. Estimate of additional individuals in range of four: confirmed without confirming.*
She looked at what she’d written.
She wrote: *He knows the count is off. He is not concerned. He is managing.*
She paused.
She wrote: *He is managing me.*
She looked at the cliff face through the cottage window — the east face, the section she’d counted, the twenty-odd individuals visible in the morning light going about the ordinary business of being eagles in the way that this population always did.
Zero mortality in six years.
Forty-one the same number for six consecutive surveys.
A prey base that was *particularly productive* by the assessment of a man who had been standing between visiting researchers and the outer cliff positions for a decade.
She wrote: *Two o’clock. Cliff path positions. Ask about the south bay nesting sites specifically.*
She wrote: *He said: possibly, yes. He knows.*
She looked at the word *managing* and thought about what, exactly, was being managed.
She thought: *the data.*
She thought: *I need the outer face count before I can say more than that.*
She thought: *two o’clock.*
She went to set up the spotting scope at a new angle.
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