Recollections from Dr. Bill Seegar

For years we only ever met on the island during the migration of the peregrines in the fall. It was never planned; it was always by chance but always as predictable as the passage of the autumn tundra peregrines. We would be flying north up the beach or traveling the wash flats on the interior of the island and our gaze would fall on an inconspicuous figure well off in the distance in a place where we never find other walkers. To those of us in the truck it was like spotting our first falcon of the survey, I would turn to the others and simply say, It’s Dave, lets get up there and find out where the falcons are. We would pull up next to Dave who was always packing his gear, a spotting scope and binoculars along with his pack and supplies for the day. In the early days before I knew Dave well we were skeptical about seeing someone so far out for such long periods but we quickly learned he knew as much if not more about the bird’s behavior and activities on the island than we did. He knew the falcons, he knew where they were and he had better eyes than I did for spotting them so of course I would get Dave in the truck as soon as I saw him. With Dave on board our success rate in seeing and capturing birds would always go up. Dave was an accomplished scientist, a meticulous observer, a wonderful note taker and knew his birds, and not just the falcons and hawks. In fact we often quote Dave’s notes and observations on the predation of shorebirds by the adult peregrine falcons. Dave saw numerous predation episodes and was able to document the age of the peregrines and the exact species of the prey, a feat only a few field ornithologists could do reliably.

I will never forget one ride Dave took with us early one morning on the Refuge beach. We met him on the road out to the Wash Flats and we had room so in the truck he came. We took the access to the beach at D Dike and were headed north up the refuge beach at first light. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the flash of a pair of knife like wings and a dark bird flying fast along the surf headed north. We took off in pursuit of what I was certain was an adult male peregrine falcon which we had great difficulty overtaking. The ride was fast and bumpy but ever so gradually we began to overtake the birds, as we pulled alongside Dave, who had the back-seat window, finally was able to get a good look at the bird which I was just about to throw on when he yelled out, Bill, it’s a Shearwater not a peregrine. I eased back on the pedal and we slowed to a stop as the birds pulled off in the distance. We see very few Shearwaters on the beach, in fact it may have been my first, had it not been for Dave I probably would have never known what it was we chased 8 miles down the beach. We all had a good laugh and headed back down the beach for a few peregrine falcon captures Dave spotted later that morning.

The last time I saw Dave he was standing on a small dune on the North End of Assateague. We had driven with him for a few hours that day and we left him with the evening light up the beach where he preferred to be. He turned down a ride back to his car - he wanted to walk back with the chance of one last glimpse of a migrating peregrine falcon. I checked my rearview mirror when I was a few hundred yards south of Dave and recall getting that last glimpse; he was standing quietly, watching with the expectation of just one more falcon. To many he must have looked like a lonely, forlorn figure but I knew different. I smiled as I returned to the task of driving south; I knew Dave was home on the beach, one with the falcons and the island he loved so dearly.