Tuesday 11th November 2025. I’m sitting in the grounds of our lodge in the depths of the Kakamega Rainforest in western Kenya watching a female African Crowned Eagle tend its chick. The nest is placed high in an isolated tree that grows directly adjacent to what was the living quarters of the owners of the estate back in the mid 20th century.
The attentive mother eagle is currently shading the fluffy white, half grown youngster from the fierce midday sun, which to our good fortune has beamed down for most of our stay. The eagles started nesting here in 2016 and are something of a star turn for the premises with a file of photographs, a logbook, postcards and much Facebook activity celebrating this rather unique attraction. The pair seem to have been remarkably successful, raising chicks on a regular basis. They are well on their way to ensuring this years breeding cycle is no different since the chick looks healthy, robust and is thriving. I’m not sure the blue monkeys that nonchalantly climb around the forest edge trees and plunge through the thick foliage are aware that their every move is being scrutinised by keen, razor sharp, predatory eyes.
All around the eagle’s platform of interwoven sticks are the gourd shaped nests of Vieillot’s Black Weavers, some even suspended from the stray fringes of the main nest itself. They hang like baubles from a Christmas tree and are there in such close proximity to the ace predators home simply for protection. The eagles are not interested in small birds, they hunt much larger prey in the shape of monkeys which they will pluck from the boughs of the forest canopy.
The female eagle has just now stepped off the nest to stretch its wings and preen, showing off its boldly spotted chest, zebra striped tail, which is very badly worn from time spent in the nest, and rich rusty brown head and crest. The chick took the opportunity to flop around, peer out at its inherited domain, then shuffle to the edge, turning its rear end outwards to project a stream of waste cascading to the ground below where gardeners are busy tending their flower beds. I don’t think anyone received a direct hit.
I’ve noticed that periodically the adult bird will stand up and start calling in a high pitched screech. This invariably precedes a flight to a nearby treetop where, with much thrashing about and ceremony, she removes a fresh sprig which she will deposit in the nest cup in order to keep it fresh. I can imagine that the remains of monkey begin to hum a bit after a day or two.
Yesterday afternoon she stood on the nest, calling in a persistent manner for a couple of minutes without flying off. I knew she was calling to the male bird, but didn’t know from which direction he would arrive. Of course, I was looking the wrong way when he did fly in complete with fresh food, but I did manage to catch him as he left after a short visit.
I’m hoping he will turn up again later today, but I mustn’t be greedy. Sitting here in the shade with only the gentle chirruping of forest birds, the helter-skelter fluttering of colourful butterflies and the soporific droning of bees interrupting the blessed peace, watching the activity of the magnificent King and Queen of the Forest in such intimate detail is more than enough for me.
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