It’s early April 2026. Millions of basketball fans have been focused on their TVs or in big arenas watching their favorite college teams compete in one of America’s biggest sporting events.Though I enjoy catching a few games, I’ve discovered a far more profound competition—one that takes place in one of my favorite “arenas”: Jacobson Park in Lexington, Kentucky.
Like a seasoned sportscaster, I arrive early. The arena is quiet, still wrapped in darkness. The action will come soon, but for now, I take in the calm—the subtle shift of color in the sky, the slow arrival of sunrise.
Across the park, another kind of rush hour has already begun. Hundreds of headlights and taillights stream north along Richmond Road toward Lexington—office jobs, hospital shifts, service work. Coffee in hand, breakfast from a drive-thru, eyes fixed on the car ahead.
What most won’t see is the incoming rush just a couple hundred feet above them.
Unlike the steady northbound traffic, this rush comes in waves—arriving just as the sun breaks the horizon.
On this first day of our March Madness in late March, I sit by the paddle boat dock with my friend Virgil. I know what’s coming. Virgil—a seasoned bird photographer—does not.
I try to explain it: the cormorants, the eagles, the ospreys. He listens… but he doesn’t quite grasp it. Not yet anyway.
Then, right on cue, the first wave appears in the northwestern sky—like a sortie of Warthog fighter jets gliding in at full speed.
Double-crested cormorants.
They come in fast, then begin circling to bleed off speed. As if responding to unseen air traffic control, their webbed feet drop in unison—landing gear deployed.
They hit the water. Then another wave. And another. Within minutes, 300 to 400 birds have joined the lake.
Virgil and I are the only ones there to witness what happens next. The feeding frenzy begins. Cormorants form a massive flotilla, working together with remarkable coordination. Heads and bodies plunge beneath the surface as they herd fish into tighter and tighter corners.
Then—chaos. Splashing. Thrashing. Wings beating the water.
Cormorants surface with fish—large and small—dangling from their beaks. They maneuver them with precision, flipping and swallowing before diving again. As a unit, the flotilla shifts across the lake, repeating the process as new waves arrive from the north.
But the cormorants are not the only players in this game. As the sun rises, a bald eagle appears overhead. Then another. Then a third.
Like all-stars entering the arena, they descend with purpose—executing the perfect steal, snatching fish directly from the cormorants’ beaks. With their prize secured, they retreat to shoreline trees to eat, watching the frenzy below before returning for another pass.
And then—another team enters. Smaller than the eagles, but no less formidable. The ospreys. Precision divers.
They circle high above, scanning for opportunity. Then suddenly—commitment. A full-speed dive. A perfect dunk. They strike the water with explosive force, emerging seconds later with a fish locked in their talons, climbing skyward through a spray of water droplets.
At one point, we watch an osprey taunt an eagle mid-air—an aerial pick-and-roll of sorts—forcing the eagle to roll onto its back, talons extended in defense.
There are no referees here. The better aggressor wins.
Throughout the week, the scenario repeats itself each morning. Bonaparte’s gulls, Caspian terns, and great blue herons make opportunistic flyovers, hoping for a turnover—and sometimes getting one.
And a few days later the Great White Egrets joined in for their opportunities
And like the Egrets, the Blue Herons also get in on the action with flyovers and sideline observing
There is no scoreboard. But there are plenty of scores.
By week’s end, the massive flocks of cormorants begin to thin, but the game remains the same. A few more human spectators arrive—most hoping to catch eagles or ospreys flying off with fish.
Then, after 40 to 50 minutes of pure chaos, the frenzy fades. The cormorants rise from the water and head low and fast across the lake—like Star Wars speeder bikes—toward Richmond Road. They cross above the traffic and continue to nearby Lake Ellerslie, their “locker room,” where they perch in trees to digest, preen, and spread their wings to dry in the sun.
In the meantime, he eagles return to their nests along the lake. The ospreys head back to their towers.
And just like that…The arena goes quiet again.
Only the geese, a few photographers, and some fishermen remain.
Until tomorrow when the madness begins again.
Did you enjoy what you saw here? My books cover so much more.
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You can get my books online! The series now has five books and I am working on books six and seven. Book Six will hopefully be all about murals from all over the country!! Watch for them later in 2026.