Here in Minnesota at the Raptor Center, officials nursed a baby bald eagle back to health after it was accidentally shot by a hunter. They literally had to train it how to fly.
Richard Davis, a supporter, got to witness and participate in the eagle’s release off a Mississippi River bluff. As he held the eagle close to his chest, its inch-long talons digging into the protective vest, Richard was acutely aware of the bird’s energy, its natural urgings to fly. As he dropped the eagle out of his arms and off the cliff, the eagle fell (just like they said it would do), but it almost immediately started to fly. Its wings beat the air gracefully, its lessons learned well. They had told Richard that exactly two seconds into the flight, the eagle would cease beating his wings and begin to soar. At one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, the bird stopped flapping and wings spread wide, soared away; beautiful, inspiring, majestic.
When Richard asked how they knew that the bird would stop flapping at exactly the two-second point, was there some kind of bird-gene at work? No, they said. When they were teaching it to fly, that was the length of the tether rope. During training flights, when the eagle had reached the end of the rope, it was yanked back. It always took exactly two seconds. The yank-back was expected, and the eagle allowed for it. Absent the yank-back now and soaring over the Mississippi River, it didn’t take the bird long to realize he was free. He would never return to the safety of the Raptor Center.
We all have eagles in our companies, some soaring already, some in training. Wouldn’t it be easier if we could tell exactly when each one was ready, if there were a two-second rule for people and not just eagles, if the ropes were all the same length and management could be as predictable as training eagles to fly.
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