The hardest part of photographing bald eagles isn't finding them. It's waiting for the moment when instinct takes over. During winter, dozens of bald eagles gather around patches of open water throughout the Great Salt Lake Basin to feed on fish trapped by the ice. Most meals end quietly. An eagle lands, claims its catch, and the others keep their distance. Not this one. Without warning another eagle launched from behind, striking with enough force to drive its rival into the snow. For only a heartbeat the entire struggle unfolded in front of me—wings beating, talons locked together, snow exploding into the air. The eagle on the ground wasn't surrendering. It was fighting to keep both its meal and its place. Just as suddenly as it began, the battle ended. The attacker moved on, the defeated eagle regained its footing, and the marsh returned to silence as though nothing had happened. Moments like this last less than a second. They're the reason I return before sunrise, long before I know what story nature will decide to tell that morning.