The golden eagle: One of the Great British public's favourite birds of prey — but devilishly tricky to identify

If you had to name a ‘dream’ bird that the British public would most love to see, I suspect the golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos) would make our collective top three. Yet, for all its immense size, it can be a rather tricky species to identify. The most reliable feature is the shape of its broad wings, which are long and deeply fingered at their tips. The span is also invariably held in a shallow V above the line of the bird’s body; subadult eagles are easiest, because of contrasting white patches in their tails and mid-wings.

One important part of the identification process is actually a psychological issue in us. We are often so keen to encounter this wonderful animal that ambition overrides the accuracy of our observations — in fact, common buzzards are nicknamed ‘tourist eagles’ precisely because of the countless times people succumb to these temptations. When you do finally encounter the real thing, some inner sense of certainty — almost despite any judgement of your own — wells up. When it is a golden eagle, you just know.

The largest weigh as much as 14lb and have a wingspan of more than 6½ft — nearly twice that of a buzzard. Eagles require an enormous home range of as much as 28 square miles to feed themselves and to underpin their nesting efforts. Given that the owners can live 20 years and add to their eyrie with each nesting attempt, these platforms can be huge and stacked some 6ft deep with fresh branches and sticks. Hunting golden eagles are perhaps Britain’s most impressive terrestrial predator. They can snatch up adult foxes or bear down with lethal force on young roe deer, not to mention ducks, geese and even swans.

The species has an enormous distribution across the whole of the northern hemisphere and in Kazakhstan, where golden eagles are still used by traditional hunters — they can apparently be trained to tackle wolves. It is not surprising that so impressive an animal has long worked upon our imaginations, to a point where there is almost a second golden eagle dwelling between our ears. This symbolic bird is embedded in myth, story and imagery that spans all Western civilisation. In ancient Greece, then in Rome, it was an emblem for deities-in-chief Zeus and Jupiter. You find gold-painted eagles — the Eagle of St John — adorning pulpits in churches and cathedrals across Britain.

Eagle images flutter on flags in both Austria and Germany. These same symbolic powers have been used to brand and sell everything imaginable, from household insurance to famous rock bands. In Britain, both versions converge most completely in northern Scotland. The regional tourist board has long deployed the bird as a totem for the wild spirit of the Highlands and it is also the place where golden eagles are most encountered. Today, there are roughly 500 pairs, the majority spread between Kintyre in the south-west to Aberdeen and Caithness in the north-east. Skye and several other islands nearby, as well as the whole of the Outer Hebridean archipelago, are further important strongholds.

There is also an increasing if small population in southern Scotland. About 48 birds have been translocated there from elsewhere in the country and all have been radio-tagged to assess their movements and monitor their wider fortunes. What necessitates these complex interventions is the visceral opposition to the species among parts of the rural community. This has been most intense in the central Scottish Highlands: sometimes, old transmitters have been tracked and located at the bottom of rivers, wrapped in lead, and the bird to which it was once attached is presumed illegally killed.

Times, however, are gradually changing. When set against their respective dates, even the bare numbers documenting the golden eagle’s population increase — 280 pairs (1976), 420 pairs (2003), 510 pairs (2015) — chart both the fate of one of our most magnificent birds and an evolving process in the human heart.

They reveal, if only by implication, the gradual release of pressure upon the species and its incremental expansion southwards. It is now thought likely that it will recover some of its historically documented breeding territory in England, including perhaps — and here I dream, too — my native Derbyshire.

Mark Cocker 's latest book ‘One Midsummer’s Day: Swifts and the Story of Life on Earth’, is out in paperback.

This feature originally appeared in the June 25, 2025 issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe