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Jacqueline L. Barry
Mortensen
WRI 101 – N
March 29, 2012
Conservation
What is the allure of falconry, and of birds of prey in general? Many have
answered this question about the four thousand year old art and hunting sport with
differing opinions. Is it being able to assist in a wild event that happens daily, but
which we as humans rarely glimpse? Is it the thrill of the flight, and the
unpredictable nature of the hunt? Or is something deeper, the development of a
bond between man and animal that seems to transcend time? Perhaps it is all of
these things, and simply admiring the beauty of such a wild creature. A diverse
group of people – birdwatchers, raptor enthusiasts, and scientists alike - would
argue that the most spectacular and defining of attributes of a hawk would be either
its broad wings or the powerful feet. The impressive wingspan of birds of prey and
the remarkable pattern of colors on the feathers have dazzled many since the
beginning of time. The way the feathers extend down the tarsi of the animal to
reveal the intricate pattern of golden scales, or perhaps the way the toes extend to
reveal a glimmering set of hooked talons, needle-sharp, impresses still others. But in
reality, it is another set of senses, a pair of eyes, with vision notably eight times
more acute than our own, that most fantastically illustrates the capabilities of this
animal.
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With these same yellow eyes, an immature red-tailed hawk spotted me from
his lofty perch on a telephone pole one warm October afternoon. It prompted me to
whip out my binoculars and spin around to meet its hypnotic gaze. With time and
patience, that bird would make its way from the coniferous forests engulfing North
Carolina and onto my steady glove. That humble day began the start of a powerful
relationship between Clover and I that has been fostered between man and animal
for literally millennia; over four thousand years have designated the connection
between man and raptor. While conflicts and tension surrounding the use of
traditional methods in a changing world has threatened the solidity of the sport,
even “modern falconry” is more than loosely attached to the culture from which it
was born. Despite the passing of centuries, we all use the same tools, follow the
same rules for chasing quarry, and overall, still demand the same level of respect for
the birds that will become our partners. Falconry is not a hobby, as many have often
called it. Although no longer the “sport of kings” it used to be, it is a lifestyle that
evolved from the passion and labors of millions before us and deserves the utmost
respect. Training a previously wild raptor to trust you and follow you in the sky as
you walk beneath it, to hone its hunting skills and abilities as a top predator, and to
carry it into your home for the first time are gifts that words cannot adequately
express. In an effort, it is magical, life changing, ethereal. It is otherworldly – like
meeting an angel.
The Angel: I am the continental principality of America! I am a bird
of prey! I will not be compelled!1
1
Kushner, Tony. Angels in America. New York: Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,
1995.
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I looked up for a few final seconds at the hawk I was trying to capture. We
were driving on the highway, going forty-five, maybe fifty miles per hour.
“Throw it!” My boyfriend yelled, and I immediately hurled the caged
contraption outside the window and watched it briefly before it landed on the side
of the road. I whipped around, checking to see that it hadn’t landed in an incorrect
position that would make snaring the bird impossible. But no – it had landed just
fine. I turned to face the rear window of the car and spotted our two gerbils scuttling
around in the cage, appearing shocked and a little disoriented, but not dead, which
was all that really mattered.
“We did it! It’s perfect!” I celebrated. “It’s right under him. He’s watching it!”
I turned back around and looked at Andrew, the driver, who grinned and patted me
on the back. “Good job. That could’ve been a lot worse.”
I swiveled back to look out through the rear window and gazed up at the power pole
where the hawk had been perched. It was empty. Oh, shit, I thought to myself. It
must’ve spooked and flown away. But as I arched my neck to get a better look at the
trap site, I saw something odd. Something large and dark blowing in the wind,
attached to my trap. Wings, perhaps.
“Andrew….” I called to him, over my shoulder. “I think we got him.”
Andrew turned sharply over onto the side of the road and turned the car around
while pounding the gas pedal. We’d been at it for hours, and hadn’t been quite this
close before to the correct species.
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“Slow!” I told him. “We’re not sure how trapped it is yet. It could still fly
away.”
He decreased his speed until we rolled up to the site of the capture. I swung open
the car door and froze. In front of me, lying on its back, wings spread to full five-foot
potential and talons outstretched towards me, was my new hawk. His mouth gaped
open and as I approached, I poked its tongue that pointed at me like a dart. It reared
its head back in disgust.
“Careful,” Andrew cautioned me. He’d never seen a large hawk like this up
close, especially in threatened posture. With my glove on, I grabbed both of the
hawk’s legs in one hand and lifted it up, the trap coming with it. I examined the toes
until I found the noose – a single snare – that had entrapped him as he landed on the
cage, presumably to eat some “wild” gerbils. I brought both into the car and cut the
snare loose, which to the hawk meant certain freedom. Immediately he spread his
wings and flapped forward, desperately trying to escape, and smacked me in the
face with his wings.
“Jackie, be careful,” Andrew warned again. I rolled my eyes. I’ve done this so
many times, yet in truth I’d also been footed – grabbed by the talons – a few times in
the past. While hawks may (and do) bite, it’s worse luck for whomever receives a
taloned foot to the hand (or face). Treating these attributes with respect is vital – it’s
what makes them a bird of prey. I’d heard of too many emergency room visits for
exposed veins and hand and arm lacerations than I care to note here. I put on my
glove for this reason, as I both respected and admired the awesome potential of the
animal I was encountering. While I was a tamed and fickle species, taught to follow
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the rules others before me had set in place, I was also wrong, representing progress
and change, while resisting the powers of nature that governed me. The hawk was
forever right. He was wild, liberated, making decisions based on instinct and not on
the shadowy and complicated motives and temptations that direct humanity. He
was free, untouched by artificial creations or advancements. To me, this hawk was
the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. To hold him captive for the first year of his
life would not only be the most enjoyable and freeing year of my life, it would also
undoubtedly save him – the mortality rate of red-tailed hawks is upwards of 80% in
their first year of life – but I knew many people wouldn’t understand. How could
captivity possibly be beneficial for an animal, especially a non-domesticated one
with wild temptations? I believe that when populations of a species are declining
due to our negligence, we have an obligation to correct our errors and return those
populations to healthy levels. With many birds of prey serving as apex predators,
their entire ecosystem may be sensitive to even subtle changes in their populations.
The face of modern conservation efforts, then, becomes one of a raptor.
Like winds and sunsets, wild things were taken for granted until progress began to do
away with them. Now we face the question whether a still higher 'standard of living' is
worth its cost in things natural, wild and free. For us of the minority, the opportunity
to see geese is more important than television.2 – Aldo Leopold
Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There. New York:
Oxford University Press, 1949.
2
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As we began to drive away, I gathered the hawk’s new equipment, some of
which I had made myself, the rest purchased from various hubs. I grabbed one of
three sized- hoods for him to wear to calm him down, and struck the braces. These
little “hats” are designed to fit over the hawk’s head to maintain the bird’s calmness.
The idea is that what the hawk can’t see cannot possibly frighten or hurt him. I then
proceeded to snap on his kangaroo leather anklets and slid two more leather straps
through the anklet buttons for myself to hold onto. Then I wrapped them around a
steel swivel and looped the leash through the swivel’s hole. Finally, I wrapped the
leash around my gloved hand. At last, he was ready. Wild, terrified, and eyes full of
spite, I slid on his leather hood where everything would go dark. For a few hours at
least, he would have peace.
The last word in ignorance is the man who says of an animal or plant: 'What good is
it?’3 – Aldo Leopold
In recent years, falconers have been at the forefront of conservation efforts
towards birds of prey. They have rallied from an intercontinental perspective to
create a global, collaborative effort in combating the decline in numbers of wild
raptor populations by sponsoring captive breeding programs, especially of
endangered species. Other falconers are known to trap, tag and release other
individuals for the purposes of monitoring their migration activity and breeding
abilities as the loss of habitat and damage to prevalent food supply become more
3
Luna Leopold, ed., Round River. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953/1993.
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critical problems. Still others obtain rehabilitators’ licenses along with their
government and state-issued falconry permits that allow them to be contacted in
case an injured bird is discovered. That bird may be treated and released to its
former territory, relocated, or kept for educational purposes if the injuries are too
severe. Through the tireless efforts of these individuals, new developments are
being made each year. New techniques in the fields of artificial insemination,
incubation, rearing, and imprinting have been devised. In the case of the peregrine
falcon, which now inhabits nearly every continent on the planet and contains a rich
genetic pool from which several subspecies have evolved, such developments once
reached emergency status. In the 1970’s a harmful chemical called DDT was used as
a widespread pesticide on American farms that eventually led to the demise of large
populations of birds and, therefore, those that preyed on them. The peregrine falcon
suffered most from this decision. It was through the determination and unflagging
efforts of American falconers that breeding projects were designed and tag and
release operations under way. Miraculously, the species made a dramatic comeback
and is now a more familiar sight among cliffs of the west coast and city skyscrapers
alike. The Peregrine Fund was the fruit of these efforts and continues to be a
renowned source for raptor conservation operations around the world.
Conservation, without a keen realization of its vital conflicts, fails to rate as
authentic human drama. It falls to the level of a mere utopian dream.4 – Aldo Leopold
4
Leopold Archives, http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/AldoLeopold.
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The next day promised new lessons and new rewards. I walked up to the
sleeping hawk, whose head was comfortably tucked under his back feathers and
foot pulled up under his chest, and poked him softly. He aroused in a fury of shock
and surprise and spread his wings again, eyes wide and terrified, mouth gaping
open in horror. I ignored his response and picked him up as he proceeded to leap off
my arm wildly. His escapade was cut short by the end of his leash, however, causing
him to flap and hover in front of me in midair. I waited until he tired out and placed
him back onto the glove. After several more hours of attempted flight from my glove,
he learned this lesson, too. The glove was safe, and for whatever reason the universe
had decided, I would not hurt him, either. Rather, as he sat on the glove for a few
moments calmly, I lifted my thumb, exposing a bright red piece of raw calf liver.
Clover started at it for a few seconds, cocking his head to every side and gazing at it
upside down until he had deemed it edible, and then seized it with his beak and
swallowed it whole. He smacked his beak happily. But where had that come from?
After more calm behavior, I repeated the response with various sizes and types of
meat. Before long, Clover was leaping from his perch to my glove excitedly to
receive the food, and flying freely from hundreds of feet away to receive his snack.
Although his training required more effort from him than he would normally exert
in the wild, the rewards were highly worth the labor. On top of that, he would be
treated for parasites and illnesses and weighed, flown, and hunted daily. Most
importantly, he would be guaranteed an evening meal regardless of whether or not
his hunt had been successful. The reward of being able to eat warm, freshly killed
rabbit or squirrel, however, was a delectable bonus. As an animal born into the wild,
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he was certainly familiar with the feeling of starvation, of trying to sleep on cold,
wintery nights, and needing to evade predators. But there are other threats evident
as well, as we further encroach upon the edge of the wilderness: wind turbines,
power poles and transformers are the number one killers of birds of prey. Perhaps
the greatest act humans can perform in the name of conservation will be birdproofing power poles and wind turbines. Driving along the highway scanning the
tree tops for raptors is quickly soured by the sight of a large, majestic eagle dangling
from a transformer by both feet, wingtips singed and broken by the electrical
current.
When we hear his call we hear no mere bird. We hear the trumpet in the
orchestra of evolution. He is the symbol of our untamable past, of that incredible sweep
of millennia which underlies and conditions the daily affairs of birds and men.5– Aldo
Leopold
Eventually the time came that I was to go out with Clover one morning with
the intention of pursuing and hunting live game. It was part of a tradition that had
extended so many years before my time, and I felt honored to be a part of it. I picked
Clover up from his mews, or hawk house, with anxiety running through my body. He
could fly freely now, and had been quickly and effectively trained to his rabbit lure
in case he decided to not return to me. Nonetheless, I was teeming with nervousness
and excitement. Clover seemed to sense something similar, but took the hood with
5
Luna Leopold, ed., Round River. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953/1993.
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minimal fuss. Maybe it was the sudden chill in the air, or the darkness of the early
morning. We had never been out flying at this time of day. I listened intently as the
squirrels began chirping and chupping, causing Clover to veer his gaze skywards
into the canopy of trees above us. He spread his wings and looked back at me. I felt
his sharp keel and then untied his tether. We were ready.
The words “Operation Falcon” still disturb many who are familiar with its
implications. This includes falconers, conservationists, wildlife biologists,
ornithologists, rehabilitators, professors, the state and federal governments, and
even the general public. What began as a sting operation set up in the United States
and Canada as an attempt in the 1980’s to thwart the illegal smuggling of highly
prized falcon eggs and federally-protected birds became an embarrassing scandal
involving the unjust arrests of innocent falconers who had nothing to do with it. It
was a humiliating political upheaval that still affects us today and was responsible
for seriously compromising the image of falconry and captive breeding in the public
eye. To many, falconry became nothing but a barbaric “blood sport” that unfairly
“stole” the God-given freedom of wild raptors and also hurt them population-wise.
Untruths and rumors such as these only further tarnished the reputation of
falconers and damaged the four thousand year old heritage that we, as a global
community, had become so proud of. Operation Falcon was, in reality, founded upon
methods of entrapment while intending to catch falconers who were willing to buy
falcons illegally or buying the eggs of highly sought-after gyrfalcons and selling them
to wealthy Arab falconers in the Middle East, sometimes for up to $100,000 per egg.
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This practice was, in essence, in violation of several laws including The Migratory
Bird Treaty Act and CITES.
To those devoid of imagination a blank place on the map is a useless waste; to
others, the most valuable part.7- Aldo Leopold
With a massive effort I swung my gloved arm forward and cast Clover into
the tops of a woodlot off-campus. I watched as he ascended into the bare, wintery
trees and perched, shaking his tail feathers free of any debris. His copper and nickel
bells that I had secured to his legs jingled as he landed, alerting me of his position. I
crunched through the forest floor beneath my hawk, snapping twigs and uprooting
plants as I swung a long branch at bushes and undergrowth, hoping to flush out a
rabbit or squirrel that was in hiding. Interested, Clover kept his gaze on me. As I
explored new areas he flew closer to me through other trees, as I occasionally
allowed him to return to my garnished glove for a small reward for staying close to
me. Eventually as I smacked the trunk of an oak tree hard, I caught sight of a grey
squirrel scurrying up the length of the tree, chirping angrily at my invasion. Clover
immediately noticed this exchange and cocked his head to the side, surveying his
options. As I swung around the opposite side of the tree, the squirrel darted over to
the side facing Clover – it was the last move the squirrel would make.
Dickinson, Rachel. Falconer on the Edge: A Man, His Birds, and the Vanishing
Landscape of the American West. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009. Print.
7 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There. New York:
Oxford University Press, 1949.
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The Angel: My wrath is as fearsome as my countenance is splendid.
The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service conducted Operation Falcon by contacting
a falconer by the name of Jeff McPartlin from Montana, who supposedly had been
snubbed by other, local falconers and had a bone to pick with them. Gyrfalcons,
being the largest, fastest and most rare of all the falcons, are famous for their chase
and overtake style of flight that differentiates them from other species. They are also
only found in the high Arctic and parts of Canada and rarely venture south into the
United States, where they may be legally trapped and used for falconry. Because
trying to catch one’s own gyrfalcon in Canada and transport it across the border is
illegal, an incentive is created to purchase a captive-bred one from an American.
What those buyers didn’t know, however, was that McPartlin was working for the
government and had gyrfalcons in his possession that had been trapped by the
Canadian government illegally and transported across the border as bait, without
any federally-required leg bands to indicate either their capture in the U.S. or their
birth in the U.S. Hence, when prospective buyers arrived, those that continued with
the sale were arrested for buying illegally-captured falcons and even imprisoned
despite having knowledge of their obtainment. Others, however, were caught
attempting to sell their recent acquisitions to wealthy Arabs abroad and were
caught and imprisoned for those efforts, as well.
Immediately Clover was committed. I watched as he crouched and then
leaped into the air, diving down into the thick twist of branches that contained the
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terrified squirrel. The rodent froze, thinking he was safer that way, at the moment
that Clover extended a single leg and plucked it off the side of the oak, parachuting
and spiraling onto the leafy ground below. He spread out his wings to cover his prize
which had commenced its screeching and chirping, until Clover became irritated
and seized the face of the animal in his other foot, shutting its mouth. I sprinted over
to the site of the kill, and reached my glove in to grab the squirrel, verifying its
death.
The Angel: You’re a battered heart bleeding life in the universe of wounds… In your
blood we write, have written, stasis. The end.
The themes of environmental conservation, of the welfare and diversity of
our wildlife and of the diminishing landscape are all relevant in the case of
Operation Falcon as they are in a famous play written by Tony Kushner. Angels in
America delineates the salvaging of what is being left behind – the health of our
friends and families, and the sickness of the environment. In the American and
Canadian government operation, many innocent falconers were sent to jail and
convicted of misdemeanors and felonies, with over sixty-three individuals being
arrested total, slashing the small population of American falconers that exist. Master
falconers and those that had practiced within the confines of the law for over forty
years were arrested and stripped of their privileges as well as their dignity for
attempting to purchase a falcon they had assumed was bred in American captivity.
These were people who were primarily responsible for bringing back the peregrine
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falcon from the edge of extinction. While a few earned their jail time for their own
errors in judgment, namely those who purchased falcons without leg bands and
then attempted to sell them overseas, overall the tone of the operation was
irresponsible and morally corrupt. Conservation of wild birds of prey is an
important issue to every falconer, and the illegal capture of any federally protected
bird of prey is treated with disdain. Any falconer using methods deemed inferior or
who is found dishonoring the traditions that have survived millennia are ousted
from the community, which seriously hurts his reputation. Upgrading to a higher
rank (which means receiving more privileges according to that state’s regulations)
also becomes an issue. His relationship with his falconry sponsor, who overlooks his
apprentice’s activities and is responsible for giving the OK for an upgrade, will also
be damaged. We are a tight community bound by a single passion that gives us life.
When that is disrupted, we react accordingly. To most of us, keeping a bird of prey
isn’t about galloping around town impressing your friends and strangers with a bird
of prey on your fist, or bragging to other falconers about your hawk’s head count
this past season. This sport – this way of life – is about conservation, maintaining a
balance between the natural world and our “other” one, and, as the late master
falconer and raptor enthusiast Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan once described it,
“A falconry expedition brings together a group of men, each of them animated by the
prospect of an agreeable and refreshing change, away from the clamor of the city
and the monotony of daily life.8” An art and practice, a sport, a lifestyle – it is our
choice, a welcome return to the drama of the natural world that we have all
8
Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan, http://salemae.tripod.com/Zayed.htm
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abandoned. In keeping the wilderness and all its inhabitants alive, winged or
otherwise, we are safeguarding tradition in a lost world.
We shall never achieve harmony with land, any more than we shall achieve absolute
justice or liberty for people. In these higher aspirations, the important thing is not to
achieve but to strive9. – Aldo Leopold, environmentalist and conservationist
9
Luna Leopold, ed., Round River. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953/1993.
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Works Cited
Dickinson, Rachel. Falconer on the Edge: A Man, His Birds, and the Vanishing
Landscape of the American West. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009.
Kushner, Tony. Angels in America. New York: Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,
1995.
Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There. New York:
Oxford University Press, 1949.
Leopold, Luna, ed., Round River. New York: Oxford University Press, 1953/1993.
"The Aldo Leopold Archives." University of Wisconsin Digital Collections. University
of Wisconsin Press, n.d. Web. 11 Apr 2012.
<http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/AldoLeopold>.
"Zayed." Web. 22 Apr. 2012. <http://salemae.tripod.com/Zayed.htm>.