The Hunting Party
The stunning drake bufflehead has always eluded me, my mini-Moby duck.
I see them often and always have a hard time moving the binoculars away from their shimmer to examine the subdued tones of other more likely waterfowl. They are more than gorgeous. They are perfectly matched to a peregrine in size and zipping wingbeat and chances of them getting away when they split from the water are good. Of course, you have to get them off the water and that is nye impossible.
I have watched my Brittanies swim in circles after them for a half an hour, long after the duck has already spent the falcon by skimming the edges of the water and careening back into liquid safety again and again with a splash and hardly a backward glance. It is not just the dog or the falcon at which they balk. Bufflehead barely consider me an obstacle, audaciously brushing my cheek with their wing in passing, a shining arrow flashing across my vision as they navigated the edges of safety. I’ve always imagined them as lead shavings swirling about the magnetic water, impossible to separate. Magic.
But this bufflehead left the pond with a clean and generous flight, which the falcon graciously accepted. And I was thrilled, for a moment. I told myself I was nothing more than grateful with my freezer empty and my bank account uncomfortably low. The falcon needed to fly and he needs to eat. I told myself that I was happy for the beautiful morning, the bufflehead a sparking jewel perfectly set against the muted and heavy winter sky. I told myself it was a gift, the end of a quest. I could tell myself whatever I wish, I was feeling something very different.
I fed the falcon, praised the dog who looked at the little duck suspiciously and then refused to carry it back to the truck. So I tucked it in my vest, wondering if the sensitive Brittany was reacting to my mood. When everyone was pleased and dry and tucked away, I examined our prize and wondered for a moment if I had lost more than I gained.
In my hands the bufflehead slowly ceased to be a mythical creature. The weight of it against my palms made it something no different than the peregrine –of flesh and blood, earth and sky. Suddenly the three of us were equal, entitled and beholdened to beginnings and endings. By my falcon or another falcon, it made no difference. Buffleheads are not eternal and like this hunt, I couldn’t escape that living is bittersweet.
On my living-room wall is a print of Lee Kromschroeder’s painting “Pursuit on the Deck”, which shows a wild peregrine closing on a drake bufflehead. The buff is buzzing just above the water’s surface, the peregrine actually has the tip of a primary trailing in the water, and the best thing about the painting is that after ten years I still can’t tell which bird will win the contest. As you say, a perfect match. Check out the painting and you may find it returns you to that moment where the bufflehead seens just out of reach…
http://www.wildwingscollection.com/DirectionsWEB/webcart_multiBuy.php?catid=1476636032
I’m not sure whether or not congratulations are in order so I’ll leave it at ‘job well done’.
I have to tell you that for the last few weeks my morning commute has been rather dull with me staring blankly out the window of the lightrail. I got ‘Lift’ for Christmas and my commute this morning was quite enjoyable as I suspect it will be for the next couple days. Thanks for a great read!
Mark — OMG I MUST have that print, but I’m broke. Maybe I can put on my birthday present list for next month. I’m at a loss for who I’d give the list to, but hey, can’t blame a girl for hoping.
Issac- It’s good for us to be reminded that life isn’t permanent.
And I’ll ask my standard question for figuring out where you’re at in the book… How many times has he flown off so far?
Getting that print will more than make up for the bittersweet feeling you had after your peregrine’s hunt, I’m sure. Seems the two types of birds have this contest all the time!
I am envious – buffies have eluded me, though I’ve shot at them many times.
Having lost more than we’ve gained – isn’t that always the question?