Oh the good old days! When a falconer could hang out with his best Native American pal, hawking the California hills with his harpy eagle. (Until his ex-wife shows up, that is…)

The harpy of the title is Elizabeth Ashley, the greedy, demanding ex-wife of architect Hugh O’Brian. As a means of escaping his former spouse’s tirades, O’Brian quietly trains his pet eagle to be a hunter. A confrontation between eagle and “ex” is inevitable, but masterfully handled. Tom Nardini, playing a loyal Native-American friend of O’Brian’s, is the principal instigator of the film’s screeching denouement. Made for television, Harpy was first shown March 12, 1971. ~ Hal Erickson, Rovi

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Anakin Back in True Form

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Nantucket Bay Scallops

Last year, a falconry friend who I met on Facebook Fed-Exed me a box of Nantucket Bay Scallops fresh off the boat. I cooked them, shared them and made them into a kitchen story. I have thought about them all year. So as the end of the falconry season approached and I knew it was about time for the scallop harvest, I found myself wondering where I could get them again this year and daydreaming about what I could make with them.

When Mark offered to send me another batch I was beside myself. If you love seafood, there is really nothing comparable to very very fresh Nantucket Bay Scallops. Nothing.

They showed up at my office in DU and I immediately opened the box and shared. My coworkers, some being hunters, others foragers and gardeners knew without me explaining the value of sourced food, both in taste and in the pleasure of knowing the path your food took to find you. We all nibbled on raw scallops out of the box. Then I had one quickly seared batch at home.

Scallop Pizza

The next round of scallops topped a pizza with white sauce, mushrooms, goat cheese and caramelized onions. I cooked it with a friend and was reminded how relationships are sometimes mixed and measured and slowly perfected in the kitchen.

Scallop Quiche

Then I took some next door where they were making brunch the next morning for friends and neighbors.  Part of our brunch was my neighbor’s recipe, scallop and onion quiche which coupled with a mimosa was just about heaven. We told stories, laughed and further sealed the bond of our small, wry but fierce neighborhood watch.

Leek, Potato, Cauliflower Soup with Scallops

The last incarnation of my scallops was eaten on a cold drizzly day. I threw together a cheesy leek, potato and cauliflower soup, in the last few minutes of cooking throwing in scallops. It was hearty and soul-warming and I was sad to eat the last bite, yet could hardly stop myself. I ate it alone, already nostaglic for scallops past, but grateful for how far this year’s batch of scallops had gone –in so many ways.

This is what food means to me. Food is the hard work of someone to harvest, the heart of someone to prepare it and the friendships that are built around sharing the pleasure and gift of a perfect meal. So thank you, Mark. What you have sent me these last two years is so SO much more than a bit of tasty seafood. Cheers!

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Meanwhile in somewhere just outside of Lima, Peru…

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

WLAMF

Those of you who have been following this blog since it’s beginnings as Operation Desert Dove in 2002 know that I think I’m a writer. I’ve published a romance novel, a parrot training book, a bunch of reference books—but I was really wanting to write something “meaningful”.

I began blogging because I wanted to tell a story as it unfolded. I wanted to work on my craft. I wanted to write a love song to falconry, the passion that had most shaped the adult years of my life.

The impetus to start blogging was the first season with Anakin, my first peregrine falcon. I wanted to record the fear, the flyoffs, the setbacks and finally the triumphs. I knew that the season would change me and I wanted to be writing while it happened. I had no idea what a ride it would be though and frequently I thought that it was going to end in tragedy. It was an unexpectedly tense story that if fleshed out could have made a great memoir.

So here is the place where I’m discovered, the phone ringing off the hook with agents wondering if I have representation. I get the pick of the litter and am ushered into a brilliant career, finding heaps of praise and solvency if not riches. Or not.

There were hundreds of thousands of blogs even eight years ago and I didn’t have the luck of being “discovered.” I plodded along, posting most days but never really building a huge audience. That was okay though. I had built my narrative through line. I had a story to work on. So I took my binder full of 8 months of posts to graduate school, hoping to find meaning and myself in the journey, crafting it into something I could be proud of. I worked hard. I went to conferences, received fellowships, published excerpts, won awards and achieved the sorts of things that make an MFA thesis attractive to literary publishers.

So here is the part where a big NY agent “discovers” me through one of my pieces in a literary journal, falls in love with my writing, works with me to make the manuscript into something spectacular and gets me a contract for not just this manuscript, but my next two books. Or not.

I sent out a lot of queries. I wrote and rewrote my first three chapters, the synopsis and the query letter over and over until I finally found an agent who was intrigued. My first agent wanted me to call the book “Sky Trials” (even though I’ve never participated in a sky trial and don’t really have any desire to even now).

He wanted me to call it this because the story should be about a woman in a man’s world, my horror story about dealing with the chauvinistic machismo of falconry. But that wasn’t really my experience. I actually love the men of falconry. And when I didn’t want to write that story, the agent dropped me.

So here is the part where after standing by my guns to write the manuscript that I was meant to write, I meet an agent at a conference who loves my gumption and gets what I’m doing. It isn’t an easy sell because it’s not a sensationalized story, but my agent LOVES THIS BOOK and she hits the streets and knocks on doors and gets me a contract with an editor who is just as much in love with the book as she is. Or not.

A few years and many versions of my query package later, I did find another agent, a well-known well-loved NY agent with a lot of clout. I was excited, especially when it was sent to a big publishing house and an editor known for loving manuscripts with birds. I barely slept for weeks until I got the news—the editor liked it, but really didn’t think that anyone but falconers would want to read this book. I was very disappointed, but figured it was okay because it was only our first try and I was used to being told “no” many times before I heard “yes”. At least she didn’t hate it.

Except that my agent didn’t want to shop this book anymore. After all, no one but falconers would want to read it. She wanted me to write her something else. Agents are people too and people aren’t perfect. I don’t know what was going on in her life at the time, but my book, now titled LIFT was no longer a part of it.

So here is the part where I get up my gumption again, pull out the contacts I’ve made at the small presses I would love to see this book published with and find a home for it myself. I turn my agent around when the book gets placed and now she can’t wait to see my next book. In fact she’s already shopping the proposal for my next book and she knows she can build a career for me. It may take several books, but she is going to be there come hell or high water because she believes in me and just knows that I’m going to be a best-selling author. Or not.

I did still want to shop LIFT to my favorite small houses and my agent dismissively told me to go ahead and send the manuscript on my own. So I did. I was very fortunate that it found a home in a small but prestigious press. Then my agent disappeared when it came time to negotiate the contract. She didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Not even with whatever I was writing next. Once more I was without representation.

But this is where a Cinderella story happens. Small prestigious press, book with great reviews unknown to New York gets a big buzz, people talk, readers love it,  the book sells like gangbusters and the publisher can’t keep up with the demand. I have agents knocking at my door. Everyone wants to know what my next project is and better yet, they want to be that one that shops it—or not.

LIFT

The publisher was very excited about their “woman warrior” book. Galleys went out, some even hand delivered by the hardworking small press. LIFT got a starred review in Publishers Weekly (a starred review!!), a nice write up in Library Journal and glowing reviews almost across the board. It was happening! So the hard working writer invests the money and the time making appearance, doing readings, talking on radio shows and sends out galleys to many bloggers. Every free moment, every spare dime into this project she believes in with all her heart. The publicity is all great and the reviews continue to be stellar and here’s what happens…

A year later LIFT has sold 411 copies.

And now I’m out of scenarios in italics. It’s not about the money (mostly, anyway, because it does suck being broke). Really, the tears are for the fact that so few people have read the book I loved so dearly, fought so hard for and believed in with all my might. I did everything I could, everything I was supposed to and it didn’t make a difference.

And my story is pretty standard. In fact it’s better than many stories and because LIFT is with a small press that loves it, my book will remain in print, perhaps for perpetuity. It would be out of print by now with a bigger publishing house. It would be over. Instead, it’s only mostly over.

So what do I do? Is there someone I can blame, slander or sue? Or is it all my fault? This being more likely, do I just throw a massive tantrum and quit?

Fuck no.

I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t because I want to believe that good things happen to hard working people with passion. I don’t want to live in a world where that is not true. I can’t because I just know I have something important to say and I’ll never figure out what that is if I don’t keep writing. I can’t quit because I wake up with stories in my head and don’t know how to live without my imagination. I simply can’t quit.

And chances are the story of LIFT will be same for the next book and the next and maybe all the books I ever write. Life’s not fair and there is nothing you can do to tip the scales and make it fair. That doesn’t mean that you should let it win though.

So fuck you, publishing industry. I’m not going to quit. I’m going to fly my falcons and do what Sugar over at The Rumpus recommends. I’m going to “Write like a Mother Fucker” even if no one is reading.

…And I’m going to continue to love all of you who have read this blog over the years, read a copy of LIFT and shared your own stories with me. In fact, I’m going to love you all even more. All 411 of you are the very best friends a stubborn girl and wayward falcon could have. I love you all to pieces.

Whatever it is that you are passionate about in your own life, keep at it. Don’t you ever ever quit. And I won’t quit either.

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

On Capital hill

I’m not a lobbyist and I don’t plan to become one, but I was in DC to give a presentation at Phoenix Landing, so I thought I would tack on a bit of time to check out what the Ducks Unlimited DC office gets itself up to.

I work with major donors and I thought major donors would have some interest. What I didn’t count on was being recruited to lobby.

Now, I grew up in a house where it was considered impolite to talk about politics. To this day I don’t know who my grandparents voted for or supported. In fact, my grandmother claimed every year that she was voting for Dewey. She never got over that particular lost election…  So politics and I are not comfortable bedfellows. I have my opinions. I formulate them carefully. I listen and read, but I don’t talk about them. It’s nobody’s business and honestly, a friendly debate NEVER feels friendly to me.  So I don’t belong in DC.

However, I was willing, in fact excited to go lobby for Ducks, because one should know how these things work. One should have an idea how the things you believe in become bills and laws and how they get funded.

No Time for Stairs

So escorted by one of our staff from DC, I met with staffers from both my Senator’s offices and my Congressman’s office, as well as a few others. I learned a lot just by watching about the influx of information and way things work on the simpliest level. Having someone in front of them reminding them of local interests is huge. I’m now thrilled that DU has people on Capital Hill keeping important conservation issues in front of politicians. Nothing happens in government without pressure.

So when you find issues that are crucial to what you believe in make sure you do something about it.

• Do you belong to an organization that has a lobbyist? Make sure the orgs that you support know what policy is important to you. If enough members feel strongly about a policy that’s in the realm of that org’s interest and expertise, it is likely to react and get your voice heard.
• Call you Senator and your Congressman. They keep track of how many calls and of how their constituents are reacting. I saw it, first hand. And that’s mostly what they care about. How many of you care.
• Vote. Seriously. And not just for the President. Know who is running for Congress and the Senate and vote. It makes a difference.

This these I can do. These things I know make a difference. Which is good, because you won’t find me lobbying again any time soon…

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

I spent six months losing 25 pounds the hard way—less calories in and more calories out. And the question I’ve gotten the most is, “How did you do it?” As if there was some magical formula other than eating less and exercising more. And less calories it turned out, means eating like Michael Pollan suggested in The Omnivore’s Dilemma.

      … eat food, not too much, mostly plants. 

People also ask me what I’m doing to keep the weight off. What I’m doing, I think it’s fair to say is embracing my falconry season.  Falconry is 360 degrees of grounding, how to eat, live and appreciate.  And it might even help with the last fifteen pounds.  What it is surely going to do though is get my head back on straight.

These are my lifestyle suggestions.

Embrace the day early
Falcons fly best at dawn, when the air is crisp and the world is just beginning to move. This is when you start your day, just as the dark is fading. Insight and motivation come when you wake with the wilderness and when you amplify the caffeine in your system with the burst of adrenaline that comes with the whistle and percussion of duck wings bursting from the water.  The cold air, rising native hum and burst of desperate desire to succeed will stay with you all day.  
You will be inspired.

Stay in Shape or Face the Consequences
And when one set of wings beating their demand against the air, laboring for immediate lift and evasion meet another set of wings — wings slicing through the molecules in a race to fall faster, harder and to win  – you better get to the explosion. You won’t be the only predator awake, you must get to your falcon in a sprint that doesn’t falter, with lungs that handle air as deftly as the avian colliders. Your ability to run, it turns out, is life or death for a falcon you never want to lose, but will. You legs and lungs will secure you one more day.  
You will get to the gym.

Hank Shaw's "Ducks in the Orchard" Recipe at www.honest-food.net

Engage, Appreciate and Taste
So much can go wrong, it is impossible not to revel in the gift of success, of food. Food is a gift and a sacrifice. Truth is that the duck was just as admirable as the falcon, just a beautiful and it hurts the heart a little, but at least your hands were on this moment. You know that your food, the falcon’s food, lived the life a duck is meant to live and that you were able to bring humanity at its end, something most wild animals do not get, something honestly, most of your food isn’t offered.  This is honest food. Most hunters feel this way. You will taste this meal because you’ll be savoring it. You won’t eat it in the car or gulp it down so you can get to the next task; it will be an experience. All of your meals will be flavored with this one. 
You won’t overeat.

So get up, get out, TOUCH nature.

Oh. And please stop staring at my lunch.

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

One of my reasons for moving to Sac was to be closer to waterfowl. I wish we weren’t in the a ridiculous drought, but I managed to move myself into the driest place in the west. Check out the map. Those of you shooting on big water did fine. Those of use waiting for ducks to disperse into the smaller waters were screwed. I chased the same two flocks of resident mallards all season. And then I made a trip down south for work over the week and a couple hunting excersions on the weekend.

It felt like coming home and yet, I felt like a guest wandering through strange hallways in the dark. To explore my old haunts at the end of the season and be surprised by new crops in old fallow fields, dry reservoirs in favorite places was disconcerting and made me a little sad. Were it still home, I would have known every acre by heart at the end of January. The strangest thing was not to know what ducks were down so I would know where to look. The boys at the gun club were shooting spoonies, unapologetic about a strange year. They thought the normal duck migration has mostly missed them, mostly flown over and continued to Mexico. The dogs need to work and spoonies were what they had. I didn’t see spoonbills anywhere they should be, though. Everything looked wrong everywhere in California. Even at home.

So when I found a raft of ringnecks at the Musashi’s pond, it felt like a gift.

The gift grew even larger when Stan pulled up beside my truck. I was happy to see him again, a witness to a good morning. “Where have you been?” He said in the clipped sedate tone he has that drives me nuts. It makes me crazy because generally speaking I’m tight lipped. Stan’s flat expression and brevity makes me yammer on like I’ve got a couple of shots of tequila down my gullet. I don’t know what he’s thinking so I just keep talking and filling the silence. I will never go up against that man in a game of poker. So in the amount of time that it took to put on a transmitter and take off Anakin’s equipment I had told Stan the story of my year since the last season, pratically day by day in an auctioneers breathlessness and had gotten permission to put Booth in the pond to flush.

Stan stood back and watched from a distance when the falcon got in the air. I thought he was flying off as I watched him. We’ve flown big water some this season and I think it has reminded him to make big outruns. As he flew off into the distance in a familar, but tight place, I could only think that he was leaving. But when he came back, he was at 800 feet or so and I sighed in relief.

I slipped Booth under the fence and watched him do what he had been dying to do all year. He flanked the pond, dove in, and pushed the water-clinging ducks off the water, barking out his progress all the way. The flock of ringbills left the pond in clean motion. The falcon clocked a hen, pitched up and grabbed a drake. Stan stood as still and silent as the Santa Rosas, but missed nothing. He pointed to where my falcon had landed and then to where I could let my dog crawl back under the fence.

We watched the falcon eat, talking about water and how farming would manage in the new economy. Stan was surprisingly positive. I stared off at the Salton Sea, trying to decide if it has shrunk a little or a lot. I examined the Musashi’s crop and Stan suggested I bring some artichokes home with me. (They were delicious)

I was almost sad, lifting the peregrine onto my glove.

 

I wanted the hunt to last long enough to make up for the season, but I realized it wasn’t a make-up hunt, it was goodbye. I instructed Booth to take the duck back to the truck, to which he gleefully complied. I haven’t been able to convince him to carry anything I’ve thawed from the freezer, but my dog knew this duck was his accomplishment as did the peregrine. Neither of them were sad in the least and so I took my cue from them and smiled at Stan.

This was a visit, not a homecoming. Tempe and Sister were waiting in the truck and my work for Ducks Unlimited required a few more meetings nearby and many things on my desk up North. Life was about the delta now, about helping to make sure that every season doesn’t exclude my gorgeous canvasback, that there’s money to figure out why the scaup are dwindling. Life took another turn, a surprise one, but a wonderful twist indeed.

Long ago in a galaxy far away, a melancholy girl bought an irracible falcon who was destined to take her on rollercoaster ride of a thousand adventures. Six years later in the company of the most incredible group of friends and co-conspirators gathered along the way, the journey begins again, in the delta.

Goodbye Operation Desert Dove — the doves eluded us, but the journey was magic. Hello Operation Delta Duck, where this year the ducks eluded us, but we’ll be back. And I hope you’ll come along with us. I get to help fund the most amazing projects at Ducks Unlimited and have so much to learn about my new landscape. I hope you’ll be reading and watching.

Please accept my humble invitation to join me on my next grand aventure.  

Coming Soon

WWW.OPERATIONDELTADUCK.COM

Sneak preview (it’ll redirect when it’s live)

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Wilton, CA 

Things aren’t all bad up here. Sometimes just learning the landscape is a reward in itself. I’m going shush about the fact that I can’t find any ducks to stare at this photo for a while.

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Anakin is flying in fine style up here. It’s weird, but the air is just better. His wings just snap through the air and he climbs up at a fast and furious pace. He flies equally well in the evening and morning. I sometimes bring him to work and fly either end of the day. We just haven’t been lucky or strategic. It hasn’t all be a loss of game. I found some pen-raised pheasant and have peppered our hunts with good lessons of remounting and flying over open land. The pheasants have flown high and fast and Anakin hasn’t turned a single one down or missed his mark. He’s powered through them in screaming stoops and the last flight he bound to the bird and rolled her. I found them with the pheasant on her back, the peregrine had her head cinched up and was safely away from feet and wings. I think he has a system now. I think if we find wild pheasant (and I see them often up here) he could catch one.

I am very much infatuated with the hybrid and still too scared or lazy or busy or something to fly her. I love her personality. Sister is going to be a good bird, even if she does want to eat Anakin. Surely I can put that aggression to use. Upland game extends until the end of February for falconers here. There is still time and I may gather my wits and guts. I just find myself exhausted with how much there is to learn about my job and the new landscape and the new animals in my falconry crew. The economy woes are also eating up my brain space. I am optimistic about how all of this will shake out, but all the thinking is making the days disappear into a whirl of information and ideas.

The new year is going to bring a new blog skin. Operation Desert Dove will become Operation Delta Duck (www.operationdeltaduck.com) , a blog of both falconry and conservation. I’ll have a lot to say, I’m sure. I have so much to learn and hopefully that will mean much to share. Working for DU is an extraordinary turn in my life. We’re doing amazing things. I want to tell you about them. I’ll be on the ball soon, promise.

©2012 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.