Hope

Packing to move from Citrus Heights to Sacramento, I found myself rummaging through the past, pausing to open journals, deciding on things to treasure or discard. I didn’t get to do this when I moved to Northern California from the South. A company packed me up and I didn’t bother with much more than dusting and sorting when I unpacked. I was savoring and paring down this time. And there were some treasures in the unpacking…

I found this photo tucked inside a copy of a Falconer’s Prayer.  I wrote this poem in the pre-apprentice year of my falconry beginnings, some fifteen years ago. I found myself this afternoon pausing and asking if I had lived up to my expectations of myself. I hope I have.

Falconer’s Prayer

May I gain the clarity and distance of her sight
to look upon my life.
May I dream the vastness of her sky
and always stretch to reach her pitch.
May I call upon the strength and fierce determination
with which she bends even the tyranny of air
to her will.

May my voice command a resonance and surety
the learned tenor of her gimlet cries.
May I embody her airy grace
and fragile-boned beauty,
yet protect what I love with a vicious courage
drawn from the etch her beak,
the vice-grip of her talons.

May my world be blanketed in a comfort like feathers
and volleyed by a belief in flight.
Let every brittle morning or balmy afternoon
that I walk beneath her shadow
offer up some insight, some quiet secret
to illuminate this dark and whispering
world of man.

May every trick she chooses to learn,
every wordless understanding that blooms,
close the distance between us
and urge her return to my fist.

Above all else,
grant me the talent to think with her soul
and imagine my life with wing.

RKO

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

And the Molt Begins

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Fresh Scallops

Falconers know good food and frequently it is food that they have harvested on their own whether by talon, hook, bullet or hoe. We love food that has a story.

Nothing in the grocery store packaged in cellophane and styrofoam induces story telling. And I sometimes wonder if falconers are by nature story crafters. (You certainly do not have to write to be able to tell a compelling tale.)

So when a falconer friend sent me scallops there was a story in my kitchen. I practiced, telling it to myself and then had friends over repeating it them after it had been perfected.

Scallops Prepared

“These scallops were in the sea two days ago, when a friend harvested them, took them to a shanty where they were processed, packed and sent to me. The people who shucked them have names which my friend knows. They have accents as thick as the muck they create with their fast knives and vocabulary as coarse as the shells they shuck. They have families that they work to feed, as does my friend who put his kids through college on scallop money. I know the hands that touched these scallops and where they are from. They have a story that adds to the taste.” 

It doesn’t hurt that Nantucket Bay Scallops are not a common scallop, smaller sweet and nutty. You can eat them raw, but if you start nibbling, you’ll have a hard time getting to cooking them.

These scallops were a gift.  Gifts are for sharing and celebrating.

I wish all the food I ate began with the statement, “I know this food. It has a story.”

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

North American Falconry

On Saturday, Hal Webster turns 90. If you are a falconer, you likely know who Hal is– in short American falconry royalty. Our sport has only been in existence for about a hundred years in the United States, so Hal has been there since it’s beginnings — struggled with wayward birds in the days before telemetry, discovered new ways to fly American raptors on American prey species, watched falconry embraced and later persecuted and he has never given up the sport. Not even now.

Of course, what many of us know him from is writing what amounts to the bible of falconry in North America. A book that has evolved along with us in its last 9 editions.

A couple of years ago, I had the pleasure of interviewing Hal. The best place to find out more about him is on www.northamericanfalconry.com. (Don’t expect a quick answer if you email him though…he has better things to do than sit at the computer.) I found out a lot about him though in our conversation. He’s a gentleman and an adventurer. I had to ask him, admittedly measuring myself up, what makes a great falconer. Here’s what Hal said:

     Hal doesn’t have to ponder the makings of a great falconer. He carefully and quickly makes a list for me. “Patience, a learning approach, practice and more practice. And don’t forget to read,” he says. He suggested books like Blaine’s, the Art & Practice of Hawking by E.B. Michele, any of Mike McDermott’s writing and then shyly added his own book to the list. “You should find the style of writing that’s easiest for you read and read that author,” he adds, making it clear that it isn’t enough to own a large falconry library, you must read the books and absorb the lessons the falconer has tried to weave into his words.

     “If you are going to be a falconer and be the best you need these three things,” Hal explains. “You need game birds, time and money. You need money enough for a car, dogs, birds and a place where you can fly.” Without these things, your falconry will suffer.

A friend of Hal’s sent out a mass email, encouraging us all to send our best wishes on this most auspicious day. If you have a moment — scribble him an old fashioned note. I’m sure it will make his day.

Hal Webster
P.O. Box 38
Fort Benton, Montana 59442

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Baby Feathers

What the hell was I thinking?

Eight years ago when I trapped my first redtail I sat in her muse (er- I mean mews. That’s a Freudian type if I ever made one..) I sat looking in her astonished eyes and thinking, why would anyone buy a falcon when they could trap a spectacular creature like this? Of course I wasn’t a full-blown addict yet, so I didn’t get that when I realized I could fly a redtail again (whenever I wanted) things would have to progress. I guess they have.

It was the merlin did it. I should hvae never flown that merlin last season. I told myself, “one little merlin isn’t going to turn you into a longwinger.” I’m a DIRTHAWKER. I would never trade in my blue lightsaber for a red one. NEVER!

Well, meet Anakin, my tiercel anatum/cassini peregrine. My name is Rebecca and I’m a… a…. I’m a Longwinger.

I have say, he is one sexy falcon. If you are going to the darkside, you may as well go with good company. I must have spent an hour last night just watching him preen. I meant to go to bed, but I couldn’t bear to turn out the lights when he was still putting his feathers in order.

Hard to believe I just paid $1000 for a falcon! What the hell was I thinking? I am going to have to fly him free, give him a chance to fly away, break a wing, crack his pretty little head. Wait. It get’s worse. What do I know about flying a peregrine? I’ll probably embarrass myself and my falcon. If I want company and advice in the field, everyone gets to watch me being an apprentice all over again. And I just did that last season and the season before and…. Huh. I guess being a newbie doesn’t end anyway, does it?

Oh hell, I guess I better get busy sewing a lure.

Anakin was born March 24th, pulled from the chamber May 19th and came home with me May 28th. Today he weighs 510 grams and is flying the length of his leash.

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

A Year for the Ducks

Working at DU out here in the west was “interesting” this last year, to say the least.  In California, we were particularly challenged by frozen bond funds, halting progress toward completing ten million dollars worth of contracted projects. The staff here put in long hours, seeking creative ways, such as a no interest loans from foundations, to get our work on the ground in motion again. They made it happen. It was pretty amazing.

All year we continued to partner with other conservation organizations and land trusts. We succeeded in ensuring the rerouting of a major electric powerline, originally proposed to pass through sensitive wetlands habitat in the Sacramento Valley. We were also involved in a major water policy package working to protect fish, wildlife and people from dangerous mercury levels, while also working to procure more water for our struggling refuges.

This year we embark on one of the largest coastal restoration projects ever attempted in the San Francisco Bay and continue our efforts to restore and maintain the Central Valley refuges, all hard hit by state funding cuts, as well as work with private landowners. Of course this is only a tiny portion of the entirety of projects in the Pacific Flyway, but it gives you an idea. I’ve got my work cut out for me raising funds for all this great stuff, but I think it’s wonderful that despite the economy there are still tons of incredibly important work being done in this office. I certainly landed in the right place!

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Great Working Environment

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

You may recognize the video clip frm The Road to Backersfield, a video I highly recommend if you don’t have it in your falconry video collection.

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

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.

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.

Christmas Dinner

Those of you who know Hank Shaw and his amazing cooking, will be floored when I tell you I last minute cancelled on his undoubtedly delicious goose in order to eat my duck. It wasn’t that I think I can cook better. And I know the duck would have been better if it had hung for a few days. It was just that she seemed like such a gift.

The falcon had little business catching a mallard and Christmas, in the fact the year seemed so much brighter for a meal that took two seasons to secure. Sometimes I’m just sure that nature hands you a gift and the superstitious falconer in me cannot stand the idea of shrugging it off. The duck should be honored. (Or suffer the wrath of the falconry gods.)

I hadn’t expected to get a duck on Christmas, so I had to “Iron Chef” it a bit. What was in the refrigerator was what I had…  a lot of parrot food. Apples, grapes… so I decided to make a chutney. (Which I’ve never done before, but it seemed like a reasonable idea.) I breasted her out and marinated the meat in a spicy sweet sauce I whipped up. The chutney was gala and granny smith apple, a medley of seedless grapes, cinnamon, ginger, brown sugar, rice wine vinegar, soy sauce, cayenne and peanuts that were added just as it was finishing cooking.

I couldn’t tell you how much of which ingredient, I can only tell you that served with sauteed duck breast, salad and wild rice, it was delicious. And that I’ll never be able to make it again. I like it that way. The things we cannot repeat are the things that become personal legends.

And I still made it to Hank and Holly’s for wine, pecan pie and hunting stories.  It was a perfect Christmas.

©2010 Operation Delta Duck. All Rights Reserved.