The kitty boys aren't happy with their new curfews but Spring has brought the return of our raptors. Barely a day goes by now that I won't see one or more in our skies or roosting in our trees. Several weeks ago, Mark was reading an article to me when my concentration was interrupted by a peripheral visual disturbance ... my goldies! At first, I had only noticed one golden eagle making it's classic circular flight patterns just a little west of the rat. I arose with the birding binoculars and steadied myself into the large window frame for better viewing. Before long, it became very apparent that 'he' was courting a lady who finally settled down into one of the high ledges above us. It would appear that the 'chemistry' clicked for this pair and they eventually circled up into the air in, I suppose, a "Was it good for you?" soaring dance of ever widening and ascending circles until even the binoculars could no longer hold them. They have since returned often, taking up a roost in the pines nearby and waiting for tender kitties or cottontails or whatever might present itself as dinner below. And they have allowed me to observe their play moments as well. I watched mesmerized as the male broke off a roosting branch and rose high into the air with stinging speed, only to drop the branch and then practice diving to clutch it up again and again before it hit the ground. Perhaps typical guy "Hey, watch this!" stuff. Eventually the female joined him, probably saying "Yes, dear, that really was impressive. Can we do lunch now? I think I might be eating for more than one."
And today, as I was soothing a fever's heat in the late shade of the porch, a hawk caught my attention. He was large bodied and stubby enough in the neck that I might have mistaken him for an owl had evening's dulling light been any closer. Retrieving the binoculars to aid my failing eyesight dispelled any doubt that this was a hawk of good proportion. To keep him circling within viewable range, I would occasionally 'scree' to him and he would stop midair with chilling accuracy like a kite on a long string despite the winds and watch back intently. Before too long, I noticed another hawk who, at first, seemed to be a considerable distance behind him. It was not until their orbits overlapped that I realized that this second hawk was considerably smaller and probably concerned about an invasion of territory and his nesting grounds. Looking through the 'glass', I had lost all sense of proximity until the two engaged in combat. After a number of glancing intercepts, the larger dropped down onto the smaller and I saw a tiny flash of white feathers and the smaller hawk dropped down into the sage at the base of the mesa. The larger bird dove down into the same area and then took up watch in a tree on the lower mesa bench. When I removed the binoculars, I was startled to realize that this had all happened just ten feet beyond the big moving trailer. I resumed spotting the larger bird. Had I not known his position, I would have never seen him in the top of the big conifer. He rested there for another ten minutes, likely waiting for the re-emergence of his protester but finally flew off to the north east. Brou and I searched the brush for his possibly battered dog-fight partner. I was greatly relieved to look up and see the smaller fellow airborne again and nervously patrolling his territory until the shadows lengthened.
'My' birds are very special to me. They are a part of my life here when I walk away from the rat trailer. The larger hawk may likely be the fellow who came to see me when I was out stalking renegade cattle last summer. Having to herd these cows with nothing more than a broom and a pick-up truck, I had pulled into a remote gas well site and was circling around to drive the delinquent noshers back towards the road. My intent and tactics were utterly dissolved when I heard a distinct 'Scr-e-e-e-e-e!" right over head. I looked up and saw a large hawk circling above me. As I returned his call, he circled lower and in ever-tightening circles and returning my calls until he was, perhaps, just 10-15 feet above my head. Given my awareness of his razor-edged talons, I decided that we need not get any more familiar. I slowly presented my flat palm upwards as if to push him further aloft and he obliged, still calling but flying ever higher until he vanished completely from view into the bright blue sky.
The photo shows not two but THREE golden eagles above the rat trailer just a few days ago. By their actions, it would appear that one of them was a Johnny-Come-Lately hoping to win over the affections of the lady as the third eagle eventually left after a few lofty scuffles and flew off to the north by himself.
Current news:
It's been a tough week out here so far with Mark succumbing to a flu which he likely picked up on the last town run on Thursday. We agreed that he has probably slept 20 out of each 24 hour day since Saturday night. I am hot on his heels for the walking wounded club membership so bear that in mind if another update lags.
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