On a perfect spring day, sun-warmed and breeze-cooled, a Harris Hawk dipped off a tall tree branch and flew directly at me. Its wings spanned three feet, and its eyes stared unblinkingly into mine. I fought a flinch as it came closer and closer, then grinned ear to ear when the hawk landed firmly on my wrist.
My brother-in-law, John and I were at New England Falconry in Woodstock, Vermont, participating in a falconry experience while our patient spouses looked on. (Chris took pictures and did a great job.) I joke that John and I are "bird nerds." He is an experienced birder, and I am merely fascinated by them.
It can be a bit tricky to capture a picture of John smiling. We caught several today because, wow, how could we not be delighted?
An experienced and passionate licensed falconer was our instructor and guide. She shared some history of falconry, educated us about birds of prey, and shared her love and admiration for the animals she trains and handles.
Today, we repeatedly sent the bird off, where it flew free, landing where it pleased. Then, with a whistle, the falconer called him in, where he would alight on our outstretched arm and remain there until we sent him off. Over and over, we were able to experience the thrill of watching the bird zoom toward us and admire him up close while he perched on our arms.
For a spectacular hour today, we walked in a lovely field in Vermont and experienced something we had previously only dreamed of. A hawk on the wing, then on our gloves, glorious.
