Time to catch up.

I have been a bit remiss, primarily because I have been very irritated with myself. Up until I was 34 or so, I used to do things that when asked later, my answer was "It seemed like a good idea at the time". Unfortunately I am apparently in my second childhood, since I seem to be going down that road again.

It started after I fed Jessie on the fist because the weather was too bad to fly. The weather here lately has been pretty bad with the wind really howling. She was down to weight and had to be fed, so I gave her a half pigeon breast with the wing attached. I set her on her perch to finish her meal. When I went back into the shop, I found that she had stashed the wing. For some reason I decided to take it so that it would not be in her crop the next day, as I intended to fly her. I reached down to take it, and she jumped down to grab it. Instead of letting it go, I pulled it away. She jumped back up on the perch, but the damage was done, the seed planted. All the careful handling that I had done so far was in effect wasted.

On the 18th the weather finally cleared and the wind stopped. We loaded up both birds and went to Arock. The pond by the Hwy had Ducks on it, so I made my way into position. For whatever reason Jessie has never flown high on this pond, and until this year had never killed anything on it. It is a fairly big pond and for whatever reason has no rocks for ammo at all around it. Anyway, when she was in position I stepped up on the top of the dam and the ducks flushed. They turned before clearing the water, but she altered her flight and dipped low scooping up a Widgeon and carrying him over the dam to the ground below. Not very stylish, but effective.

I had been up until this time been able to help her in dispatching the victims, but this day she kept warning me that she was not going to tolerate me messing with her food. I of course kept trying. I cannot say why, but "It seemed like a good idea at the time". I touched the ducks wing, Jessie left the duck and grabbed my right hand with both feet. The duck tried to scramble away. In reflex I grabbed it, Jessie grabbed my left hand, I shoved the duck in her face, she grabbed my right hand again, then the dirty broad also reached down with her beak to take a bite out of me. I had to grab her around the wings and tail and pull her off my hand. I then stuck the duck in her face and backed off.

I sat and fumed for a while, but I had to admit that it was self inflicted, and the culprit and asshole was me. I knew that the duck was a recent arrival and was fat as a butter ball. For some reason that I cannot explain, I was worried that she would eat enough that she wouldn't fly again for 3 or 4 days. I keep asking myself why that would matter, but haven't come up with a good reason as of yet. All I can come up with is that the ponds are slowly freezing over and my hawking days are now numbered.  Remember - "The hurrieder I go, the behinder I get". Or in the immortal words of Pogo- "We have met the enemy and he is us".

I bled like a stuck pig, and the only way I could get the blood to stop was to rub dirt in it. I imagine my mother would have been aghast, but I have always been blessed with a remarkable ability to resist infection. We went on to hunt Peg, and while she tried, she managed to screw every thing up and wasn't able to do any good at all. She was actually about 2 ounces heavier than I had ever flown her.

The weather turned to crap again with winds up to 50 mph for two days straight. After the wind died, I decided that I didn't want to take Jessie to Arock because of the last incident and I wanted to fly her somewhere she normally flew higher. I decided to take her to Appendix Point since I had not been there for a long time. We took Peg to Arock and tried to catch a  Jack there. she pulled hair on one Jack, and caught another by the butt, she wasn't able to hold it long enough for me to get there to help her. We got back to the house and picked up Jessie to go to Appendix Point. We got there after a 10 mile drive over some BLM abused roads at speeds that were just below Karen's breaking point. There were no ducks on the pond. We raced back to check the Lake at the ranch. I managed to sneak up on the Lake to check, but there were no ducks there either. I fed her a duck leg to hold her weight steady in case we could fly the next day. When I got up the next morning the wind was howling again with a forecast of more of the same for the entire day. Karen had a Doctor's appointment the next day in Boise, so I gave up and fed both hawks a full crop.

Today the weather was good, and Jessie was at a suitable weight. Peg however was a bit fat, but I thought we would take her along and fly her last since she wasn't likely to do that much. We found some ducks on the Hwy pond at Arock, so I made my approach, releasing Jessie below the dam. When she got as high as she would go, I stepped to the top of the dam.  To my surprise, I found that most of the pond was frozen over with just a small open spot on the far side of the pond. I yelled as loud as I could and the ducks flushed, but of course she was low enough that they were still over the water when she started her stoop. They landed back on the small part of the pond that was still open and Jessie climbed back up. I stood there for a bit trying to decide what would be the best way to get them off the water. They apparently got nervous and thought she was far enough away that they could make their escape. She started after them and as they came close to my side of the pond, they began to turn back. I yelled and waved my arms, finally convincing them to leave. Jessie swooped through the flock and grabbed a Gadwall by the wing, sailing over the dam to the ground below. This time I stood and watched her after taking her picture. I called Karen on the radio to inform her that she had a duck, but she was almost to our position, so we sat on the bank and watched Jessie pluck her duck. When she had eaten the neck and was starting on the main body, I stepped up with half of a pigeon breast with all the feathers and the wing attached, and she stepped on the fist as nicely as could be. I fed her enough Pigeon and duck to give her a full crop, then hooded her.

 

Now it was Peg's turn, so we drove to a spot a bit further out than we had hunted before. The area belongs to an old Basque Rancher and it is comprised of medium sized Sage and Lava lumps and covers about one by four miles of prime rabbit country. Jorden Creek cuts through it. The Eagles are moving in and there were four Golden's apparently watching a fifth one eat a Jack that it had caught. We drove on in and pushed them out of the area. Thankfully they moved out leaving the Sage to us. Karen and I were both relieved. There is a resident pair with an apparent young of the year that live and hunt there. This is the first time that I have seen more than the three. When the migration hits its full stride there will be both Bald and Golden's in numbers that are quite impressive not to mention daunting.  While we were driving counting Eagles sitting on the various rock outcroppings one of the counted ones turned into a Coyote and disappeared over the ridge.

I had not expected Peg to try very hard at the weight that she was carrying, but she surprised me and was doing her best. I decided that I would make a big circle and was counting the number of times that she tried and missed. When we got to ten I would quit. One of the earlier ones that she chased went towards Karen. They were jumping, crashing and dodging around a piece of Sage about 5 feet in front of her. It all happened so fast that Karen appeared to be moving in slow motion in her attempt to distract the Jack long enough that Peg could connect. The Jack managed to keep his head and made his escape leaving both Karen and Peg breathless and disappointed.

Flight number eight turned out to be one of those rascally Bunnies, and Peg was pressing him hard. He had no choice but to dodge into the first available hole that he came to. Under normal circumstances he would have been OK, but he hadn't counted on this hawk having a pardner. Lava by its nature takes many strange shapes and forms. Some have formed bubbles that have hardened and are hollow. The one this poor Bunny had dodged into was about three feet long with a Bunny sized hole running the length of it. Unfortunately for the Bunny, the back part of it had been broken and was missing. So the Bunny in essence had run into a very short tube. Peg was in it head first as far as she could force her way in. I am sure she could see the Bunny and she was frustrated.  Of course I went to the other end and forced the Bunny out and into the talons of a very happy hawk. We took some pictures and I tied her to the Tee perch leaving her in Karen's keeping while I went back to the truck and brought it back to their location. We let her eat all she wanted.

All in all it was a pretty good day. It is not every day that both my birds score.