The Vanishing Hawks Of America

The skill, daring and intelligence of hawks early excited the admiration of man, and the arts of the early Persians and Egyptians testify to the antiquity of falconry—the capture of game by trained hawks. Its practice in China, India and other eastern countries also predates the written record. From these lands falconry spread to Europe, where by the ninth century it was a fashionable sport. Royalty and nobles of all ranks gave to it an important place in their lives, and each group of the more favored hawks was dedicated especially to a certain grade of society. The peregrine, a bird found in some form in nearly all countries of the earth, was the typical and favorite falcon.

Around the sport there grew up a language of its own, each attribute, condition and part of the bird bearing a peculiar name. From these early times to the present falconry has never quite died out, and there is at present in Germany an organization which seeks to protect these noble birds, and to revive the fast-fading romance of the ancient sport. While it is manifestly impracticable in these days to restore to its former high position the sport of kings, yet we welcome any move to encourage the protection of these interesting species.

Many years ago, when I was a boy in eastern Massachusetts, and my principal occupation was to watch Nature's varied and endless panorama as it unfolded itself through the seasons, I used to see each autumn the wonderful bands of migrating hawks, each making its way through the hazy September sky over the broad fields which lay before our home. They came in sight from the direction of the schoolhouse and across a patch of wood-circled meadow, some scarcely above the trees, some nearly beyond sight in the blue heavens, and disappeared over the top of a glacier-scarred hill toward the southwest. Steadily they passed over, redtails and red-shoulders, with a sprinkling of broadwings and many of the smaller species, the larger ones often pausing to circle a few times, the smaller usually scurrying by with hurried wing-beats.

From the general direction of their flight line I used to picture them as already perceiving the necessity of striking direct for the shores of New York Bay to avoid crossing the open ocean to our south. Now, looking back over the years, I appreciate more than I could then realize the privilege of being permitted to observe those south-flying bands of earlier days, for it is unlikely that I, nor my children, nor their children, will ever see the like again.

By: davidbunch

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