A Season Just Begun . . . Suddenly Placed on Hold

This is not the blog entry I wanted to post here!

I hoped to post a picture, and tell the tale of a wonderful new hawk catching her first bunny.

But, that is not to be!


Today I took my beautiful Sienna out for her first hunt. 40.4 oz, and focused and ready to fly. I took her to an open field in Mauston, where bunnies are found in abundance. There are many trees, good perching locations. But, unfortunately, a couple power poles too!

I took my time this afternoon assembling all my equipment. Getting it all out of storage, and going through it all, and seeing that everything was in good working order, and that I had everything that I needed. I tested my telemetry, and strapped it on her leg, for her to give it a try. I sharpened her talons, which had become a little dull, simply by hooding her, and using the Dremmel, without even casting her. She let me do this, and didn't fuss much at all. We headed out, a nice fall day. Calm blue skies. A nice day to start the hunting season.

At my chosen field I unhooded her, and started walking along a tree line, holding her up. I've never cast her off towards the trees, but usually only towards her training perch. She looked around, looked around, then launched herself, flew around the trees, and went to the power pole, some distance from where I was. I was a little uncomfortable about this, but started to beat the brush. After all, she was trapped in Madison, a city bird, and was familiar with sitting on poles. I followed her lead, and walked out into the field that she was watching towards a large tree. Sure enough, as I approached, a bunny flushed. I yelled "ho ho ho" as I'm supposed to, and she came off the pole and flew in my direction, crashing at the base of the tree where the bunny had frozen. She missed, and it kept running. She got herself up off the ground and gave chase, missing a second time. The bunny then ran off down the hill and got away. She hopped up into the tree she was under. I called her to the glove, to give her a tidbit, a small reward for her performance. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to. And I was encouraged that this last step would be easy, as all the previous steps had been. I then encouraged her to take a perch again in one of the suitable trees, by pointing her towards them, and walking towards them, and holding her up. After a moment, she took flight, wheeled around, and headed to the other pole in the field. However, for whatever reason, she didn't aim for the top T perch, but must have touched with her right foot the transformer below the T. As she righted herself her left wing must have come in contact with some other wire or pole or something. I heard a zapping sound, and she collapsed where she stood. For a moment I stared in horror at her, not wanting to realize and to accept what I believed had just happened. Her body, at first, was wedged on top of the transformer. And for a moment I was hoping she wasn't going to be stuck up there. But then something gave way, and she fell to the ground. I was running at this point, not wanting to believe, not wanting to accept. But as I came to her limp body, it was very hot from the electrocution. There could be no doubt. She was dead.

I seem to be experiencing all the possible bad things that can occur with a falconry bird this past year. And I wonder and hope my bad luck will change soon.

I have had a bird die of asper.

I've had to struggle through the training of a late-trapped, difficult bird.

And now, I've had to watch as a wonderful new young hawk, so easy to train, so sweet to handle, loses her life, as unfortunately many wild birds do, by being shocked to death by a power pole. And nothing I can offer would have made any difference. The thought ran though my mind, as I was running towards her, if I could get her to Wisconsin Rapids in time, to see Dr. Rasmussen, our local falconry vet, if she had survived the shock. But the answer was plain to see when I came to her. She was beyond help! There was a substantial burn wound on her right foot. There was a small entry burn on her left wing. The charge had ran her entire body. She was beyond help!

I gathered her limp body up into my arms and walked back to my car, which was not very far away. I set her down, and took all my equipment off and put it in the trunk. When it was time to put her away, somewhere in the car, I held her for a few moment, and allowed the tears to come. I may not have known her for as long as I had known Pente, but I mourned her death nonetheless. She would have been a wonderful falconry bird! Of this I felt certain. Such a shame to come to such a sudden end.

In death, you discover small, wonderful things. Hawks have an eyelid that comes from below, instead of above, like ours. And it is covered with fine, small feathers. Hers were pulled up tight, obscuring her lovely yellow eyes, which would see no more. And as I held her, for a moment, I had a gallows humor thought. I had named her Sienna, after a paint color called "burnt sienna". Sure enough, she was her full name now!

I must make a point to name my next bird something permanent, something long lived. Like "Methuselah", or something like that! Pente was named after an Amazon warrior queeen, who was killed by Achilles. And now my Sienna is as burned as thoroughly as a hawk could be. Yes, need to be more careful with those names!

I have checked my regulations. I myself cannot take another hawk from the wild until January. But I can receive one that someone else has in their possession, or has trapped. I shall have to see if any of my friends might be able to help me out. I can't possibly accept that I might have to sit out this entire season as well.

It has been so long since I've had a bird on the wing, flying free over my head, pursuing game. And seems now it will be a little longer!