Falcons & Hawks

You may know a hawk from a handsaw. But do you know it from a falcon?

Roughly speaking hawks are broader but shorter winged, have a hooked and a longish tail. They typically kill with their talons in the strike as they land on their prey.

That’s not quite the full story, though. In taxonomy “true” Hawks are members of the Accipitrinae subfamily, of the Accipitridae family. The main family is big and includes birds such as buzzards and harriers as well. Oh yes, and Eagles. Too many. I think I will stick to true hawks!

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Battle in the Skies

Booted Eagle, Common Kestrel. photo: Pete George, IBC

Went back to Sedella this week for another stroll above the village. Fascinated to see a Booted Eagle being attacked, repeatedly a common kestrel. This went on for a good 5 minutes or more with both birds flying right across the sky. This is probably territorial defence – the kestrel doesn’t want a big competitor clearing the area of prey – which sounds very sensible, but was shocking to see – the tiny attacking hurtling in at a much larger bird.

Field of gold: Purple Vipers Bugloss to the fore, mainly umbrella milkwort, behind

Lovely flowers in abundance too, especially Spotted Rock-Rose and fields full of Umbrella Milkwort. There were also agave cactus putting up flower spikes at about 15 at this stage with more to go, beautiful big Broom, Mallow-leaved Bindweed, Creeping Jenny, Purple Viper’s Bugloss, Wild Artichokes and much more!

Agave cactus

 

 

 

 

 

Wild Artichoke

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were bugs and butterflies too, including dozens more Owly Sulphers – only seen these near Sedella. I caught a couple again: the singles don’t stay still for long enough! But nothing topped the aerial display at the end of the walk!

 

 

 

 

I must add a thanks for your company to Mychaela, Pauline, Keith and especially Sybil.

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Blade in the Sky

Kestrel, Falco tinnuculus, I see him most days: a silhouette against the clouds, a movement in the bright sky, a hunched shape on the electricity post. My first thought is falcon, to be rapidly filtered as I take in size, shape, speed, location, but even if I never get a clear view of the orange-brown back, one thing brings a species-name leaping to mind: he hovers on the wind.

Kestrels are a common birds of prey: they hunt confidently on so much small prey on road and waysides, field edges and motorways, that they can be overlooked. But the kestrel I see near where I work in Sayalonga is resident and I see him so often I feel connected to his hunting pattern. I work and he works, but his work is his life. José Manuel, Fauna SurThe demonstrations of falconer José Manuel, which I enjoyed in Salares in September, were a reminder to me of what I know of hawks and why they are never truly tame. Born to hunt, the bird’s drive to do so is an irresistible urge, whetted by hunger; it is the activity hardwired into the bird’s genetics, its nature. The falconer flies a hungry bird and it returns to the hand for one reward alone – meat. The fed bird won’t fly (or won’t return). So my  Sayalonga falcon’s endless patience in balancing above the vineyards and weeds to find finches, rodents, beetles or reptiles is driven by hard need.

Life’s not all about the belly though. When I walked from Saylonga to Cómpeta in September, a pair of the birds went tumbled through the air above the valley, catching each others claws and crying with hard high-pitched sharp calls, in courtship display. Romance!

800px-common_kestrel_falco_tinnunculus_andreas-trepte-www-photo-natur-deI can’t help romancing, either. He’s beautiful, my Sayalonga kestrel, from the gorgeous pattern of blue-black head and patterned brown-orange, to the endless grace of his movement in the sky. He turns into art in my head – Kes in the coalfields, Wart turned into a kestrel by Merlin in the Sword in the Stone. Shown below, Gerald Manley Hopkin’s beautiful poem The Windhover – which is the old English name for the kestrel – is a gloriously inflated piece of writing but it catches something of the raptor’s perfect grace. Yet for all this art, I know I’m getting carried away: I’m just watching another lovely bird flying over the hillside again.

The Windhover
To Christ Our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing.

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

 

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