by Jana Barkley
“You know a field is good when you find scat. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked at a field you’d swear must be jumping with rabbits, only to get out in it and find no scat.”
Sam was impressed.
“Oh, look here.” Mary Kate crouched down and Sam leaned forward. “Pheasant.”
“How’d you ever learn all this?”
“Hunting. You learn to recognize it after you see it enough. You will, too.”
Mary Kate stood up, hands on hips, and scanned the field in every direction.
“There’s something else you need to watch out for in a prospective field, Sam: the power poles.” She squinted her eyes and then pointed back toward the distillery. “There.”
“Are we too close?”
“Naw, I think we’re okay. But all the same, I’d prefer to hunt in the opposite direction.”
Sam looked at the pole about two hundred yards away. “It looks dead, like nothing out here is connected to it.”
“See the transformer farther down? Too many falconers have lost their birds to electrocution, not to mention plenty of wild raptors.”
Mary Kate’s sad eyes stared at the pole. Sam had never seen her affected so.
Thinking about what it would feel like to see Chance fried to death if he landed on what looked to be a normal power pole, she cringed. “I hope I never have to deal with that.”
“Me, too, kiddo. I lost my first red tail that way, and I still get choked up remembering her.”
Mary Kate was silent for a while as they walked along and scanned the ground.
She stopped and turned to Sam. “You’re gonna lose a bird somewhere along the line. Either through sickness, electrocution, or because it flies away and you can’t get it back.”
Sam shuddered at the thought, but she knew it was all part of the package. Fly a hawk and feel your spirit soar. Lose your hawk and feel your heart choke on the grief of it. Knowing the loss of a bird was inevitable was wretched, but it was also unthinkable never to experience what it was to sink your heart and soul into this wild creature, regardless of the price. That’s why they always said it was a good day in the field if you came home with your bird. No matter if you both got beat up chasing game and caught nothing, or your bird decided to take off and scare the living daylights out of you. If you got it back and made it home together in one piece, it was a good day.
Sam shook her head. “If people knew what we go through with these birds, and what it can do to you, they’d think we’re absolutely crazy.”
“That’s because we are. Welcome to the club, darlin’.”
Mary Kate let Farley chase a couple of jacks, but she had to hit the road to get home before dark. She dropped Sam off at her doorstep with a wave and drove off. For someone who wasn’t her sponsor, Mary Kate was teaching her about falconry, life, and so much more.
The sun was setting as Sam stepped in the front door and walked into the family room. She felt energized and pulled to her friend who was perched in the middle of the floor. He stood taller than she’d ever seen him stretch, and he craned his head backward and side to side in such an exaggerated manner it made her laugh.
“Hey, buddy,” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell. She turned on a soft lamp to make the room cozy and was off to the kitchen, aware of what she had to do. A small plastic storage container held cut-up bits of jackrabbit. Hank had filled her freezer with these so she could have food for Chance until he was catching his own.
She slipped on her glove, looped the whistle on a lanyard around her neck, and tucked a few tidbits into a baggie in her pocket. She didn’t know whether it was the confidence she imbibed from spending time with Mary Kate or a deeper knowing that said Now is the time. He’s waiting for you. Whatever it was, she followed her gut. In front of the perch, kneeling as she had for so many days in frustration, she saw an expression of interest from Chance that was new. Sam stopped, fascinated, feeling what it was to hold the attention of a wild red-tailed hawk and be the center of his universe. The tidbit was visible on her glove, and before she could blow the whistle, she saw what she knew deep down would happen. Chance stretched, crouched, and unlike before when he had given up and sat back away from her, he took the plunge and landed square on her glove. The tidbit disappeared. When he was sure her glove was not hiding anything else edible, he raised his fierce glance to her, not in challenge, but in expectation, gripping her glove like only a red tail could when it wanted something, as any experienced falconer could attest.
“Good boy.” She smiled and reached up to stroke his chest. But Chance was hungry and wanted more tidbits. Instead of tolerating her touch, he nipped her fingers, searching for more. Grinning, she turned him around and set him back on his perch.
“Okay, kiddo. This is the proof of what I’ve been taught to expect.” Sam hid her glove behind her back, placed a tidbit on it, and moved a couple of feet away. The leash was long enough he could just make her glove if he jumped to her. Clenching the whistle in her teeth, she held up the glove with her pulse pounding. One whistle and one crouch, and then he jumped to her again.
Some people say they come to believe in God or the wonder of creation when they see a baby born. For Sam, it was the two-foot jump of a wild hawk to her glove. They were partners now, and he looked to her for cues of what came next. She thanked the powers watching over her Hank wasn’t there to see her, because tears fell in torrents down her face. With each jump Chance made to the glove, he was more eager to play this new game, making her laugh and cry. When he was full and his response lagged, she gave him the last large piece of meat and let him take it to the perch.
Sitting on the floor against the side of an easy chair, she felt all of the adult restraint she had exercised for the past four months melt in a torrent of tears. When it caught you unawares, sobbing, like laughing, was the purest expression of self she knew. No one was here to say, “There, there,” and obligate her into emotional self-control. She was free to howl and sob, to lie on the carpet and wail as long as she had the energy and impetus to do so. She cried for the joy of what had happened, and she sobbed for the sorrow of what she had to lose. Perfect Sam, together-and-professional Sam, was gone. Sick-lonely-hungry-for-love-and-understanding Sam sobbed on her family room floor, and it felt good.
Five, ten, twenty minutes later, she caught a ragged breath and gazed up through bleary eyes at the curious red tail, who watched her unafraid from his perch four feet away. For the first time since she could remember, she saw herself full and real, and she liked who she was. Whether through her own eyes or those of the red tail who cocked his head in curiosity at her before vigorously feaking his beak back and forth on his perch, she saw this Sam was worth fighting for.
“You’re beautiful.” Her voice was hushed in the stillness. Sitting up, she granted herself the luxury of watching him, enrapt in the pure joy she suspected even the oldest falconer still experiences when he watches his bird preen or bathe or sit contented with a foot tucked.
She fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a comforter, choosing to watch Chance until she could no longer keep her eyes open. He tucked a foot and let one eye then the other close in repose. It was enough for both, and they slept in peace.
Creance: A long line attached to a hawk for training flights before it is flown free
Chapter Fifteen
Sunrises over the Sacramento basin in late November were breathtaking events for those motivated enough to be up early. Sam felt free and light as her SUV rolled down the interstate toward the fields where most of her friends hawked together when they could meet on weekends. Sacramento was central for all of them: Sam from the East Bay; John, Karen, and Mary Kate from the North Bay; and Hank from the coast. It was one-and-a-half or two hours of travel time each way. That was falconry in California. Open land was hard to find, and this year’s amazing field full of jacks and pheasant would be next year’s shopping mall or new housing tract. The search for viable hunting fields never ended.
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Today, she and Chelsea would join them, and Sam was excited. Although everyone in the group had started with a red tail as the law required, she had heard Chelsea had transformed her wild red tail into an amazing game hawk. Most spent their required time with their apprentice red tails, occasionally taking game, and dreaming of turning general when they could release the red tail and buy a Harris hawk.
Hank had never told her about his hunting red tails, but she figured it was due to lack of time rather than a reluctance to share it with her. He had told her, though, of falconers in the Southern and Midwestern states who chose to fly only red tails and turned these hawks into incredible hunters. As her time with other falconers grew, Sam came to believe you flew what you loved. If you loved a red-tailed hawk, you would put everything into flying that bird. It would be the same with any species. Hank gave her the impression he would get the best out of anything he flew, and it came down to a simple reason: Hank loved all of these birds and capitalized on each one’s strength and style without trying to make it behave like something else.
The past two weeks with Chance had changed her rhythms. After he had learned how to play the jump-to-the-fist game, Sam had moved farther and farther away until she had to switch from the leash to a light, durable nylon cord called a creance. The creance was fifty yards long, and the goal was to lengthen the distance until he was flying to her from its full length.
After several trips with him to the local school’s football field in the mornings before the students arrived, he flew the full length of the creance. So eager was he to play the game of come-to-the-glove she couldn’t get to the end of the cord before she saw his eager shadow following her.
This was the sign, Hank told her. It was time to fly him free.
She glanced back in her rearview mirror to see the traveling box in which Chance was riding.
“This might be the day, buddy.”
The thought of his first free flight was exciting and terrifying at once. At least she would have Hank and the others close by if Chance decided to fly away.
Her relationship with her sponsor was a puzzle. At first she was thankful to see less of Hank. His cantankerous and changeable humor was hard to handle, and she had to keep reminding herself that what he had to teach her was worth the trouble. But as the days passed and questions about Chance’s behavior arose, she wished she could have more personal time with him. Hank made a point to call her once a week if he hadn’t heard from her, but the verbal help was not enough. At this rate, Mary Kate could have been her sponsor if all she could expect was telephone instruction. She wondered what he would do if she just showed up at his place and said, “Show me what you’re talking about.” As infuriating as he could be, she wanted to know more about him and the way he handled his birds. You couldn’t learn this over the phone or through email. Today she decided she would approach him about hunting together. Or hell, she’d even do chores at his place if he’d teach her more about how he flew his birds. Especially Gally.
Mary Kate’s green van and Hank’s black SUV were parked up ahead off the road, and she pulled in beside them.
Mary Kate came up and gave her a bear hug with all of her four-foot-eleven frame, and both women headed to the back of Hank’s open rig. His back was toward them, and Sam felt an unexpected thrill as they approached. Not seeing his face, she could have sworn he was in his late twenties. The man was fit and looked good in his Levis. The shock of blond hair was free of a hat today, and she caught herself reacting to him. She glanced down and away so as not to risk his sudden turn and intense gaze figuring out where her head had been. Well, he was a good-looking man. Funny how she’d never thought of him that way before. His crankiness and stubbornness took center stage most of the time. Please tell me I’m not attracted to him. He turned and threw her an uncharacteristic smile, and she almost had to stop and steady herself.
Hank and Mary Kate joked about something, leaving her free to sigh with relief her wayward thoughts had not been obvious.
Sam watched him assemble Remo’s telemetry. He was at ease today, and she got the impression he liked hanging out with this particular group of people. It was refreshing and disturbing to her senses at once, but she forced herself to focus on what he was doing.
“How’s his weight?” He threw the question aside to her.
“Seven hundred and thirty grams, just like you suggested.”
“Good girl.” He grinned, and Sam felt her heart beat a little faster. Wanting to please this man had become important, and strangely disconcerting. She frowned in intense concentration and asked him a question about the telemetry unit,
The crunch of tires on gravel turned her around. Mary Kate waved at John and Karen, who had brought two others with them. Keeping his back to the new arrivals, Hank continued to work on the telemetry transmitter and talked with Sam about the frequency he was using.
“Chelsea’s here, too,” said Mary Kate, and bounded off to say hello.
“Great. I’ll get to see a good red tail fly.”
“She’s a good hawk. Hand me a spare antenna, over there in the black bag.” He motioned with his free hand.
Sam dug inside and found several black plastic strips about eight inches long. “Does it matter which one?”
“Nope. This one will do,” he said, reaching for one.
“Look who else we brought along,” Karen called out.
“Wow. It’s been a long time. How’s it going, Tasha?” said Mary Kate.
Sam detected a strange shift in Mary Kate’s voice and was about to turn when a loud snap brought her back to where Hank was working. The black plastic antenna he’d been attaching to the transmitter had snapped in half, and she saw blood drip down his thumb. Sam felt the ice descend and saw his muscles stiffen. She stared dumbly up at his face as he stood frozen at the back of his truck.
Her voice was a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”
His expressionless eyes took in the injury and, without thinking, she reached out to help.
“Let me see.” She was quieter still, holding her breath in case she had trespassed.
His gaze fell on her with such intensity she stopped in the act of reaching for his injured hand. Unlike his usual surly self, incapable and unwilling to tolerate fools, he was shaken.
“It’s fine.” His voice was brusque as he reached for a roll of paper towels, ripped one off, and pressed it to his hand.
He hadn’t pushed her away. That was a first. Yet, he didn’t want to talk about telemetry or anything else now. So far as he knew, she was not aware of his past with Tasha, nor would he be comfortable with her knowing. She swallowed the compassion she felt for him and reached for another antenna without being asked. He took it from her in silence, and she turned to join the others, although everything in her wanted to stay by his side. It was best for her to act unaware and give him some room to prepare himself.
He was still in love with Tasha. Why else could the mention of her name have such a strong impact on him? And what a shame to see such a strong, dynamic man held hostage to a woman who would use him for her own purposes, and then throw him away. He had been so different when she arrived, enough to be attractive to…no, best not to go there. But her anger at Tasha surprised her. She reminded herself she was the new girl on the block and was not supposed to know about this.
Sam and Mary Kate exchanged meaningful glances as she walked up to join the rest of them.
Mantle: When a hawk crouches over her captured quarry to prevent theft from other predators
Chapter Sixteen
Sam was not prepared for this introduction. Whatever she had imagined Tasha to be—blonde, redheaded, tall and lanky, model-like—was not what she saw. Tasha was tall, but her waist-length brown hair was tied in a pristine knot at her nape. Sam fought to keep a smile from her face, for she recognized the look. Tasha was close to Sam’s age, which meant she had to work at keeping that lean figure. She knew firsthand about those extra ten pounds appearing from nowher
e when you hit forty and was almost impossible to get rid of and keep off. Sam had let her club membership lapse after the stress of a sudden life change and running around with a red-tailed hawk had made it unnecessary.
Tasha’s painted, glossy nails and impeccable clothing, though sporty for the field, spoke of money and—yes, Sam could almost catch a whiff of her perfume. Beguiled. It had been Sam’s favorite scent for years until she’d grown tired of it. Perfume in the field? But it was obvious, wasn’t it? It was for Hank. Sam glanced down at her own hands. Her nails were in sore need of a manicure, something she once had done every week. She bit down on her lower lip and shoved her hands into her pockets.
Although Tasha came across as feminine and polished, there was a hardness about her mouth that spoke of how stubborn and unyielding she was. Thinking of her with Hank made Sam realize how difficult a relationship between two opinionated, headstrong people could be if they didn’t share the same values.
Seeing the woman in the flesh helped to debunk the mystique of her, yet Sam was astonished at how self-conscious she felt.
She almost jumped when Karen said her name.
“Sam, you have to meet Tasha. She was Hank’s apprentice years ago. She’s up here searching for fields for the sky trials at the meet this winter.”
Sam stepped forward and extended her hand, but not before noticing the appraising gaze taking her in from head to foot. Tasha’s large smile left Sam with the impression she could pull it out at a moment’s notice, no matter how she felt. But then, so could Sam, which she knew well from years of working with customers.
“You’re Hank’s new apprentice, aren’t you?” The strength of her voice matched her height. So, Tasha had already gotten the lowdown on her.
Sam just smiled and nodded.
“Well, I have to say from personal experience you’re in good hands.” She smiled her wide smile again at the others. Tasha appeared to be keeping court. “Do you have your red tail with you today? Or are you flying a kestrel?”