by Jana Barkley
She remembered Hank and the owner of the gos getting into a heated argument over the situation.
She shook her head in wonder. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
Hank smiled a strange smile at her. “Yeah, it does.”
The falcons were kept on one side of the yard, and the hawks on the other. There was even a separate yard for eagles if any should come, and this knowledge made Sam eager to see them.
Sam spotted Gally up ahead, preening and oblivious to the commotion of the birds around him. He was the seasoned pro and unflustered when people walked near.
“Hank, what kind of falcon is that?” A large, dark falcon was perched in the far corner, alert and taking in the surroundings with a wary eye.
“He’s Grant Marshall’s black gyr/peregrine tiercel. Won the sky trials the last three years.”
She could tell Hank was impressed as his eyes lingered on the strong, aerodynamic lines of the falcon’s body. He glanced at Sam and smiled. “Talon—that’s his name—is sort of a legend, by now. Pretty darn hard to beat.” Then he laughed. “Wouldn’t mind having a bird like that myself.”
Sam glanced back at Gally, who was much smaller and less impressive in terms of size and presence. The idea of Hank having any other falcon besides his old tiercel seemed wrong. Her face must have mirrored her feelings, and she blushed when she caught him staring at her again.
“I’d never give that little falcon up for anything,” he said. “I know what he’s capable of, and my falconry hasn’t suffered a wit from flying him.”
Sam smiled, reassured.
“Still, you should watch this bird fly in the sky trials. Takes your breath away to see so much speed and power in one package.”
“Are you going to put Gally in the sky trials?”
“Dunno,” he said, standing there with crossed arms. Then he shrugged. “You want to see him try?”
Sam laughed, astounded. “You’re asking me?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I’m asking you.”
Sam deliberated, contrasting the size of the two falcons in her mind. “Yes. Yes, I would—if you think he’s up to it.”
The same sly smile broke out on his face as he shoved his hands in his hip pockets. “Let’s get some lunch.” He moved out with his easy stride, and Sam had to suppress the attraction she still felt. It was pleasurable to be on familiar footing with him, but she also knew how quickly his mood could turn and lock down any effective communication. And she wondered if this was the kind of relationship he’d had with all of his previous apprentices. Still, if she thought about all of the incidents when he’d been uncivil, uncommunicative, or surly during their acquaintance, the cause usually had nothing to do with her. Even their last misunderstanding had been cleared up, and he had been the one to resolve it.
Maybe he likes having me around, she thought, but then quickly shoved the feeling away, knowing full well why she had to. The thought reminded her she had medication to take and needed a meal to keep her body going. It was a cloud that dampened her spirits as she followed him back to the lobby.
“Ho-ho-ho!”: The traditional cry of the falconer announcing game has been flushed
Chapter Twenty-Three
The restaurant was a simple affair, but the food smells coming out of the kitchen were amazing. She was hungrier than she’d thought. As they stood in the entrance while waiting to be seated, a familiar voice greeted them. Turning with a smile, Sam saw Mary Kate headed their way from the registration desk.
“Hey, you two,” she said, grinning. “Are you going in to eat?”
“Yep,” Hank said. “Should we save you a spot?”
“Please, sir.” She sidled up to him to slip her arm around his waist and give him a hug. She winked at Sam. “I’ve got to put Farley in the weathering yard, but I’ll be right in.”
They were seated in a booth next to a large window with a view of the sage plain. Sam noticed Tasha and her friends seated farther away.
“I’m starving,” said Mary Kate, bouncing on the seat next to her and interrupting her thoughts. She tried to read the menu in vain before searching her pockets for her glasses. “I see the long winger convention has arrived,” she commented, a wicked smile on her face as she shoved her readers onto her nose at a crazy angle.
Hank scowled and shrugged it off.
“You’ve met Tasha,” said Mary Kate to Sam. “That’s her husband, Grant, and the others are all long wingers. They’re into the gyr/peregrines these days.”
“You make the bird sound like it’s something bad,” said Hank, a challenge in his voice.
“What?” She mocked astonishment.
“Gyr/peregrine.”
“Oh, you mean those unnatural, souped-up falcons?” Mary Kate was trying to get a rise out of him. Sam had come to expect this banter every time the three of them were together.
“Damned amazing birds. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried one. Oh, but that’s right. You don’t fly those long, pointy, winged things, do you?”
Sam laughed, and Hank broke into a grin.
“No, and you couldn’t pay me to do it. It’s a downright walk on the dark side—flying a bird capable of leaving the county in a matter of minutes who acts like a spoiled prima donna. No, sir, not me. I’m a dirk hawker.”
Mary Kate peered at Sam over her readers to see if she was following the conversation. “Some folks don’t think the hybrid falcons are right. They say it’s an unnatural advantage against the prey. A gyrfalcon’s power and size mixed with a peregrine’s speed and disease resistance makes for a pretty formidable adversary. Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. They’re gorgeous birds and a true beauty in flight.”
Hank grunted in agreement as he chewed his food. After he swallowed, he said, “Gotta have lots of air for them, but I wouldn’t say no to one, either.”
“Well, you’re a master falconer. You can have three birds, boss,” Mary Kate said.
He shook his head. “Barely have enough time to fly two.”
Sam no longer worried about the others threatening to turn Hank’s mood sour, even when they walked by and said hello as they left the restaurant. This time, Tasha made eye contact with her as she walked out, but said nothing.
After lunch, the women stashed their stuff in the room and then loaded the birds up in vehicles. Mary Kate put her hawking gear and the giant hood with Farley inside in Sam’s SUV so they’d only have to take one vehicle, and followed Hank out into the heart of the sage flats.
They didn’t have to go far to find plenty of land free of power lines and fences. Once they parked and got out, Mary Kate walked around. She turned to Sam and beamed. “Rabbit signs frickin’ everywhere!”
“Let’s put the red tail up first,” said Hank, opening the back of his SUV.
Sam needed no encouragement to get ready. Already she was feeling much more confident about Chance’s response to her in the field. Back home, they’d had several hunts on their own. At first, when he’d flown off to find better vantage points in trees or on buildings, it had scared her. But as she began to see the pattern to his flights, how he moved on with her and came to the glove or lure if she asked, she began to relax into their shared connection. It gave her courage to let him venture a little farther each time, and it was a thrill to see him return to her.
Considering the low-lying sage around them, she frowned. Chance was used to having something tall from which to hunt.
“What’s wrong?” Hank asked as he walked up.
“Nothing, but I was wondering how he’s going to act when he has nothing high to fly up to. That’s what he’s used to.”
He didn’t seem concerned. “Let’s see what he does.”
“What about a T-pole perch?” Mary Kate had joined them.
“She’s not gonna use any Goddam T-perch,” Hank said with some ire.
Sam bit down on her questions, not sure what to do.
“Get ready,” he said to Sam.
“
It was just a suggestion. I forgot you don’t like them.” Mary Kate threw her hands up in mock surrender.
Sam said nothing and donned her gear. Hank had definite ideas about how to work with his birds, and as long as he was her sponsor, she knew she’d do things his way.
Chance was eager to get out. He jumped to her glove out of the box, the sure sign his weight was good.
They moved out in a line, the others to Sam’s right.
“Keep the line tight,” said Hank. “We want a foot slip if we can get it, rather than bustin’ them a hundred feet out.”
Chance stretched taller on her glove, bobbing his head with vigor. Before she could see what he saw, he was gone in a strong down thrust of wings, pumping out ahead and to the right.
“It’s a jack,” Hank yelled, and they all took off running.
As Chance got closer to the rabbit, he did something Sam had never seen him do before. The sheer beauty of it made her come to a standstill. The little hawk swung up in an arc, paused as if suspended on a wire in the air, then flipped head over tail to crash into the brush. It was a wing over even more dramatic than the one he had done when he hit the trap the day they caught him.
“Woo-hoo!” Mary Kate hollered. As they came closer to where Chance had put in, they all stopped at Hank’s upheld hand. He turned to Sam, who nodded and moved in alone to see if Chance had caught anything.
He was at the bottom of a sage bush, his wings splayed out and hackles up, panting. But there was no rabbit in the talons. She turned back to the others and shook her head. Damn.
“It’s all right. Get him back on the glove with a tidbit. He’s earned one.”
Chance bounced up to the glove and ate his reward.
“Let’s give him a moment to reset,” Hank said. They watched and waited as the hawk roused his feathers.
“It’s always best to let him get his head back into the game before you take off into the brush again.”
Sam looked at Hank and saw he was smiling. He caught her glance. “Pretty decent flight, wouldn’t you say?”
She smiled so hard her face hurt.
“He’s a good one,” Mary Kate agreed, and Sam’s heart soared.
They moved off at Hank’s direction, and Sam saw Chance was indeed back in the game, scanning the horizon and eager to find another one of those long, pointy-eared critters to chase.
Mary Kate walked next to her. “Birds like this can surprise you. As many years as I’ve been doing this, I’m still blown away by these ballsy little male red tails. The females are grand, but there’s something stunning about the way these smaller guys fly.”
Hank agreed. “Some are better’n others.” He scanned the terrain ahead, much as Chance was doing.
A rabbit broke free to the left. Sam stiffened, anticipating Chance’s departure, but the hawk stayed put. He had seen it, too, but refused it.
“Is he afraid to chase them now?” she asked, frowning. “I mean, did the last one give him second thoughts?”
Hank continued watching the hawk and didn’t say anything at first. “Let’s keep going.”
They moved on. Sam watched Chance’s every move and felt every twitch of his muscles through her glove. She knew red tails could get apprehensive about tackling large rabbits if they were kicked off. Encouraging him to take this type of game as it slipped out into the open beneath him, rewarding him well when he did so, and keeping him from getting kicked off hard was an exercise in balance. However, her fear he might be having second thoughts about jacks disappeared in a flash of wings.
Chance worked hard to get out ahead of them, easily fifty yards.
“What’s he doing?”
“Just watch,” Hank said, holding them in place.
“Where is it?” Sam couldn’t stay quiet. She was straining to stand tall.
“There! There it is,” squealed Mary Kate.
Chance had seen a rabbit and was in hot pursuit. It was too far away to tell if it was a jack or a cottontail. Sam wanted to start running, but Hank held her back.
“Wait and see what he does.”
She took a harsh breath and forced herself to exhale.
Up he flew with gusto and again did a wing over into the sage. The air felt thick with expectation, and the silence held them still for a moment.
A cry erupted from ahead, small and insubstantial at first, and then louder. As realization of the catch dawned on Sam, she turned to Hank.
His smile was genuine; it took her breath away. In the briefest of moments, she felt his pleasure for her, and then she was running. The slip had been long, and the fact Chance was willing to take it was incredible. She loved that bird more than anyone or anything she was connected to. It took forever to get to him, and she could see the struggle in the brush. Just as she got close to her hawk, something happened, and the jack busted loose and scooted out the other side of the bush.
A cry of anguish escaped her as she stopped short so as not to come barreling in on top of Chance. She bent over, exhausted from the sprint, no doubt her anemia raising its ugly head.
“Damn.” Mary Kate ran up to join her and placed a sympathetic hand on her back.
“He had a hold of it through the bush, so he couldn’t bind it up,” Mary Kate said.
As Sam stood up, she saw Hank’s eyes and her gaze dropped.
“It was a great flight,” he said. “Nothing to be ashamed about.”
“No, sir,” Mary Kate agreed. “He’s so close.”
“He’ll learn to hold on. That’s the next step.”
Her little hawk lay prostrate at the bottom of the bush with his feet balled up into fists, still clutching clumps of fur. He was panting hard and didn’t want to move.
She knelt down to give him a tidbit. Hank was down on his knees there next to her in an instant.
“Remember when I felt his keel and said he was a little sharp?”
She was comforted by the softness she saw in his eyes. It helped to ease her though the disappointment.
“This altitude is harder on hawks and humans alike. He’s flown hard and needs an energy boost.”
“What should I do?”
“Give him that rabbit leg you use as a pick-up piece. Let him tear at the meat and eat some of it as we walk back to the cars. He’s spent his energy, and this will be a nice reward that says, yes, we want you to continue to chase these critters.”
“But if he eats this whole leg, he won’t be able to hunt tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to let him eat the whole thing. It’ll be enough to keep his attention until we get back to the truck. Then we’ll sneak it away and give him what you’ve measured out for him, plus a little more. It’ll give him energy for tomorrow.”
An ever-growing respect for this feathered warrior washed over her as she carried him back to the truck. Never in her life had she felt so connected to an animal. Chance continued to pick at the leg, working pieces of flesh loose and swallowing. Every few seconds, he glanced around to scan for predators who might take away his trophy, before returning to his feast.
Once Chance had been fed his increased portion of food for the day and Sam had put him back to rest in his giant hood, she indulged herself in some water and sat on the back of her open SUV. Hank and Mary Kate were already getting their Harris hawks ready. Like her hawk, she was exhausted. She would have to hide this from the others. She knew they expected her to get out there and walk the fields with them, running after the hawks as they chased.
Another glance at Mary Kate told her she had a few precious moments to rest. Her friend was notorious for waiting until she got to the field to cut up tidbits. For Mary Kate, hawking was a social, enjoyable escapade she was not in any hurry to make happen. Sam admired her ability to be in the moment, no matter what she was doing.
She closed her eyes and leaned sideways into the vehicle, forcing her body to relax, trying to find peace within. From the back of her conscious mind, she heard them talking, which reassured her they were still to
o focused on what they were doing to consider her. Good. Just a few seconds more…
“You ready?”
His voice made her leap to her feet. He was much closer in proximity to her than she’d thought, and she blushed hard. She closed the back of her vehicle and turned with a smile—her all-too-ready smile.
As she feared, his expression told her he suspected something was not right.
“Just catching my breath,” she said. “Had a bit of the flu last week. I’m still not quite back on my feet.”
She stepped past him to join Mary Kate, not daring to see if he’d bought it. A moment later, she saw he was next to her with Remo on his glove, ready to hunt.
Walking the sage with these two turned out not to be as hard as she had imagined. Both hawks were in good shape. Together, they took a cottontail and a large jack. Yet Sam was thankful when the others decided to call it a hunt and head back to the lodge and the weathering yard.
Her one regret was Chance had not caught a rabbit. The others urged her to let the frustration go, telling her what a great hawk he was in spite of coming up empty-handed. Something deeper told her she’d never be taken seriously by the falconry community until her hawk took game. She’d overheard others talking about their apprenticeships and the anxiety of the period before their hawks made their first catch. Everyone went through it. Now it was her turn.
On the drive back, she wondered whether Chance felt as frustrated as she did, if not more.
Made, or Made to: A “made hawk” is a fully trained hawk; used when referring to hood training, such as “made to the hood”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The weathering yard was filling up fast with hawks and falcons, almost double the number she had seen a few hours before. Chance balked at coming back into the yard, but Sam soothed him with her voice while reaching up under his breast feathers to reassure him. During times of stress, he had begun to lean into her hand when she did this. He now looked to her for cues as to what was worth being scared of, and it touched her.
Once tied to his perch, though, he settled in. After waiting next to him on her knees for a long moment, Sam stood and backed off, and then moved outside the fence. Chance watched her for a while with his wary glance, and then went back to scanning the yard. Five minutes more seemed to do the trick; the little hawk roused. She talked to him from the fence, earning a red tail glare. So fierce and independent he was. They were connected in the field, but he was still a wild hawk with all the fears and instincts that made him so.