Hunting: With Wing & Claw

A hare hopped from the thicket and dashed frantically across the field toward a copse of birch and poplar. Thirty yards away, the great golden eagle launched itself from its master’s gauntleted arm and swiftly closed the distance. The hare zigzagged desperately. No use. Flashing 20 ft. overhead, the eagle gave a sort of shrug and folded its wings. Legs rigid, it plummeted downward, driving its talons deep into the hare’s skull, killing the animal instantly. Then, poised over its prey, 3-ft. wings spread in triumph, it shrieked impatiently for its master to hurry along with its reward: a tidbit of fresh meat.

The place was Marchegg, Austria, as 20 falconers from six countries joined in the First International Falconry Meet of Lower Austria. For three days they walked the fields, flying their eagles and hawks. As more than 1,000 fans gathered to watch, the birds brought home a bag of eight hares and rabbits, three partridges and 19 pheasants.

Ever Since Chaucer. The scene could just as well have been ancient Babylon or the court of Richard the Lionhearted. Falconry’s techniques of training and manning hawks have not changed in more than 3,000 years, and falconers still speak a language that was modish in Chaucer’s days. “She’s an intermewed eyas, and not yet enseamed” means: “She is a young falcon that has recently molted and is still too fat to hunt.” A few falconry terms have made their way into modern vocabulary. A “cad” is a person fit for no other occupation than carrying somebody else’s hawk; “booze” is a derivation of the falconer’s “bowse,” to drink.

Today, well over 1,000 falconers in the Western world still practice the ancient sport, and in parts of Asia and Africa it is still a basic means of gathering food. The eagles are the biggest (up to 15 lbs.) and most powerful birds of prey. A brace of trained golden eagles accounted for 32 foxes and 18 wolves in one recent hunting season in the Soviet Union; even rugged mountain sheep and full-grown deer fall to their claws.

But eagles are relatively rare, and most falconers are happy enough to fly one of the smaller hawks. In brushy or forested country, the most popular species is the goshawk, a nimble, round-winged bird that can dash and dodge past the obstacles in pursuit of its prey.

But if the land is at all open, the falconer’s choice by far is the princely peregrine falcon, a relatively small (about 2 lbs.) saber-winged hawk that puts on a breathtaking display.

Stoop to Target. A falconer never “tosses” his peregrine, like an eagle or goshawk, directly at escaping game. The bird “waits on” aloft, circling patiently 300 ft. to 400 ft. above its master. A grouse or pheasant flushes from a meadow; a flight of ducks or geese goes past. The peregrine noses into his classic “stoop”—a dive to target so fast that a peregrine once outdove a plane whose pilot thought he would have some fun making a pass at a flock of ducks.

Just as a falcon reaches its prey, it cocks a fist and lashes out; then it rolls over, “binds” to the stunned bird with its talons, and gives the coup de grace with its razor-sharp beak. If it is perfectly trained, and the load is not too heavy, it will carry the kill back to its master like a retriever.

And how does man induce this incredible partnership? Affection is lost on these creatures; fear is unknown, punishment useless. Food is the only lure. A falconer first hoods his hawk to keep it calm; he then teases the hungry bird with bits of meat. The hawk may refuse until death or release. If the man wins the contest of wills, and the hawk learns to associate him with food, the bargain is struck and the rest is relatively simple —for a time. A falconer may hunt his hawk for several months, perhaps even six. But sooner or later, almost every hawk returns to the wild. “Fondness comes easily to humans,” sighed a German falconer last week as he watched a falcon sail off in the general direction of Yugoslavia. “But these bloody birds have no gratitude.”