Omission: A November Day with Birds of Prey

Finally, a long-delayed post comes to light...

Trenton, Georgia might not be the most obvious place for a bird sanctuary. But when when law enforcement and animal groups find wounded birds of prey in the Chattanooga area, they call Dale and John, who run Save Our American Raptors South, an advocacy organization for birds of prey. You can read about the good work Dale and John do here and follow some of their released peregrine falcons here.

Last November, Nancy bought a Groupon for an hour session with the organization’s fascinating raptor collection.

 A car accident left Buddy (right foreground) blind in one eye.

We spent much of our time with their owls. I can’t hide my exuberance for owls. As a kid, I remember a winter trip to the zoo, where we visited a snowy owl that perfectly blended into Cleveland’s normal January. I remember the hoots when camping. Perhaps my favorite book from fifth grade was Owls in the Family by Farley Mowat, a tale of boys who rescue baby owls from the Canadian wilderness and raising them to adulthood.

Plus, it’s hard to look away from those huge eyes that evolved for nocturnal hunting. The intelligence emanates from this magnificent birds.

Following a brief pep talk, it was raptor time. We donned thick handling gloves and started with a pair of screech owls, a brown female and a salt-and-pepper male named Buddy. As they hooked Buddy to my glove, his beautifully sensitive honey-hued right eye contrasted with the fracture blue of his blind left one.

Forget the screech in their names; neither made any noise. Propped on our gloves, they couldn’t have been more mellow. Were they not wounded birds of prey, they could have been pets – well, not really. Harry Potter hoodwinked too many people into thinking owls could be handled without a raptor license. Still. I didn’t want to let Buddy go. Someone as anxious as myself could use the calm demeanor he radiated.

Buddy got ruffled when the next owl emerged from its enclosure. Dale and John brought out a barred owl, whose distant calls I heard at the Crites cabin in southeast Ohio. Barred owls will feast on their smaller cousins, hence the tense shift in Buddy. This barred owl had a blinded eye and a bad wing. Like Buddy, when this owl turned its head, the blind eye shone in an unnatural bluish gray hue. Dale and John showed us its well-camouflaged ears tucked deep beneath its feathers.

The next pair of birds flew from a perch to our gloved arms. Connected to a string, the white-faced barn owl coasted about 40 feet. This owl landed unbelievably soft and quietly. He glided up to our arms, but his aerodynamics fostered silence. His wings tilted slightly as he approached my arm, slowing him for a soft landing. His natural farsightedness showed as he sat on the glove. The chunk of mouse sat between his talons, but he kept missing the snack.

While the owl landed softly, the red-tailed hawk landed with force, pecking away the mouse chunk in a swift motion. This raptor left nothing to chance. The elegance of the owl was replaced by the blunt force of a raptor that struck quickly and decisively. With the way he handled the mouse chunks, I imagined a live specimen would have almost no warning before those talons crunched its spine.

With the flight demonstration over, we met Billy the Kestrel. The smallest bird of the day became a fan favorite with his vivid blue and brown plumage and inquisitive character. The tiny raptor couldn't shake his interest in us.

Nancy with the curious kestrel.

Our one-on-one encounters ended with Cayce, a black vulture. It would be easy to dismiss a vulture as boring, but not this one. She attempted to establish dominance, nipping at John’s heels as he walked past. Her calls covered a broad range of screeches and caws. I had never seen a black vulture so close; birds’ dinosaur lineage was never so apparent than in Cayce’s leathery, sharp-feature face. In a separate enclose the couple also had a caracara, which literally looked like the crossing of a hawk and a toucan (hawk in stature, toucan in colors). It had not acclimated to the new home.

No one but Dale and John handled the bald eagle. He had lost a wing to gunshot, but none of his majesty. Never again to fly, he nonetheless flapped his good wing and the stunted remains of the other the second he came outside. He couldn't fly, but oh, how it obviously wanted to.

John dropped off us on his way to hang-gliding, gave us some impressions of the area and their history in California. Their little aviary of educational raptors enlivened a quiet corner of northwest Georgia.

Cayce nipped at heels playfully.