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There is something about having a bird of prey “on the fist” that stirs the soul of a man. It harks back to an age of chivalry and manly independence. It makes you want to put on a cloak and stride across moonlit hilltops. It also turns me into a nine-year-old boy wide-eyed with delight at facts such as this: the Golden Eagle can take out any mammal up to the size of a grey wolf. For the remainder of this piece, such “boy facts”—facts which give me a thrill akin to being winked at by Viggo Mortensen—will be italicised.

 

Men should not relieve themselves when hunting with hawks, as the hawk will see your, er, appendage as prey. According to Shaun, a falconer at the English School of Falconry in Bedfordshire, this rule was introduced after an actual incident. Ouch. I’m delighted to meet Shaun, mainly because I think “falconer”—along with “spy”, “explorer” and “I play guitar in U2”—is one of the coolest answers you can give to the question “What do you do for a living?”

 

Shaun shows me how to handle Harris hawks, before we take one of them out on an actual hunt. First I have to learn how to “call the birds in”. For this you need two accoutrements—a thick leather glove on your left hand, and at your right side a pouch of dismembered chick legs. Ever put your hand in a bag of chick legs? No, neither had I. Not an experience I’ll want to revisit later. Standing with your back to the bird and your head turned towards it, you hold up a chick leg in your left hand, and then the bird simply swoops in and lands on your hand. The hawk gobbles up the leg, while you look on open-mouthed and, in my case, squeal.

 

You then thread the “jesses” through your fingers so the bird can’t fly off. “Jesses” is a somewhat effeminate name for the leather straps attached to the legs. I would prefer “hawk straps” or “talon tethers”, as hawk legs are mightily impressive. The Harris hawk can exert 200lb of pressure per square inch in each foot.

 

To release the bird you simply open your fingers and move your arm across your body in the direction you wish the bird to fly. They soar off and perch in a tree; you start wanting to use phrases like “my liege” and “by order of the King!”

Lesson over, we set off towards some hedgerows with the hawks on our fists. It’s quite unnerving having a hawk’s beak so close to your eye. Hawks eat the eyes of their prey first, as they are an excellent source of nutrients. Shaun’s insistence that his hawks have never pecked anyone’s eyes out doesn’t reassure me. Whenever someone is attacked by a trained animal, we’re always told: “That’s the first time they’ve ever been aggressive.” Ask the guy whose unfortunate experience led to the “no peeing” rule.

 

We release the hawks into the treetops and they work along the hedgerow, looking down for movement while we beat the undergrowth to flush out any prey. Before the rise of the gun, the majority of meat in this country was caught with birds of prey. But today we’re not having much luck. We disturb a muntjac deer, which is too big for the Harris hawk, although Shaun tells me the larger Chilean eagle could easily catch a deer. A woodpecker also escapes, which I’m glad about. I’m not keen on killing the sort of animals that might turn up in Beatrix Potter.

 

Finally, some luck. As we work our way around a pond, one of the hawks spots a moorhen in the rushes. A moment later, and in the blink of an eye, it drops from the tree. This is what birds of prey excel at: swooping from above. The Peregrine falcon can reach speeds of over 200mph in a dive, making it the fastest animal in the world. Our hawk pins the moorhen under the water, and within moments it’s dead. Shaun fetches it out and the hawk immediately starts plucking out its feathers before beginning to feed. This, however, was not the most disturbing image of the day.

 

At the end of the hunt the hawks are given a reward—a baby cockerel chick. As the hawk tore into it, a small spume of yellow liquid sprayed out. Brain? Alien blood? What the hell was it? Apparently, it was yolk. As an ignorant urbanite I had no idea that a chick develops from the egg’s white; its stomach forms around the yolk, so providing a readily available first meal. I go home nursing this best-ever boy fact, along with a keen desire to search for “Golden eagle v wolf” on YouTube. 

 

 

Next issue: Will Smith attempts a performance as a living statue

 

Image credit: David Yeo