NEBRASKAland Magazine is dedicated to outstanding photography and informative writing with an engaging mix of articles and photos highlighting Nebraska’s outdoor activities, parklands, wildlife, history and people.
Issue link: http://mag.outdoornebraska.gov/i/760935
DECEMBER 2016 • NEBRASKAland 69 M y father was a German of the Old School – he didn't say much but when he did, it was a good idea to listen. By way of conserving his breath and energy (especially when it came to his only child), he often expressed his ancient wisdom in proverbs. He once cautioned me against making hasty generalizations by saying, "Rog, be careful when you paint with a broad brush." He wanted me to consider the individual rather than characterizing large groups with too hasty stereotypes. Good advice. And one that I find tends to apply to our relationships with creatures other than our fellow human beings. Raptors, for example, get a bad "rap." (See what I did there?) We have seen kestrels take small songbirds at our feeder, and even while we know this is the way of nature and the world, it's still uncomfortable to see a small rabbit or pocket gopher fall prey to the stalkers and swoopers. We lost chickens to red-tailed hawks and even eagles – so many, in fact, that we finally gave up on poultry. It's a story as old as Abel and Cain and yet as modern as the Wild West stories of struggles between homesteaders and cowboys – herdsmen and meat eaters versus farmers and grain eaters. So even I was surprised last year when I found myself, gentle Linda, and old friend and hunter, Mick, struggling to rescue an injured raptor. Mick had spent the weekend here and was just in the process of leaving. In fact, he had exited our door, and we thought he was on his way back to Lincoln when he came bursting back in sputtering, "There's a kestrel down. And your cat has it." We dropped everything and went running out to the yard. First we persuaded Boo Cat that she was not going to finish that kill. Unfortunately, however, in doing that we also frightened the bird that fluttered out of the yard and straight into our garage. Which is where everything goes that doesn't go somewhere else. The kestrel made its way under a table where the cats lived and back behind some old camping gear, coolers and sacks of aluminum cans awaiting recycling. Which meant we had to pretty much dismantle most of the garage and Mick had to crawl through a narrow slot to get behind all the junk to catch the bird. I found a welding glove for him to wear while grabbing because the fierce aspect of the kestrel – its talons and beak but mostly the fiery glint in her eyes – suggested that she was not appreciating our efforts. Mick finally did grasp the bird and then…. Well, now what? A bird in the hand may be worth two in the bush but in a panic like ours, it was worth about 20 points on our blood pressure. Linda scrambled to find a pet carrier but then again the question was "Now what?!" Some clattering old synapses in my brain slammed shut and I remembered that up in town, just a mile away, two friends are active in raptor recovery, a program for rehabilitating, and when possible, releasing back into the wild birds just like this one. Mick and I made a mad dash into town, pounded on Blake's door until we roused him, explained hurriedly what had happened and what we had, and asked if he could help us. Once he had us calmed down, he worked on doing the same for the kestrel, getting it into one of his cages, and promising us he'd do what he could to save this bird. And that's the thing about it that struck me as curious: there are millions (if not billions) of birds in this world. We see them constantly out our windows and doors. I don't know what their mortality rate is but I suspect in this jungle a lot of them die every day. Every hour. Every minute. So why was this one individual suddenly of such apparent importance to us? Perhaps because it was injured? Because of its beauty? Maybe that there are far fewer kestrels than sparrows? I don't know but for these brief, frantic moments there were four Nebraskans investing a lot of emotional energy into this little lady of the fiery eyes. Over the next few months I occasionally asked Blake if he'd heard anything about "our" kestrel. It turned out the bird had a broken wing but it was recovering and might be eligible for return to the wild. Or if not, she could serve as an educational tool when Blake visited schools or talked to groups about raptor recovery centers, this one as it turned out centered in Fontenelle Forest near Omaha. Okay, we had done our part, all that we could. And that could have been the end of the matter. But it wasn't. One day six months later Blake called and said the kestrel was ready to release, and he and his partner Vicki would like to bring it back down here to release. Wow. And so our Lady of the Garage came back home. Again that could have been the end of the story, but it turned out she had acquired a male admirer who was also rehabilitating at the Center and he would be set loose at the same time. And the event was as spectacular as we ever could have hoped. I held the female only briefly but long enough to see again that steely, defiant look. And then she was out of my hand and off in the direction of the river, swooping and swirling as if to show that she hadn't forgotten a thing about her niche in this environment. Then she settled at the top of a nearby cottonwood. And called. We set the male loose and he flew directly to her and for a moment they sat together, watching us. I'd like to think it was a moment of gratitude but even this hopeless old romantic is not that goofy. They were probably thinking something more like, "What the heck was that all about?" And then they were off, again toward the river. That's a lot of trouble for a lot of people to salvage two wounded birds. Was it worth it? That single moment of seeing the two head off toward the river was worth more than the price of admission, believe me. Now every time I see a kestrel here I wonder, "Is that her? You know … my kestrel?" ■ Keep the Raptor Recovery Center at Fontenelle Forest in mind for such occasions, or better yet, support their efforts in rescuing birds like our kestrel: facebook.com/FFRaptorRecovery/. Return of the Kestrel A Raptor Recovery Story By Roger Welsch