ONE FELL SWOOP

A Collection of Meandering Thoughts & Sketches

By Israel Matson

Forward

Amidst the general hubbub of a life gone busy, the arts are an outlet to a more peaceful place. It was to this end that I forced myself out of the many various work related projects consuming my energy and thought, and sat down to write on a topic completely unrelated to the tasks at hand. But a topic totally relating to life at large, in so many ways. A topic greater than the ebb and flow of time and legal tender. Falconry.

Lately I have been considering with mild bemusement the overly enthusiastic manner in which I first approached falconry. I believe many of you out there, especially those fortunate enough to have discovered the art at a young age, will share some sentiment with me here… at least that’s one thing I’ve gleaned from our many podcast guests so far.

I once credited it solely to the “magic of falconry”, though now I would attribute the phenomenon much more than before to the zeal of youth. Ah, that vigor which filled a young boy poring over the pages of “My Side of the Mountain.” The binders of printed out internet search results of birds of prey and falconry that I added to with any new information or pictures I could find. The countless sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, my mind raked with the endless opportunity and possibility of this mystical way of life I had discovered.

Thankfully I have mostly been the type of person content with what I have, or my dreams have usually been realistically achievable. So the feeling of WANT for that first raptor was astounding… it could have been anything, I just wanted a bird so bad! It was an all-powerful force. A totally consuming fire that nearly drove my young mind mad in that first year or so leading up to actually having a bird to call my own. The hours spent holding it. The days spent sitting across from it, staring enraptured, in complete awe at such majesty before me.

So went the first few years, saturated in the magic of this sport and pumped full of an adrenaline unlike any other. But time was marching on, and I was growing quickly. Not just into my late teens, but growing in the sport of falconry as well. I began to mature in both respects. The zeal and adoration for simply “being a falconer”, converted into a competitive drive to actually succeed at it. No longer was it enough to simply hold a hawk on my handmade glove and adjust its jesses… Now I was not satiated until this hawk was standing over freshly taken game!

At which time period I wanted to prove to the other falconers at the meets that I was a worthy and capable peer. I wanted to kill the most game, or at least come in second place. I wanted to kill all types of game with all types of raptors. Perhaps I was searching for that same fix falconry had provided so easily initially. Thus doing more and pushing harder was my way to the same rush. But then I began to read the right teachings, and I watched more closely the right falconers. I began to learn that falconry is so much more than what meets the eye. Multi-faceted, deep, ancient, and oh so personal. Fulfillment in falconry is an individual journey… One that Frederick II can’t take for you, or your mentor, or favorite falconers you see at every national meet… but their influence and wisdom CAN guide you on that path to the thrill of the chase, in the minute details of husbandry.

THE DAYBREAKERS

The serenity of night is broken by the cresting sun. The end of night is not mourned. The beauty of the living is broken by the striking falcon. The life of the prey is not mourned. The daybreak is heralded, and the falcon’s blow is celebrated. I was once told by an artist that when painting, the shadow is darkest just before the change to light. Rapid change is dramatic. That’s why it’s called daybreak. Breaking is dramatic! The moment the sun touches the horizon, all that was dark is no more. The second the falcon makes contact with her quarry, that which was perfect is no more. It is shattered, crumpled, tumbling… it is lifeless. Where there was such beauty and life, there are only broken remains.

So then in the triumph of the falcon, is the tragedy of the fallen forgotten? I would posit no. We love that prey! We study and seek to understand it, over the course of decades. This is not falcon versus duck, as some sort of war. This is falcon and duck versus nature’s inevitable course, death. This is not a case of one’s victory being the other’s loss. This is one’s victory meaning another chance at life… the falcon to be nourished, or the duck to be free—their escape being made. Occasional frustration aside you will find that the falconer is delighted in both outcomes! For it requires the latter to grant such sweetness to the first; as it presents a constant challenge with bearing gratification. But we know that history favors the conquerer, for it is they who write that which is remembered.

In the case of the falcon versus her prey, in considering the falling of that magnificent creature, it is important to note that this event was remembered at all. To this end the defeated owes their gratitude—albeit begrudgingly. For had not the sun risen, or the falcon struck; the night, the waterfowl, may not have been remembered at all. With each sunrise a new beginning is marked. With each stoop the falcon inscribes across the scroll that the sun has made the sky, a story which once written, shall never be forgotten.

What then, is man’s place

before the skywriter’s presence?

Our lot is to observe that immaculate poetry which has been drawn in such perfect form, ink trailing quill across parchment—that thousand foot arc concluding in a turbid oblivion of brokenness and a hundred drifting feathers. Through quarry and straight into our hearts, minds, and souls. What greater calling than this? To bear witness to our Creator’s most impeccable of hunters! Those winged aces who first defy gravity, only to defy it again while coaxing it to their will in a most epic journey of speed. A journey that lasts seconds, but that can be traced over thousands of years. Like a timeless thread lacing through Genghis Khan’s reputation, Frederick II’s achievements, to nobles and peasantry alike, alongside the Craighead’s and their adventures; across the millennia, across cultures, to you.

Indeed, to stand before this daybreak and witness one magnificent creature’s being utterly decimated by another… It’s a multi-dimensional drama that unfolds not just above the earth, but within you, upon it. Your eyes trace the fell swoop. Your heart races after the zeroing falcon… Or does it race for the prey? That fine spirited animal whose explosive power and zeal for life you admire so! Does your heart yearn alongside it for that open horizon and safety? Your soul like some force of gravity in the heavens will absorb this experience; and like that same cosmic phenomenon will act as a vacuum, calling you back to watch again and again and again.

THE LAWMAKERS

A broad study of the natural world and its order would make the falcon appear peculiar. For its preferred modem operandi is not to pursue, grasp, and cling on to its prey; a sure stratagem in that struggle survival of the fittest. Rather, it strikes and continues a course through its nadir before ultimately arcing back up. All the while monitoring the results of said blow and maneuvering in preparation for follow up sortie or closure. This would cause the falcon to appear gentlemanlike in nature, while still being a predator calculated for maximum lethality.

Certainly it is a great part of its allure to mankind; that creation so enamored with athletes and fighters who can throw a stunning haymaker while yet plotting three moves ahead. For as impressive as the grappling of greco-roman wrestling is; and the stamina, strength, and skill it requires, it does not draw the same spellbound crowds as boxing. Those fighters who would seek to leave the other’s body broken at the discretion of their bludgeoning fists!

According to the laws of nature the playing field must be even… There are no guarantees. The duck can refuse to leave the water, or return to it immediately after flushing. The grouse can outfly the falcon. The falcon could be taken by an eagle, or collide with some object in the landscape, or suffer a seizure and fall haplessly from the sky, or even break itself on impact! So then to meet the rising sun while other predators end their nights hunt—and eagles await warmer air—the winging falcon seeks to make her own laws.

Climbing where cold air gives way to no thermal for aid, in a setting which for want of man and dog such effort would be vain, the falcon would usurp the power of arbitration from nature itself. Exercising judgement in conjunction with jury of falconer and hound. That choice of whether one prey should live or die. With one fell swoop the gavel is brought crashing down! Freedom or death, the law has been made. Judgement has rendered one plaintiff damned.

THE CARETAKERS

The effort to understand the zeal of the falconer is but a foolhardy quest. For a thousand times the day has been broken with the falconer standing before it, keenly watching the skywriter deliver her lofty poetry. Ever questioning, “how shall the court of the falcon rule from her throne in the sky this day?” A wondering gaze will take in yet another account that again refuses to add up to one elusive conclusion, “enough.”

More than a dozen years, aye, ofttimes upwards of two dozen for the fortunate ones, the falconer will retain the primary role of caretaker for one falcon’s life... a duty not necessary for the falcon, who would excel just the same on her own. Rather a mandate for the symbiosis of falconry. Which begs one to ask; is falconry more the observation of the natural world exercising jurisprudence over its laws, like its familiar cousin birdwatching? Or is it the husbandry that would set the two passions apart? The falconer facilitates the hunting of quarry by that skyward companion. The caretaker fills the gaps between those thousands of daybreaks. Where laws are written and adjudicated.

What noble cause then, to be caretaker to the creature that has inspired mankind from all walks of life for countless generations! For it is in the care that the legend is made, and preserved. That ailment noticed and amended. Her condition noted hour by hour, day by day, through season of molt and season of hunting alike. There is solemn honor in the duty of caretaker. For between falcon and man there must exist a relationship of trust in order for there to be exhibited confidence in the field… and it is confidence after all that emboldens the falcon to dare tempt fate, and take the laws of nature into her own hands!

“Feather Perfect” is the embodiment of

the caretaker’s highest aspirations.

To end a successful falconry season with a bird in perfect feather condition is no small feat. Examine carefully the state of each bird at your next meet, consider the status of the falconer. It’s not so hard to begin a season with a feather perfect bird, though that’s a testament to a successful molt and proper handling throughout the off-season. But ending a season with a full freezer yet nary a broken quill is a cause for celebration. It means in both function and form, you have succeeded as falconer and caretaker. You are at least in practice, a falconer The Greats would share a toast with!

Of course it is not a prerequisite for good exciting falconry, and in the course of pursuing wild game in a natural environment, anything can happen. But it is a clear and obvious indicator of measured care and consideration on the part of the handler. Mood swings and frustration, while natural happenings, are never permitted to alter how the falcon is approached, taken up, tethered, and generally treated. It shows proper nutrition and a healthy diet, as the feathers grew in sure and strong.

Feather perfect is the pursuit of every advantage for your falcon. But it is also the desire of one who treasures not just what the falcon can do with every millimeter of its perfect design in meticulous order, but who views the falcon of being deserving of this state without the falconer being an impediment. The honor of keeping such a magnificently engineered being carries with it the great task of not altering it. As I was taught early on working in the trades; if you take care of your equipment, it will take care of you… so clean your trowel.

It is yet another metric by which falconers are measured, and so many of us are found wanting. Yet another ambition to merit our relentless effort at achieving. Yet another cause célèbre for us to debate amongst each other. Another driver for our devotion to the art. Another figment of our imagination to torture us while we sleep. Feather perfect is that next goal of proving one’s self to the deeper philosophy of falconry.

THE ONES BEFORE

If mastery of falconry exists,

it is FOUND upon the shoulders of giants.

By outward appearance falconry is the most self-centered of existences. Quickly a number of die-hards we know come to mind. Those scrappy addicts who’ve sacrificed careers and any number of marriages for the cause of being a daybreaker. A tragic romance, both poignant and chilling… we helplessly venerate these maniacs of the sport. We sit enraptured as tales of daring exploits and self-sacrifice are recounted. Freezing swamps waded through, truck axles broken in reckless pursuit, thorn thickets charged with war whoops sending the game therein scrambling before our raptor’s watchful eye!

Yet these selfsame stories prove it is not purely self-centered… Rather it is falcon-centered. Falcons over life. Hard to believe, impossible to understand for the common layman! But totally, resoundingly true for the falconer dangling hundreds of feet over a cliff banding eyasses in an eyrie. Because this is no hobby. This is no common sport. This is the way Kings and Emperors of old chose to spend their lives. With power and wealth to do whatever they pleased, this is what they chose. Men and women far greater than we travelled the same paths, thousands of years ago.

By virtue of this we walk in their footsteps, these falconers of old. We encounter similar challenges, and work through many of the same thought processes as they. In a lightening fast age of electricity and technology, we unplug and enter a realm nearly indifferent to time. The philosophies they developed we seek to comprehend, and with experience, develop further. As such our calling is timeless. Our most valiant efforts may equate to nothing, or they may shape a permanent stepping stone in the annals of history. Yes, contributing to the works of the ones who went before is possible for even the most insignificant among us. That’s what’s so intrinsically special about falconry! Not that it’s a unique and untouched sport in a rapidly changing world. But that it’s a lifeline to a reality abstract from mere existence.

FALCONRY TOMORROW

Undoubtedly, the falconers of yesteryear would be surprised at where we have come and what we navigate in falconry today. For as much as we face that remains the same as our predecessors—the nature of bird and man—that much more also is wholly unalike. Numerous examples spring forth… Captive breeding & hybridization, New World species, tracking equipment, urban sprawl, transportation. The list goes on. What effect does this have on our coveted connection to the ancient past? Does it mar our experience of falconry, that intangible cultural heritage?

The changing horizons of tomorrow’s daybreaks only make our journey more epic! For it is a definitive age in which we practice this art; another golden era. We are essentially living out dreams, can you imagine? Sitting across from a medieval falconer and describing falconry today? “One day falconers shall know exactly where their falcon is and what it’s doing by looking to their palm, whether it’s present in the sky or not. They will discover new species that redefine every conception of the sport, and go further to invent new ones. The likes and prowess of which will be unprecedented. These falconers of tomorrow will have a better understanding of veterinary health and medicine! They will be able to live in cities and yet be hawking within hours of their home each day. There will be knowledge and communication at their fingertips, with no delay!”

Ofttimes we turn longingly back to years gone by. I myself am very guilty of this… Regularly blurting out to those falconry friends senior to myself that I was born in the wrong generation. “You could hunt THERE?! It’s a shopping mall and car dealership now!” So the challenge of embracing today exists perpetually within me. It is the cause for writings such as this, to ground myself. To turn to my sides and see the great community of falconers, pioneers in their own right, pushing the envelope of falconry further forward around me. Yes, that’s you all.

The falconers of yesterday still among us, who’s respect has been earned time and again. Who we esteem for their accomplishments and bringing about the radical advances to our sport! The same advances we occasionally find ourselves bemoaning as though yesterday’s falconry were somehow superior… There’s a reason we practice how we do today, the falconers of yesterday were not satisfied with that which we falsely desire.

The falconers of today who wield the torch, taken up by a generation on the edge of the future. Hungry for the approval of their mentors, hungrier still to further hone the craft they inherited. One eclectic bunch united in a common passion for the falconry of this modern age! Some working in complete silence… Alone out there year after year in the field with only bird and dog as witness to their feats. Oh you seclusion loving falconers, I hope you document and collect what you’ve learned—that the rest of us may take from your experience some day. Many others embrace the social aspects of falconry today, as opportunity abounds for being more connected than ever before! Sharing hunts, knowledge, and dreams. For falconry has always contained a social element. Think of the hunting parties and the great falconry tributes of old, where priceless falcons were traded between empires along with notes and advice.

Falconry tomorrow will face changing landscapes. But landscapes revealed by the same golden daybreak that greets us today, that greeted our tutors before, and that was warmly looked upon by the great falconers of ancient times. Sure we can expect the trajectory of today to follow similar paths forward. Which means more land developed, and more prey species populations in decline. But these clouds should not darken your outlook, for we soar over silver linings! There will be more veterinary discovery and medicine to keep our falcons mightier longer! There can be more responsible practices in regards to the land we hunt and the quarry it contains. Also better technology—that weighted word—to aid us in the sport. Both for tame-hacking, recovery, learning, and so much more.

Truly, falconers today carry a torch the brightness of which shall be greeted CHEERFULLY by the daybreakers of tomorrow.