Two Hawks, Too Hot, 1 Jul 2006

HOT.

6:20pm Sam, Albatross the wheelie bag, and I start making it up the hill.
6:26pm Walking toward the Cathedral on the east sidewalk, suddenly I hear a Catbird repeating a stident call. We can't seem to pinpoint it. Back and forth on the walk. A squirrel whines.
6:45pm We head south on the mid-path.
6:48pm I catch sight of wings flying down through branches.

6:51pm She's watching two squirrels with her head cocked when we come up the path.


6:55pm First find, second angle.

7:08pm I decide I really have to see the back of the fledge so take off planning to circle back.


7:11pm On my way, there is a horde of Robins reading the riot act in cahoots with a Catbird and there's the other fledge. I never do get round to the back of the other one.


7:37pm Watching the helicopter.


7:40pm Picnic Rock N fledge suffers from the heat.

This Fledge had chosen a day perch deeper in the "bowl" of the park, where the air is still and feels more humid. Lots more small birds bugging this one as well.

Both fledges are now on either side of a large rock formation "table" which is below the stairs one can take walking north, then west to exit the park closest to the Cathedral


Picnic Rock S fledgling. Is is tempting to think of this one as Eldest due to the more adult posture and her tendency to look straight into the camera but....

7:43pm Fledge on Picnic Rock S, takes off to tree further into the park.


And just what does Blondie think she's doing in MY bushes?

(Sam requests a little footnote here in case someone ACTUALLY thinks she's in the bushes bothering the hawks. She's not. I 'd asked her to go round to the path above, used by a myriad assortment of pedestrians at any given moment, in an attempt to get a look at the fledgling's back patterns so we could ID them. Unfortunately she couldn't see them so we don't have IDs for today. See, if she had been in the bushes, we'd know. Ah, the sacrifices of ethical hawkwatching.)

Bumblebee?

The Bumblebee must die.

Time to check out the buildings on the other side of the park for the parental units. There looks to be something across the way. Sam focuses the scope on an antenna and says, "It's a Falcon. Wait, it's little. Maybe a Kestrel?"


Another opinion,"It's a Robin?" I look.


It is a Kestrel!

Suddenly he takes a pugnacious stance.

7:53pm Samantha spots male Kestrel on antenna of building on SW corner of 110th and Central Park North.

7:54pm Seemingly awaiting her chance to exit unobserved, when we look back the Fledgling on Picnic Rock N has disappeared.

8:09pm We catch sight of wings taking off and Immature RT flies from tree on west side of park to tallest London Plane in lower quadrant of east side of Morningside Park. Catbirds on our side are still being insistant about something so we listen, we tromp through the bushes, we strain our eyes in dim trees. The other fledge is here somewhere but that somewhere remains a mystery.


9:10pm Good Night.

Hail? Who said anything about HAIL?, 29 Jun 2006

I knew we were in trouble when we came up the subway stairs. That is, Sam and I, and the wheelie bag that has become our beloved but personal Albatross. It wasn't just the gray billowing skies but there was that plop...plop...plop, of big drops of rain on concrete. A half block along they petered out but it had been one of those days already, so hope did not momentarily spring eternal.

Already a dozen little fires put out in life and a good bit of daylight yet to conquer. An irate volunteer at the Bird Park, a trip to MOMA for orientation for Sam, who suddenly needed her laundry done, and I'm already a day behind on you-name-it. What do you mean there's no money on your metrocard? Lost house keys, no shampoo, and who forgot to buy milk? I considered turning right back around and going home.

Not surprising, considering, we'd somehow forgotten to stick the umbrella back in the wheelie bag after ditching it for weight the last no-rain day. And after sweltering in 80 something heat, 90 something humidity and dressing skimpily in order to survive, there hadn't been a thought in the rush to get here, that we just might need to stick a sweatshirt into the Albatross in case of fresh breezes or rain. Maybe we really should go home.

But then, just what were the fledglings up to and how would they react to a storm if it didn't hold off. My cell phone rang, it was Stella Hamilton, a welcome fixture at the Fifth Avenue Hawkbench during the season, and after a week or so of not being at this site, she was just up the Morningside Drive hill wondering if we were coming.

So of course we were coming. Stella had forgotten her umbrella too. We were in this together. Up the hill we went.

Soon it was Stella and Sam and I and the homeless man who is convinced someone threw his paintings away in Brooklyn, standing in a little clump looking down into the Park in the direction of a chirup, chirup, scheeeep, cheep. And the drops slowly, every now and again, go plop.

Robert Schmunk, camera safely pressed to his chest, umbrella raised at just the right angle for moisture protection, arrives with anticipation. What have we found? For almost always a clump of watchers focusing in the same direction means a discovery. Not today. Because as we know, it is one of those days.

Nonetheless we're setting up the scope and catching up on the news when Robert does spot a fledgling not far from where we are standing. Excellent, but somehow neither Sam or I can immediately get the scope on her in the tree and then she's off to the next one, plop, plop, plop...plop, plop. Fine. We move a few feet down the hill and try to find her in the new tree. Plop, plop, plop,plopplopplop. We pull out the black plastic trash bag and drape it over the scope and camera. We keep shifting. She's in that tree, follow the trunk to the second left branch. Why can't we get her in the scope? Stella and Robert stand under a small tree getting smaller themselves. Less surface area being currently important.

Drat! She's off again. This time all the way down to the choice Locust Trees at the bottom of the hill.

Wait, there doesn't seem to be more than a scant sprinkle now.

See, it has blown over.

Grab the gear. Hustle down the hill before she moves again. Nearly there and BAM, a tremendous crack of thunder. Lightening spikes in the distance. PLOP,PLOP,PLOP,plop,plop,plop,plopplop, then nothing but the rush of water hitting surfaces.

We can see her right there, plain as day. Well, plain as looking through a hurricane but still. Come on, just one picture. Pull out more black plastic bags. One goes to Stella. She stands in the lee of a fat concrete park corner, smiling. Robert eyes the sky, pressing his camera even closer to his chest. Thunder continues to roll, get the bird in the scope. Too close, drag the gear backward. There she is and now a flapping of wings. They are both there! Carry the tripod even further back, up the three stairs, get them both in. Refocus the scope, good thing it's supposed to be waterproof, drop down the attachment, lock the catches, set the timer. We're standing in a zephyr.

Water is running off Sam's hair into the camera. That's not good. We've almost got it. Sam starts the sequence, I hold the plastic over the goods, sort of, but the wind is so high the bird and her perch keep blowing out of the field of view.

No head.

Up, down, and around.


And then, no bird at all.

I give it a try . Suddenly I realize Sam, who is wearing a suntop, and leaning over exposing her back to the elements while keeping the plastic out of frame, is saying, "Ouch, ouch, OUCH!" I look at her. She looks at me. She's got little red blotches appearing all over her very fair skin. I look at the black plastic. There are bits of ice in the puddled water. We're being hailed upon. I get in touch with my own skin. I'm being pelted. Stella scuttles over, hunched against the wind, black plastic flapping. She's going. Here's the bag. Thank you. See you soon. Sam tries the camera again. I hold the plastic. Tick, tick, tick, click. Tick, tick, tick, click. Everything is running with water. Tick, tick, tick, click.

Finally it begins to ease. Good grief, take a breath, switch places. And then the sun shines through. Everything is luscious. Clean and sparkling, fresh and bright. The droplets gleam on leaves, on sidewalks, on tree trunks, and spires. Tick, tick, tick, click. The rain runs past the curb with the gurgle of brooks. Tick, tick, tick, click. The world is a painting in watercolor. And suddenly it has become one of the beautiful days you remember, one of those days. Where all the other things fade away beside the glory of newly opened eyes.

Go One Down for More

It's that upside down head...And much more, next one down.