A week ago I released my falcon back into the prairie air above our ranch. In less than a minute she was soaring, far out, over the pastures that she had flown above for years. My life would soon be far too full to give her the time she deserved and it was my hope that I might catch a glimpse of her from time to time, as I passed through the north end of the ranch on my way to dismal appointments in Rapid City. I hoped that I would see her again, perhaps on the very pole from which I first lured her.
For several months now I knew that I would have to release her, and I planned it so that the young and dumb ground nesting birds of the Northern Plains would be at their most vulnerable to a falcon whose wildness had been dulled by a spell in captivity. She was in perfect feather, and fat as a Butterball turkey on my fist. I was deep in regret as I loosened the braces on her hood. The autumn and winter days that we had planned to spend together were leaden in my mind as I snipped her leather bracelets. And when I slipped the hood from her head, her bottomless, black eyes caught my eyes for only an instant.
She must have thought that this was just another day on the wing, sailing over me, waiting. But there was no dog in front of us, no duck pond with chuckling widgeons. When she launched and began to rise to a disappearing spot framed by the developing thunderhead over the Black Hills, my thoughts should naturally have gone to what the difficult winter ahead of me might have been. But instead they turned to a poem that I had not thought of in forty years. In fact, just then I could not even remember the name of the poem—only the first half of the second stanza where another man released his falcon:
When Offa’s kinsman first understood
That the earl would not suffer cowardice,
He let his beloved hawk fly from his hands
Away into the woods and then he advanced to the battle—
It took me a full day and a couple phone calls to recall that the stanza was from an ancient Anglo Saxon poem called “The Battle of Maldon.” It is the story of a battle that took place in 991 CE between inhabitants of the British Isles and a band of marauding Vikings. It was one of hundreds of poems that I was asked to read in college and, though I can remember almost none of them, that scene of the soldier releasing his falcon in preparation for a great battle has stuck with me. “The Battle of Maldon” is a fragment of a longer poem. There was a fire, and the beginning and end of the manuscript were lost. Only 325 lines remain and so, though we know from other histories that there was massive bloodshed and maimings of unimaginable proportion, we never learn exactly who the young warrior is or what happened to him in the end. He is a kind of Everyman who was involved in a cruel slaughter at the hands of the Vikings. But all we really know about the man with the falcon is that he fights bravely in a barbaric struggle and that, facing that struggle, he chooses to release his falcon so that he can focus on the mortal challenge that he knows he is about to face.
All of those thoughts have cycled through my mind in the days since I released my own falcon. I imagine that the ancient soldier felt the wind from his falcon’s wings in the same way I felt it from mine—a tiny awkward flapping until she gained enough lift to concentrate on power strokes that took her higher and higher. Into the blue prairie sky, into a thermal, and upward. What did the battle of Maldon look like from five thousand feet above? Could the falcon discern the falconer from the melee of humans struggling below? Probably not. All we are left with are 325 lines written in praise of bravery. And maybe that is enough, because our reaction to that eternal struggle is what makes us human.
41 comments
A beautiful piece of writing that speaks to the human spirit. Thanks for the words, Dan!
Dismal appointments? Are you ill? We’ve just left SD to head back to FL for the winter. Would like to have seen you while we were there. Godspeed to you. Your story and lifestyle has been very inspiring to us.
Prayers for you as you carry on.
Beautiful Dan! A long time since I saw you start handling birds in your netted back yard aviary as a junior in high school! I thought you were a very cool guy then and am not surprised what a wise and giving man you are now! Bravo to you, your work with the buffs and restoration of our gorgeous grasslands! Hang tough, walk through the dismal appointments and know your bird is fine and will check in with you now and then!!
Hmmm, are those “dismal appointments in Rapid City” worth letting go, putting aside or cutting back on the passion that inspired a mission and is a driving force? Spend even more time in falconry. The grasses, the bison…fauna and flora have benefited from your first love. And we are learning to do the same.
A beautiful piece. Best wishes to you in your upcoming challenges!
Enjoyed this very much. I live in TN, don’t see any falcons but have always loved my hawks and eagles. In your picture is a very beautiful English Setter. Thank you. I have a setter and have had many since I was a child in Alabama. My dad and I hunted with Bear Bryant and friends for many a year. Enjoyed those years. Thank you! Keep those setters close. Great buddies.
Thanks for sharing a meaningful human moment with us.
I just love how you string words together to make glorious sentences that make even more glorious paragraphs—and then, the outrageous stories. Thank you so much for sharing that talent.
As a falconer, I fully understand the bittersweet release. May she fly high and make more!
Thank you,Dan, for another important and beautiful post. If only we can learn that Nature and Humans are one, not the perception that Nature is outside us.
Lovely story. Blessings on your girl. Last March I released the young Red-tail, a West Nile Virus survivor, whom I’d rehabbed for six months. We’d hunted and explored learned from one another. I too was facing tasks I knew would keep me from working with him the way he needed, but he probably had already learned as much from me as he could. Perhaps I was sad at the thought of all things I had yet to learn from him. But he was ready to go. I released him in a field about a quarter mile from my house, and today, 6 months later, he still appears from time to time if I walk that field, and if I have a treat to toss him, he’ll wing over and snatch it. But he is living his wild life well. With no recurrence, apparently, of WNV. And no regrets.
Dan—That falcon is your inspiration, restoration, and hope as you fight the noble battles to preserve the prairie—and the biological diversity upon which all of life depends. Your mystical bond will continue as she looks down on you and the land you’re struggling to save. Your guardian angel soars in that airy realm, far above this mortal plain. Yet, you and she are one.
Dear Dan, What a moving and touching story and the memories that you are sharing. I hope you will see your falcon again one day high in the sky soaring in pure happiness. You have a gift of bonding with God’s creatures that brings you inner peace. I could feel myself swept away when you described the brave soul that spared his falcon’s life so that he could fight valiantly against the Vikings. Written history and oral history handed down through the ages gives us a glimpse into the harsh life that our ancestors lived through. Thank you so much for this wonderful peek into what was our yesterday! ~ Laura~
My students—especially the ones who didn’t like literature—loved passages from Rites of Autumn and they would have loved this, too. I hope teachers of SD high school kids these days are sharing your writing. Thanks for letting her go, Dan, and for touching our hearts with wider meaning.
Birds all over the world are having it tough these days. Good you gave yours freedom to thrive. I think about you guys and our prairie often. Keep up your good works.