Snagging a Peregrine
By Ruth Carol Cushman
Following the terrible drought of 2003 in Colorado, most of the cottonwoods and willows along our irrigation ditch died. One huge cottonwood had sported extended leafy green branches throughout our hot summers for many years. Now it stood bleak and forlorn. We grieved whenever we looked at this giant and at the row of dead, drab trees beyond it. I thought of Shakespeare's line, "bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang."
Gradually we began to see beauty in the stark skeletons. White wind-scoured branches reached up much like arms lifted in praise. With no leaves in the way, we could now see the lake north of us in summer as well as in winter. We also had clear views of the many birds that perched in the snag - red-winged blackbirds by the scores, flickers, swallows, robins, red-tailed hawks, great horned owls, kestrels, golden eagles, bald eagles, and an osprey. Many raptors perched there to survey the nearby prairie dog colony.
In the summer of 2005, a pair of Swainson's hawks raised a youngster in an old magpie nest in a flourishing willow about 100 feet from our home, and we grumbled because the leaves interfered with our ability to watch what was happening. We were very pleased when "Swak" (portmanteau for "Swainson's" plus "hawk") fledged and decided he liked the dead cottonwood. He would sit there and squawk for hours at a time, and sometimes one of the parents would come to feed him.
Then one August dawn I looked up to see an adult peregrine (probably a female) in the old cottonwood. The rising sun turned its white breast and cheek patches to orange-gold. For an instant I thought I was seeing an Aplomado falcon. It spent over an hour preening and turning so we could admire its profile. In the following week it returned four times, often spending the entire morning on "its" snag. We hope we are on its regular hunting route.
Now we truly appreciate the importance and the beauty of dead trees. We're even encouraging a friend to girdle one of her trees so she, too, can enjoy the pleasure of, perhaps, snagging a peregrine.
