Old Age and a Hawk Sharpened My Focus
A red-tail hawk hunts a snow-covered field, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
In the winter, hawks hunt the snow-covered fields near my Idaho home. I hunt the hawks with my camera.
Capturing a bird in flight requires a mastery I’ve yet to achieve. Out of every hundred shots in my photo library, ninety are of blurry tail feathers. So, I practice in all kinds of weather.
One winter afternoon, I set out again to find a hawk waiting for a mouse to make a mistake. Although I got a good shot, the hawk’s lesson was worth more than mastering my camera.
Patience and observation yields rewards
Birds of prey fly straight into the wind. Their powerful wings allow them to control their forward speed and hover above their hunting ground. It’s known as “kiting,” and they’re able to focus all their energy on survival.
It was ten below zero that afternoon, and I had hiked about a mile from my Jeep. The temperature doesn’t feel as harsh as it sounds when you’re bundled up and walking. When you stop to watch a hawk, the sharp Idaho wind cuts all the way through to your long johns.
I spotted a red-tail hawk on a fence post a few hundred yards ahead. The wind was whipping in her direction. Her focus was on the field to my left. If a mouse moved beneath the snow, the hawk would take off and fly straight at me. Conditions favored us both.
She watched the field for almost thirty minutes while I tried not to think about the thermos of hot coffee back in my Jeep. I pulled hand warmers out of my pockets, gave them a shake, and tucked them between my gloves and liners. Patience is the first rule of wildlife photography.
When she lifted off, I held the shutter down for a long burst, tracking her in my viewfinder.
She flew straight at me, claws extended, hovered a moment, then dove into the field. I expected her to rise with a mouse in her grasp.
What a shot this was going to be!
Wisdom is the reward
She missed.
I stopped shooting.
The bitter cold had drained my camera battery, but I didn’t replace it. Instead, my focus shifted from photographer to observer. I wondered what the hawk would do next. I, too, had missed many marks in life despite my best efforts.
The red tail settled in the snow and became still again. She seemed to go within, gathering her power to resume her hunt. Dusk was closing in on the valley. She only had about two hours to find supper.
I forgot about the cold. The moment blew open the realization that at seventy, my own days were growing shorter. So why continue striving for mastery?
Someday, I may capture more focused birds in flight, or I may not. What does it matter? Wings up or wings down, my hikes into the wild places gift me with wisdom and wonder every time.
A Swainson’s Hawk Posing on a Woodpile, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
My season had come to stop kiting into the wind. I’d spent enough of my days swept up in the doing and neglecting the being.
A moment later, the red-tailed hawk rose above me, caught a thermal, and held her position above the field. I returned to my Jeep and hot coffee.
We were both in our power that day.
Thanks for walking with me.
Kris
