I’m an “experience” hunter, not to be confused with an experienced hunter. So I was curious about falconry, the ancient practice of hunting with trained raptors like hawks and falcons.
I follow Maine Master Falconer Tom Gagne on social media. He has been practicing for 19 years and hunts with a goshawk named Asja. Asja hunts ducks, squirrels and snowshoe hare here in Maine. Tom shares videos of their hunts, mainly for black ducks on estuaries, and they’re exciting to watch.
Recently, Cristin Wheat, a licensed falconer, agreed to let me tag along on a squirrel hunt with her and her red-tailed hawk. We met at a wooded property in Windham on a cold winter morning. Cristin patiently answered my many questions about falconry as she opened the hatchback of her Subaru and put a big leather glove on.
She explained the special permits, years of apprenticeship, and season and bag limits that come with falconry. Then she opened a cardboard travel box and reached in for her hawk, named Stache, short for Pistachio. Stache was chocolate brown, with a white chest and yellow feet tipped with sharp black talons. It was cold, so Stache fluffed his feathers to trap heat. His head turned, intense eyes scanning his surroundings for prey. She had trapped him as a juvenile about two years earlier. Cristin put a small telemetry tracker and bell on Stache’s ankles as he sat perched on her gloved hand. The bell jingled whenever he moved.
Cristin stretched out her arm and Stache flew to the top of a tall pine. Almost immediately, a small flock of crows flew toward him, loudly squawking to announce his presence. Minutes later, two local red-tails glided over and screeched to express their displeasure.
None of it bothered Stache. He continued to survey the ground below, his bell ringing as he shifted directions. Cristin explained our job was to tromp through the woods and shake trees to stir up a red or gray squirrel. “If we spot something, we’ll yell ‘ho, ho, ho,’ sort of like Santa Claus,” she said. I asked her if Stache ever went for robins or house cats. “Cats are much too large, and robins are too small and agile for a red-tail,” she said.
After a few minutes of post-holing through the deep snow and shaking trees, I spotted a large tangle of twigs and leaves halfway up a tall pine — a squirrel’s nest. I pointed it out to Cristin, and she headed over and shook a smaller tree next to it. A gray squirrel shot out of the nest and scurried up the pine.
“It’s heading up the tree!” I said.
Cristin yelled, “Ho, ho, ho, Stache!” her voice breaking with excitement. “Stachey! Ho, ho, ho!” Stache glided over, unhurried, and perched at the top of another nearby pine. “We’ve done our part. Now we’ll wait and see if the squirrel makes a move,” Cristin said.
It didn’t take long. Movement caught my eye as the squirrel jumped from its hiding place to another tree. Stache spotted it too and flew through a tangle of limbs after the gray blur. He grabbed the squirrel with his talons and came to rest on a branch.
“He got him!” I said.
“Yay! He isn’t strong enough to hold it up there for very long,” Cristin said. “He will bring him down soon.”
As predicted, Stache dropped to the ground in a controlled glide, still clutching the squirrel. We walked over. Stache was hunched over it, wings spread wide, shielding it from any predators nearby.
“Wow, he made it look easy,” I said.
“Good job, buddy. That’s a big squirrel. It probably weighs as much as Stache does,” Cristin said. Stache squeaked in delight. Cristin attached a leather leash to his ankles, and Stache eventually let go of the squirrel in exchange for some raw meat she offered as a reward.
Stache seemed full and content as we walked back to our cars, though his head continued to swivel. Cristin explained she and Stache usually aim for one quarry per day, since that’s what he would do in the wild. She would eat the squirrel herself or feed it to Stache the following day.
Watching a red-tailed hawk hunt was powerful. Though I have hunted with dogs, it was different hunting with a wild animal as a partner — purer and more natural. Though falconry has been around for more than 5,000 years, it is still largely unchanged, and I’m glad I got a glimpse into it.
