The Art and Practice of Hawking

by E. B. Michell

One of the most annoying errors into which a hawk can fall, is a belief in her own vocal powers. No hawk ever has at all a musical voice, and the exercise of it, even in moderation, can quite well be dispensed with. Unfortunately, most eyesses which have been taken very young from the nest develop quite early in life a tendency to cry out. When there are several of them together they often catch the habit from one another, and becoming worse as their feathers come down, are by the time they are ready to fly confirmed “screamers.” No cure has, I believe, been discovered for this vice, except that of turning them out to hack, which in nine cases out of ten proves successful. I have several times known a family of hawks when first turned out, to keep up for the first day or two an almost incessant screeching, and yet I have taken up the same birds at the end of hack completely cured. Generally, as soon as a young hawk finds that she can expend all her superfluous energy in flying about, and that no sort of attention is ever paid to her eloquence, she gets tired of indulging in the weakness. I know, however, of a case where hobbies too early taken were actually lost at hack, and never came at all either to lure or hack board, and yet continued to scream when quite wild for at least more than a week afterwards.

Passage hawks, I believe, never scream. It is often supposed that no wild hawks scream, and this, I think, is as a rule true. But I have heard young wild kestrels scream for a few days after they could fly, and one lot of wild merlins, though they were fully summed, and had probably been already driven away by the parents to shift for themselves, were what may be called bad screamers. They would scream while soaring, ten minutes at a time, and at such a height that the sound could only just be heard. It is true that there were trained merlins about at the time, and possibly they may have been calling to them. It is quite a common thing for hawks which are entirely free from the vice to call out when they see another hawk unexpectedly. They will do it even when they see their own likenesses in a looking-glass.

If the hawk, after being well hacked, still retains vestiges of the bad habit, there is yet another chance. The flying and killing wild quarry has often a magical effect in curing this vice, which would seem, like some other malpractices, to be largely the result of idleness. Still there are instances where, in spite of all the advantages which an eyess enjoys, she will persist in screaming. Some of them will go so far as to scream with the hood on, though this is rare. As a rule a screaming hawk is not a good performer. And she ought to be a very good one, in order to make it worth the falconer’s while to be plagued with her. If you turn her adrift you may possibly, after a few days, catch her again and find her cured; and if not, you will not have suffered a very severe loss.

A still more disheartening fault is that of “refusing.” People who know nothing at all about falconry are apt to suppose that when once you have “tamed” your hawk, and can call her back to you when you like, the only thing which remains to be done is to walk with her into a field, show her a bird, and let her go. That she should fail to pursue it is a contingency which does not present itself to their minds. It is, however, unfortunately one that constantly occurs, not only with eyesses, but also with the boldest of wild-caught hawks. The novice gets his hawk into a fine state of obedience. She will come a long distance to the lure as soon as it is produced. But when the long-expected day arrives for the first flight at a wild quarry, and perhaps an expectant field of friends turns out to see the sport, the wild bird is put up, the hawk is thrown off with a lusty shout, and, without taking the smallest notice of her intended victim, goes quietly on her way either to wait on for the lure or to take perch in a pleasant spot. Even when hawks have been entered, and have begun to fly in earnest, you cannot be absolutely sure when you cast them off whether they will be in the humour to do their best. They may begin the flight in apparently faultless style, and go up bravely in the most orthodox of rings after the ringing quarry. And then as they seem to be getting on terms with their rook or lark, you may see the fatal spreading of their wings, and have the painful conviction forced upon you that they have shown the white feather and thrown up the game. This vice—of “flying tail to tail,” as the old falconers term it—is a most disheartening one for a beginner to meet with; so much so, that some old writers regard such a hawk as hopeless, and advise giving her away to a friend! I have found it strongly developed in the only two hobbies I ever tried to train; and a like result has, to my knowledge, followed in several other instances. These hawks have made rings and followed a wild lark up. But they have never taken even so much as a bad one! I had a merlin which out of 41 flights killed 40 larks. But the one occasion when she missed she refused—or at least left the lark in the air. Possibly this was because she was flown too soon after the last flight. But the disgrace remains recorded against her name in the quarry-book.

To guard against this sad catastrophe you must encourage your hawk; that is, you must keep up her courage, which is the thing most severely tested in a ringing flight. You must feed her well; yet keep her digestion in perfect order. And you must strengthen her muscles by constant hard exercise. It is not enough for her to go out and kill a couple of indifferent rooks in two or three short easy flights. If there is not enough good quarry—difficult quarry—to be found for her, you can give her a good spell of stooping at the lure, or in the case of a game-hawk, a long waiting on when the wind is highest, probably about midday. She must have tirings galore. And if she has refused once, fly her sharp-set the next time. Hawks will refuse through being too fat as well as through being too lean. Avoid, if possible, giving your best hawks bad quarry, or your worst hawks any that are too good. The former may refuse a specially good one because they are accustomed to take duffers, and the latter may refuse because they have not yet gained confidence in their own powers. Goshawks are capricious creatures; they will refuse a leveret, and half an hour later fly well at a full-grown hare. Other hawks may refuse if flown too early in the day, and yet do a fine performance if tried again later on. With a hawk that persistently refuses you should try every remedy that your ingenuity will suggest as likely to inspire her with a proper sense of her duty. Try feeding up; try flying her very hungry. Physic her for liver, with one prescription after another. And if all fail, give the hawk away, or, better still, cast her loose in an open country where the keepers don’t shoot hawks. She then will have the choice between working and starving; and she will very soon know how to decide the question.

The last, and in one way the most serious, vice which has to be referred to, is that of “running cunning.” I do not think it is common, if even it prevails at all among passage hawks; and what there is to be said about it in the case of eyesses, has been said in the chapter on Lost Hawks, à propos of Ruy Lopez.

We have thus a list of seven deadly sins, or so-called sins, to which trained hawks are prone—carrying (better called lifting), refusing, checking, perching, hood-shyness, screaming, and running cunning. There are a few minor faults which hardly amount to more than peccadilloes, and deserve only a passing notice. Sometimes a hawk will keep bating off in a tiresome way. This is when she is strong and well, but short of exercise, and perhaps a bit feverish. The remedy is simply to hood her up. It is far less annoyance to her to stand hooded than to fatigue or worry herself by constant tugging and straining at her jesses. But, as a matter of fact, for hawks to stand hooded for any reasonable time is no annoyance to them at all, after they have worn the hood a few times. If it were, we should find that they suffered from it in health, strength, temper, or somehow, which is not known to be the case. Merlins, however, and male sparrow-hawks should be left unhooded more than other hawks. And they must not be expected to fly, like peregrines, immediately the hood is removed. The same cause will induce hawks sometimes to pick and pull at their jesses or at the covering of the perch, or even at the glove. The remedy is to smear the jesses or perch or glove with aloes or some bitter preparation, which is distasteful to them, but will do no harm if they like to go on picking, but rather good.

It has been said (p. 32) that goshawks and sparrow-hawks cannot be flown in casts (i.e. two of them together). This is on account of the great probability that they will fight or “crab.” There is also, in the case of long-winged hawks, some danger that the like trouble may arise, especially if one or both of the individuals thrown off has a bad temper of her own. Accordingly, it is often well that each hawk intended to be used for double flights should be first flown single a few times, until she has become keen after her quarry, so that she may be too intent upon the pursuit of it to quarrel with her colleague, when flown double. But eyesses which have been well hacked and well reclaimed are seldom addicted to this vice, which is still more rare in passagers. As to the difficulties attending double flights with merlins, see the remarks made at page 141; and as to entering a young hawk with the assistance of an older one as “make-hawk,” see pages [113], [142].

Some hawks, especially the wild-caught, will not bathe, but after tasting the water in the bath, and perhaps making as if they would go in, hesitate for a long time, and at last jump back to their block. Some will not even “bowse,” or sip the water. This is vexatious, for bathing undoubtedly improves the feathers besides merely cleaning them, and keeps the hawks free from parasites and from small attacks of feverishness. It also cleans their feet, and makes them more hardy and robust. The best plan in such cases is to see that the bath-water is never too cold, to let a hawk which bathes well bathe in the sight of the recusant, and to keep the bath on fine days within reach of the latter. Such a hawk should also have her feet bathed now and then while on the perch; and her beak should be kept clear of any scraps or stains which may remain on it after feeding. This wiping of the beak should, however, be done in any case, if the hawk is not careful herself about feaking, or rubbing the refuse off her mandibles.

Such is the rather long list of faults and vices. Let us not end up the chapter with these, but hark back to the virtues, and remind the reader that these are also great. Speed, courage, mounting, and footing: these may be called the cardinal virtues. Some hawks are born with some or all of them: some achieve them; while upon others—well, they must be thrust. The mode of treatment suggested in the preceding pages has been found by long experience to be the best for developing the good qualities in a hawk as well as for eliminating the bad. Exercise and practice are the essential requisites. Nature is then working on the trainer’s side. Every hawk should be made as often as possible to earn her food by hard work. And every hawk should be encouraged to take a pleasure in her work and a pride in herself. Exercise means speed; and speed means success. With success will naturally come courage; and excellence in mounting and footing is no more than the inevitable result of proper practice in the right sort of flights. All hawks in the wild state can kill many sorts of quarry. All trained hawks, therefore, should be able to take at least one. But if any man expects to become a falconer off-hand, he will be disappointed. If he will begin moderately, with one hawk,—a kestrel for choice,—and train her single-handed and completely, he will soon be able to attempt much greater things.