By Joe Atkinson
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fly your eagle, or any falconry bird, in a land that is so big you can’t drive across it in a single day or even several days? A place that is so vast and wide open that when you cast off your bird you cannot see a single man-made object in any direction other than the two-track dirt road you drove in on. A place where you do not have to ask anyone for permission to be there to hunt your bird, just load up the dogs, eagle and go! This place for me is the high desert of eastern Oregon, golden eagle country. Covered in sagebrush, this land has a magical beauty all its own. The animals that live here all depend on the sagebrush in one way or another. To the traveler passing through, the high desert will not show all its beauty, will not reveal any of its secrets. One must stop and take in all the sights and sounds of the high desert. When the wind blows your senses come alive with the lovely smell of the sage, it’s the scent of a wild, untamed land that is still as it has been for thousands of years.
I have flown golden eagles for 40 years — everything from wild passage adults, youngsters that fell out of their nest and imprints that were sweet to train, to ones that were illegally taken from the nest and frankly dangerous to handle. Other than the imprints, I conditioned these golden eagles and released them to continue their lives as wild eagles. A conservative number of how many eagles I’ve trained would be thirty-five plus. By any standard, that’s a lot of eagles. I flew them off-the-fist, hunting our North American black-tailed hare, or jackrabbit, as they are commonly called here. My standard was that each eagle had to catch twelve jackrabbits before I considered them ready for release. That’s a lot of rabbits.
Over the years I’ve seen a lot while training, flying and hunting golden eagles. However, in the last years my eagle falconry has taken a rather dramatic change. In the process of looking for somewhere to relocate to from Northern California, my wife, Cordi, and I fell in love with eastern Oregon. The area we now live in is predominately public land looked after by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) and there are millions of acres of land open to public access year-round. With the cover that the sagebrush provides it is the perfect habitat for jackrabbits. Jackrabbits are extremely adept at disappearing in the sage, never to be seen again. This makes sense since they are hunted everyday by wild golden eagles, coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions and let’s not forget, foxes. Their survival depends on using the sagebrush as escape cover.
I had made several attempts to hunt my male golden off-the-fist at jackrabbits that would flush out in front of me, all to no avail. As soon as he launched, the jackrabbit would be gone, and I soon realized that flying off-the-fist was not going to give any results. In all likelihood, it would just end up frustrating my eagle and myself. Watching wild eagles hunt, I noticed they were always on the wing, coursing over the flat areas that held the most jackrabbits. This led me to think about the possibility of hunting an eagle from the waiting-on position, circling over my head as I flushed jackrabbits. Soaring looked more and more like the only way to hunt an eagle here in the sagebrush sea.
I have had many eagles that went up into a soar and hung around me, but never on any consistent basis, only when the conditions were just right. I wanted an eagle that would mount up each time we went flying, much like my falcons. I thought my female golden eagle, Widow, might be a candidate. She had caught dozens of jackrabbits off-the-fist while I was still living in California. In fact, she was so good at catching jackrabbits out in the hay fields that, I dare say, it became boring. As I walked through the fields, she would scan way out in front of us, looking for jackrabbits feeding on the alfalfa hay growing in the field. The moment Widow saw a jackrabbit lower its large ears, a sign that the rabbit had relaxed and was now vulnerable and would not see her coming, she would be off. These were usually long flights, sometimes several hundred yards. Widow would come in fast, do a quick wingover and have the jackrabbit. Not the most exciting flight, for sure — effective but eventually boring. I actually tried to soar her in California a few times. She did stoop at a heron causing the poor thing to throw out its long legs and wings, scream, and do a belly flop into a pond. Not what I had in mind, but that flight gave me a glimpse as to what is possible with a soaring golden eagle.
Relocating from a place where you have lived for 30 plus years is something I do not wish to do again, ever! The best way I can describe the process would be to compare the move to a circus coming to town, complete with dogs, cats, fish, falcons, eagles and horses. As I said, something I never want to repeat. After the move and with all the animals adjusted to their new home, life settled down to the point it was now time to turn my attention on getting Widow to soar.
I drove up the tallest hill I could find and launched Widow off the top. Each time she flew out and came over me I’d toss out the lure, give her a bite and launch her off once more. In time, she figured out that getting in the air over top of me produced food. For weeks, maybe months, I did this, mostly because it was fun, but also to totally cement the idea that coming over me made good things happen. My favorite thing to do was to let Widow go higher and higher until I could no longer see her in the blue sky with binoculars, she specked out on several occasions. I placed an altimeter on her, and she topped out at 12,344 ft. That is way up there! Like all things in falconry, not everything goes smoothly. I did have to track Widow on the odd occasion and, one particular time, she was chased off by a wild pair of golden eagles and spent the night out. I found her not far from our house, ten miles from where the flight had started.
With Widow now solidly in the air and soaring for extended periods of time I began to hunt for jackrabbits. It did not take me long to realize I needed help in the field. Apparently, jackrabbits will not flush and run when an eagle is overhead. Gee, I can’t imagine why. So, I elicited the help of two of our ranch dogs. Widow had never shown any interest, one way or another, in our dogs, so I figured they could help flush and, by keeping the jackrabbits moving, Widow could have a chance to catch one. I admit it was rather concerning the first couple of times in the field because this was a hunting situation and Widow would be looking for something to eat. Thankfully, all went well. On one occasion our dogs jumped a coyote and gave chase up a small draw. To my surprise, Widow stooped the coyote and rolled it just as it got to its den. The interesting thing to me was that Widow distinguished the coyote from my dogs. All being the same size, she still knew the difference. My jackrabbit flushers, however, as hard as they worked looking for jackrabbits and chasing after them, were just not fast enough. The jacks would accelerate and in short order disappear in the sage. I needed faster dogs!
Searching on the internet led me to sighthounds, dogs that are fast and bred to chase stuff. Further searching led me to a breed of sighthound called the Tazi, a variety of Saluki. Reading up on Tazis, I learned they were bred to hunt with eagles. That’s all I needed to see, got to get one or three! I found a breeder in the US and ordered our first Tazi, Zeva. Having no idea what Tazis were like, let’s just say Zeva was different, almost feral. She wanted nothing to do with us, didn’t run off, just not interested in any contact. We tied a long cord to her so that we could step on it just to catch the little darling. In time, though, we won her over and she has become a very affectionate and loyal dog. Not long after introducing Zeva to Widow, we were out hunting and, while standing on a hillside, I reached down and gave Zeva a well-deserved pat on the shoulder and noticed blood on my hand. She had a three-inch gash on her side. I guess running at thirty mph through sage, large rocks and cactus will do that to you. It was then I realized that if Zeva was to be injured, my flying Widow after jackrabbits would come to a screeching halt. Quite simply, no dog, no flight. So, I ordered Khan, a male half Tazi/half Saluki, who is the fastest Tazi we have. Then…they are such a cool dog, why not have three! Ayla is number three. That’s how we roll around here, more is better.
Now my team was set, three freakishly fast dogs and one female golden eagle. Look out jackrabbits, here we come! One would think, and rightfully so, with a team this talented and well managed (see how I slipped in the well managed part, that would be me) a jackrabbit would have no chance of escape. Well, I’m here to tell you that there is a reason jackrabbits are so plentiful, they are masters at vanishing. You must keep in mind where I am flying, it’s not short grass fields or cropland where the dogs never lose sight of the jackrabbit. The sagebrush steppe is covered with obstacles, large rocks with sharp edges on them, small ground-growing cacti with needle like thorns and the sagebrush itself, which is a very unforgiving bush, nothing is going to crash through it without great difficulty. Because of the harsh conditions, all three Tazi’s have incurred injuries of various kinds. Oh, and one more thing, poisonous rattlesnakes are common in the area and will bite a dog or falconer; that can be a very serious situation for both. Other than those few things, it’s a piece of cake to fly here. Truthfully, I wouldn’t change a thing.
I thought I would share with you a flight that is, in many ways, typical of the kinds of flights we get nearly every time we go out with the team. From my hawking notes:
5/28/20
Temp: 85F / 29C
Wind: 5mph / 8kph
Blue sky with large white clouds.
Location: secret – don’t ask
Widow’s weight: 9.6 lbs. / 4354.4g
The heat is building. Looking out over the valley, I see the heat waves rising up from the desert floor. This means there will be lots of lift for Widow. I will have to monitor the dogs though, as they can quickly get dehydrated after long runs. I’ll make sure I carry water for them.
With Widow all wired up, both tracking devices clipped on, traditional telemetry and GPS, I remove her hood and she jumps to the ground. She walks over to the nearest sage bush, jumps on top, and starts looking out over the valley floor. She sees the same thing I do, heat rising off the ground. After a full body rouse, she launches from her sage bush and flies down, off the ridge, going farther and farther away across the valley. Checking the GPS, she is 2.3 miles away. Watching her in my binoculars, I see her start to circle and rise, telling me she has found what she is looking for, a column of warm rising air called a thermal. With each circle, Widow gains height, GPS says she is at 800 ft and climbing. Widow then jumps off this thermal and flies south for, according to the GPS, one mile. She begins to circle once more and climbs to 1,800 ft before she jumps out of that thermal and starts coming back over me, maintaining her height. Widow is telling me she is ready to hunt, time to jump the dogs out of the truck. All three Tazis move out in front of me, taking their normal positions. Ayla is our advance scout and our best jackrabbit finder. She will range the farthest away and we all know to watch her closely because if she starts to pick up speed it could mean an imminent flush. Khan, our fastest Tazi, hangs somewhere in the middle between me and Ayla. Zeva is very independent, still almost feral. She stays closest to me and will chase Jackrabbits with reckless intensity; however, she is mostly looking for something she can catch and eat.
One reason I find hunting Jackrabbits so intoxicating is you never know when the flush will happen, it can be the next step that sends a jackrabbit exploding from its hiding place.
As we move out into the sage, I stop every now and again to check on Widow. I like to wait for her to be nearly right over my head, I guess it’s the long-winger in me. I check the GPS and Widow is at 1,100 ft and circling. On the other side, across a small wash, we see that Ayla has quickened her pace. Khan moves into a flanking position on her left, keeping the wash between them. Zeva is looking under a sage bush for the lizard she just chased but notices the change in body language in both Khan and Ayla and starts to trot in their direction. The dog’s movements have not escaped Widow’s attention and she sets her wings in anticipation of a flush. For me, times like these always seem to go into slow motion. I see Ayla hit the jets and start sprinting and Khan and Zeva send dust up as they accelerate after the now flushed jackrabbit. Khan closes on the jack to the point that he is barking each time the jack makes a sharp turn in front of his nose. With all three Tazis at full speed, the jack turns and heads out into the flatland where there is way less sagebrush cover. All this time, Widow has been coming in, adjusting her stoop angle as the jackrabbit disappears and reappears from the cover of the sage as it keeps pace in front of the dogs. The voice activation on my GPS tells me Widow’s height in 200 ft increments and Widow is at 800 ft. As the jackrabbit runs further from cover, out into the open, I can see its dust trail. Widow must realize that the jackrabbit has made a fatal error, as she goes into a full mummy-tuck stoop. I can hear the sound of her stoop as she passes right over my head. In a big arcing stoop, she turns slightly on her side, as if to see the jackrabbit better. In a flash, Widow overtakes the three Tazis and, in a cloud of dust, catches the jackrabbit.
I walk over to find Widow happily plucking fur off her prize. Meanwhile, the three Tazis have gone back to the nearest shade under some taller bushes. I turn and look back up the hill and can barely make out my truck. The thought of carrying an eagle, now filling up on jackrabbit, a good mile or more uphill in very hot temps is not appealing. I decide to leave Widow with her meal, walk back to my truck and drive down to where she is. Taking off my hawking vest, I place it on the dirt road, marking the spot so I will know where to stop. Timing myself, I reach the truck after a 35-minute brisk walk. I drive down, stop at my hawking vest, and walk into the field to find that Widow has eaten just about the entire jackrabbit. What a pig!
Flying a golden eagle in the right conditions is an extremely rewarding experience. And, I believe, soaring a golden eagle is the highest form of eagle falconry one can achieve. Although I understand it is not for everyone, for those that try it, you are in for the ride of your life…. good hawking.