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When you own a falcon, who needs a gun?
The thrill of falconry
Patrick D. Hazard
When my German wife announced we would take the train to Kranichfeld ("Field of Cranes") to hike around the mountains of southern Thuringia to look at two abandoned castles, my heart skipped a few boring beats, relieved only by the prospect of seeing another squadron of cranes taking their fall flight south. (My first glimpse of their annual migration in Germany almost made a birder of me, so majestic was their deployment.)
Actually, those two castles had enough history to appease my muscles strained by the semi-vertical hike. And the 360-degree ocular sweeps in the tiptop castle lookouts were tantalizing. It also seemed every dog within 20 kilometers barked itself silly at our invading its terrain, pausing as we did to catch our breath.
At one such pause the handsomest ram I've ever seen strode over from his distant "house" to check us out. Soon his ewe joined her ram to gawk too, followed by a perky new lamb mewling happily. There the two friendly trios murmured and mumbled at each other: the sheepish trio-- and Hilly, my infant son Danny, and me.
It was then that my wife's vague allusions to "birds" began to make sense. A 50ish autodidact falconer, one Herbert Schütz, had moved his birds and their perches to Niederburg Castle in 2005 for its energizing heights and broad vistas.
Where birds show off
Paradoxically, "the perfect" fall day— blazing sun and not a whisper of wind— is not "perfect" for birds. They want to soar to windy heights.
Schütz explained that he found his first bird with his grandfather—a small buzzard in the woods, which he carefully carried home. He then succumbed to a passion for them, buying more and different species whenever he earned pocket money. He passed the falconer's exam in 1975.
Schütz's performance now exhibits six different species of falcon. Most interesting to my eye were the white or American eagle (my first!), a buzzard, a condor and an owl. The ten-level bleachers for spectators faced a huge field, two corners of which supported raised platforms for the birds to show off on.
Teasing Americans
Schütz delights in identifying Americans in the audience and teasing them with his birds. I had the rare (and I fondly hope unique) experience of having a condor zoom at my head and settle at the last moment on my shoulder.
We worried that little Danny (who sat alone on the first row) would panic when he got birded. Heh, Schütz chose a white owl to zoom at Danny. He bravely stroked the bird and received a white owl feather for his courage. It now holds a place of honor above his bed.
Schütz is a talented performer, explaining the diverse personalities of his avian tribe as he deftly toys with each breed and then rewards them with flesh or seeds. The elegance of these birds must be seen to be believed.
Status symbol
But what is now an elegant entertainment began as a means of human survival for hunters or warriors. Falconry probably originated in Mesopotamia or Mongolia, about 2000 B.C. The art was probably introduced into Europe around 400 C.E., when the Huns invaded from the East.
Frederick II of Hohenstaufen (1194-1250), generally acknowledged as the most significant wellspring of traditional falconry knowledge, probably got his expertise from the Arabs in a war between June 1228 and June 1229. He obtained a copy of Moamyn's manual on falconry then and had it translated into Latin by Theodore of Antioch. Toward the end of his life Frederick wrote The Art of Hunting with Birds.
Falconry soon became a popular sport and status symbol for European nobles. It was more of a necessity for the nomadic Bedouins, who hunted small game in the winter months to supplement a meager diet.
Slow death
Falconry flourished in Europe in the 17th Century but slowly perished in the 18th and 19th Centuries, when firearms became the weapon of choice. The early 20th Century witnessed a revival in England and North America as a posh pastime.
In our time, veterinary advances and telemetry— transmitters attached to birds— have lengthened the falcons' lifespan. But it remains with benign addicts like Herbert Schütz to bring the thrills of this ancient art to the masses.
Actually, those two castles had enough history to appease my muscles strained by the semi-vertical hike. And the 360-degree ocular sweeps in the tiptop castle lookouts were tantalizing. It also seemed every dog within 20 kilometers barked itself silly at our invading its terrain, pausing as we did to catch our breath.
At one such pause the handsomest ram I've ever seen strode over from his distant "house" to check us out. Soon his ewe joined her ram to gawk too, followed by a perky new lamb mewling happily. There the two friendly trios murmured and mumbled at each other: the sheepish trio-- and Hilly, my infant son Danny, and me.
It was then that my wife's vague allusions to "birds" began to make sense. A 50ish autodidact falconer, one Herbert Schütz, had moved his birds and their perches to Niederburg Castle in 2005 for its energizing heights and broad vistas.
Where birds show off
Paradoxically, "the perfect" fall day— blazing sun and not a whisper of wind— is not "perfect" for birds. They want to soar to windy heights.
Schütz explained that he found his first bird with his grandfather—a small buzzard in the woods, which he carefully carried home. He then succumbed to a passion for them, buying more and different species whenever he earned pocket money. He passed the falconer's exam in 1975.
Schütz's performance now exhibits six different species of falcon. Most interesting to my eye were the white or American eagle (my first!), a buzzard, a condor and an owl. The ten-level bleachers for spectators faced a huge field, two corners of which supported raised platforms for the birds to show off on.
Teasing Americans
Schütz delights in identifying Americans in the audience and teasing them with his birds. I had the rare (and I fondly hope unique) experience of having a condor zoom at my head and settle at the last moment on my shoulder.
We worried that little Danny (who sat alone on the first row) would panic when he got birded. Heh, Schütz chose a white owl to zoom at Danny. He bravely stroked the bird and received a white owl feather for his courage. It now holds a place of honor above his bed.
Schütz is a talented performer, explaining the diverse personalities of his avian tribe as he deftly toys with each breed and then rewards them with flesh or seeds. The elegance of these birds must be seen to be believed.
Status symbol
But what is now an elegant entertainment began as a means of human survival for hunters or warriors. Falconry probably originated in Mesopotamia or Mongolia, about 2000 B.C. The art was probably introduced into Europe around 400 C.E., when the Huns invaded from the East.
Frederick II of Hohenstaufen (1194-1250), generally acknowledged as the most significant wellspring of traditional falconry knowledge, probably got his expertise from the Arabs in a war between June 1228 and June 1229. He obtained a copy of Moamyn's manual on falconry then and had it translated into Latin by Theodore of Antioch. Toward the end of his life Frederick wrote The Art of Hunting with Birds.
Falconry soon became a popular sport and status symbol for European nobles. It was more of a necessity for the nomadic Bedouins, who hunted small game in the winter months to supplement a meager diet.
Slow death
Falconry flourished in Europe in the 17th Century but slowly perished in the 18th and 19th Centuries, when firearms became the weapon of choice. The early 20th Century witnessed a revival in England and North America as a posh pastime.
In our time, veterinary advances and telemetry— transmitters attached to birds— have lengthened the falcons' lifespan. But it remains with benign addicts like Herbert Schütz to bring the thrills of this ancient art to the masses.
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