The Peregrine Falcon at the Eyrie/Life in the Observation Shed
Chapter III.
Life in the Observation Shed.
By sharing our opportunities at the eyrie with friends, King and I in return received much valuable help. Not the least of these advantages was the ability, by means of a constant succession of lodgers, of keeping the birds under constant observation for thirteen days in succession. Although H. B. Booth apparently thought it necessary to provide himself with a camera of the press-the-button variety in order to qualify for a night's lodging, he really showed us how watching ought to be done, and incidentally the want of windows at the side and back of the shed. He disapproves of my habit of using the adjective peregrine as a substantive. As he has also sinned in this respect, I did not think it tactful to allow him to revise his rough notes, which, written on the spot, give a graphic impression which could only be dimmed by polishing.
H. B. Booth's watch from 6.5 p.m., May 23rd, to 11.25 a.m., May 24th, as copied from his rough field notes.
Atkinson came up with me to "Peregrine Hotel" to relieve Edmondson, who reported that the Tiercel had been feeding strongly, having brought several birds, including a thrush, during the last two hours. It is strange that with this pair, and possibly with all Peregrines for anything I know, the male is the more courageous, and feeds the young in spite of this wooden structure being erected on the cliff-side, not three yards from the eyrie. It is exactly the opposite with the sparrow hawk as far as division of labour is concerned. At 6.5 p.m, my two friends bade me "Good night," and went down to the boat to return home, and I am left to soliloquise and take in my bearings. "Peregrine Hotel," as we are all instructed to call it, is best described as a large box or glorified packing case about seven feet long by four feet wide and four feet deep, resting insecurely on trestles, but well lashed to the rocks above by ropes. Inside it one can comfortably lie down or kneel, but one cannot, of course, stand up. There is a comfortable mattress, pillows and a good Jaeger sleeping bag. There are hooks on the walls, on one of which I see I am expected to hang my watch, and all sorts of notices pinned up, one of which is a complete list of meals the young Peregrines have had since May 20th. There is also a diagram of the eyrie by J. A., with the rocks lettered for convenience in identifying positions taken up by the adult birds. To get into "Peregrine Hotel" it was necessary to crawl through the small door with my slippers on; I left my boots outside on the cliff under the hotel. It is quite understood by those who use the shed that once inside one must not use the door of retreat until relieved, or the Falcons would know that someone had been left inside, and he would thereby incur the wrath of Dr. Heatherley, our leader, who would probably expel the sinner from the band. It is certainly a novel dormitory, and as the Falcons do not put in an appearance it gives me time to reflect on possibilities. How if the wind gets up? as it seems to be dog. What is the choice between being blown out to sea like an aeroplane or to be rolled down the cliff to the same destination? Then I remember it is my birthday! What a jovial, sociable way of spending it! Then I think what a capital idea it is to teach people like myself, who go to bed too late and get up late, the value of early hours.
I am writing on because there is nothing else to do but to smoke and watch the four white, downy and sleepy young Falcons nestled together nearly in the centre of the eyrie. I am afraid all the fun has been on before I came on duty. It is now 7 p.m., and J have not yet seen the old birds. When we landed the pair were flying overhead, crying "Kek, kek, kek," and continued so while we were changing guard, and for ten minutes after my friends had left me, which I took to mean until the boat left. I did not hear them at all again until 6.35 p.m., and after that only occasionally, and then only one bird. Edmondson said on my arrival that the young birds were so full that if anyone touched them they would burst. Well, they settled down very comfortably altogether, with their heads towards the centre of a compact circle. From this they have never moved, excepting at first when pestered by the bluebottles and other flies with which the eyrie is infested. But the flies have gone to bed, and the youngsters have since dozed serenely. 7.15 p.m.: One of the old birds has suddenly alighted on point B with a sharp "Hack" and an unplucked puffin in his talons. I fancy it is headless, but there is no mistaking its webbed feet. He jumps down into the eyrie with it still in his talons, and commences to tear pieces off it for the young, who quickly rise to the occasion (by the way, one is much smaller than the others), and they appear to be hungry. The old bird is apparently the Tiercel by his colour, and more particularly by his smaller size and general build. When he had fed them for nearly a quarter of an hour the Falcon appeared overhead—or, rather, I should say I heard her "Hek, hek" overhead. Shortly afterwards the Tiercel, who was now getting cross with the young for not taking his proffered snacks as quickly as he offered them, corrected them with sharp "hacks" or "yacks," and then flew away, I thought, to join the Falcon, who was still crying. He had left part of the puffin behind him, which I see is headless. At 7.45 p.m, the Tiercel returned, and gave the young a little more of the puffin. As before, on the few occasions when he tore a large piece of flesh off, or when a whole leg came away, he swallowed it himself. He then tried to brood them, but although only about a week old, they are getting too large.
All was quiet now except when an outside chick tried to get more under its father's breast. At 8.35 p.m., as I was writing, I was suddenly aroused by a low, querulous growling "Hurr-r-r-r," and, looking up, saw the Tiercel advancing with a curious parrotlike rolling gait, with neck forward and head low and neck-feathers raised—evidently very angry—emitting the "Hurring" sound all the time, as if going to meet some intruder against whom he was to defend his home and young. All this was directed against the Falcon, who came into sight walking down rock A, and dragging in one foot a plucked and skinned large bird's breast, showing only red meat. He jumped up on to the rock to her and took it, or, rather, snatched it, from her, still making this curious jarring noise, which seemed equivalent to cursing in English, as though he resented her being so late and disturbing his rest. Her size was notably greater than his. She gave a hurried glance at the shed and then flew out to sea, as if afraid. He flew off with the food, which, I fancy, was the breast of a curlew. Five minutes later he was back in the eyrie. He only offered the young a little of it and then settled down to brood again. I am now writing almost in the dark; it is past nine.
May 24th.—Last night I watched, and wrote till it was too dark to see. The Tiercel settled down and tried his best to cover the chicks, and for some time after one or other could be seen or heard shuffling to get under its father's breast. As it was now getting rather late, I had a little refreshment and got my bed ready. It was still possible to see the white outlines on the outer sides of his moustachial black patches, and also his white chin and breast as well, as he brooded. A little later, when the moon came out, these white patches were quite distinct, almost in the form of a white cravat, against the dark outlines of his beak and head. At 10 p.m. I turned in too. I woke up—still dark—fancy I heard the young Falcons calling—listen—and after a few minutes hear the sounds again—so sit up and can just see the dark outline of the brooding bird, with his white front and the white chicks beneath. So strike a light and find it is 2.45 a.m. Listen, and all is still for a time, then several times I hear oyster-catchers calling as they pass, and feel sure that this was the sound that roused me, as all is quiet in the eyrie and the Tiercel is still brooding. Have some breakfast, as I have had very little since my arrival, because, owing to the way the wind was rising last night, I thought there was some chance of my being weather-bound; but the wind soon went down again. It is now 3.15, and getting light, so I doze, sitting up in order to be ready and to avoid falling fast asleep. At 4.10 a.m, the Falcon commences "Hek-hekking" loudly, and I think she is in the air. The Tiercel leaves the eyrie and joins her. I catch sight of both flying round; but in a few minutes he returns without any food and broods again. At 4.50 a.m, the Falcon is calling the long-drawn-out, gull-like food cry, to which he immediately replies with the same cry and flies out to meet her. She transfers the quarry from her talons to his in the air. He brings it in, a song thrush, an adult, and quite intact, head and all. He feeds the young with it, occasionally swallowing a piece himself. He is very careful to pick up any morsel that misses a youngster's beak and drops into the eyrie and carefully offers it again. He holds the quarry firmly under one foot and tears pieces off with his beak. He holds each piece loosely in the tip of his beak and, tilting his head sideways, offers it to a youngster, who takes it most gently with its own beak-points crosswise to his.
With some mouthfuls they get a good deal of feathers and bone, but with the internal parts, intestines, etc., none at all. One youngster had a job with one of the thrush's legs, the foot and claws still sticking out of its mouth for a long time; but eventually it got it down. At 5.20 a.m, the long-drawn-out food cry of the Falcon is heard again. He immediately replies and flies out to her, and there is much noise above; but I cannot see the birds. He brings in a small bird, a rock-pipit, intact, and I wonder if it is the same bird I have heard singing at intervals during the last hour or so. After feeding the young, in which I notice again that the only parts of the quarry which are not used up are the flight and tail-feathers, which he pulls out and drops, he jumps on to rock C and stands there for some time. Suddenly there is the long-drawn-out food cry of the Falcon again, and he immediately replies and flies out to her, when she transfers something rather small—part of a plucked bird—to his talons in mid-air. She was carrying it in her left foot, and he took it from her with his left foot. He flies down somewhere behind the hut and evidently has his breakfast; it looks as if she plucked the food more thoroughly for him than for the young. This was at 5.45 a.m., and five minutes later he returns and broods, first picking up a few small, dry pieces and giving them to the young. It is quite evident that he is the housekeeper, and that she does the hunting and catering. He makes a model father, but never attempts to hunt quarry himself, merely watching for her return. It is now 6.45 a.m., and the Tiercel has been on the look-out for the Falcon for some time. He is evidently getting anxious for her return, as he keeps moving from one point to another, occasionally closing his eyes and dozing, but making no attempt to hunt himself. 7 am.: No sign of the Falcon. The Tiercel has gone to sleep on C and the young are getting restless. 7.20 am.: The Falcon arrives and there ensue the usual food cries between them. I do not catch sight of her, but he brings in an adult intact female blackbird and tears it up for the young, commencing with its skull, which he breaks open and distributes. He took nearly fifteen minutes in tearing the bird up, and towards the end of the meal gave two or three of his scolding " yacks" to hurry the young. Although partly used to it, the sharpness and sudden harshness of this cry always startled me. The young, however, never appeared to be alarmed by it; it merely seemed to encourage them to take the proffered bit. The Tiercel then flew away for a minute or two, leaving the young still noisy, and on his return he brooded them. He continued brooding till 7.50 a.m., and then moved on to C. Several of the blackbird's feathers were sticking to his talons. He cleared them off with his beak, holding up one foot at a time for the purpose, and then dozed, but always with one eye ready to espy the Falcon if she should appear. He stayed on C until 8.40 a.m., often half asleep, but generally with his weather eye on the sky or his lee eye on the shed, during which time I had breakfast. He appears to know perfectly well that there is something alive inside the shed, and is but little interested what it is so long as it does not hurt him or his. He merely gives a casual glance when I cough, strike a match or make any other noise, and watches me cautiously arranging the curtains in order to train the camera on to him, although only standing five feet away from it, and when I am quite ready—he closes his eyes. At 8.40 a.m, some oyster-catchers flew past, calling shrilly; this interested him and woke him up. He then flew off, but, I fancy, only to the top of the island. He seems to be a regular stay-at-home old housekeeper. The sun is out now, and the bluebottles are busy in the dirty eyrie, and are pestering the young. The latter are still sleeping in a heap; they seem chiefly to eat and sleep. One of the larger young, after gaping hard and making a "chipping" noise, has just thrown up a dark pellet or casting of undigested feathers and deposited it on the back of one of the others! At 9.5 a.m, the Tiercel came down to the eyrie without food and tried to tempt the youngsters with feathers and scraps of the last blackbird, and " yacked" when they would not take them readily. He then tried to brood them, but as it was getting warm only two of them cared for it, the other two moving off and squatting in the eyrie behind him. At 10 a.m, the Tiercel is still hanging about the eyrie, latterly mostly on C. Now he has flown behind the hut on to the edge of the cliff, and there, after a good deal of gaping and straining, has ejected a large casting, which fell down the cliff-side. He remained there alternately preening his feathers and dozing till 10.30, when he flew off, sounding the food, or is it the alarm cry? This quickly ceased, and I do not know where he is now, but fancy he is on the top of the cliff. I do not know where the Falcon is; I have neither seen nor heard her for three and a-half hours. The young are not brooded now in the heat of the day, and are rather bothered by the flies, and occasionally a young falcon will snap viciously at a tormenting blue-bottle. At 11 a.m. I heard the food cry, which at once roused the youngsters and started them looking anxiously round with their large, dark eyes. A few moments later the Tiercel arrived, making this cry, and alighted on B, but without any food. At 11.10 a.m, the food cry is again sounded, more loudly and longer, by one bird, and shortly after in comes the Tiercel with the dried breast-bone of a bird with a little meat on it, which I recognised as the remains of his supper last night. He has hunted it up, and this is his bit of falconry! However, he gave the chicks all he could get off it, and they took it freely. At 11.20 a.m, there is the food cry again, and this time in earnest. It is the Falcon, and the Tiercel answers, and shortly after appears with a bird quite plucked except for the down; it is headless, and I think it is a puffin, but I cannot see its feet. Five minutes later, while he was feeding the young, and just after I had caught sight of the puffin's legs, the Falcon started, and kept up the alarm cry, by which I guessed that the relief-party was at hand. The Tiercel, however, goes on feeding the young, now with redoubled speed, and he himself swallows one of the quarry's legs, which he had pulled off with great force. The Falcon is calling incessantly from above, while the Tiercel tears desperately at the puffin and feeds the young, who are also more hurriedly taking the proffered bits. This is the only effect the continuous warning notes of the Falcon have on the family party. In another five minutes the Tiercel suddenly flies off from the unfinished meal. He flies more on a level with the eyrie, and gives his warning notes to the young, who immediately hurry to seek cover, and take more notice of their father's warning than they did of their mother's. The warning notes of the Tiercel do not sound to me so quick and sharp as the "Hek, hek, hek" of the Falcon. They appear to be slightly longer, more like "Hurr, burr." A very few moments after the Tiercel left I was greeted by my friends with "Good morning! How goes it?" So he had stayed feeding in the eyrie until they had almost clambered down to it. My place was taken by Dr. Heatherley, and as soon as I had got my boots on I went across to the eyrie and found the remains of the meal consisted of one leg, part of the back and both wings of the puffin. It is curious how varied the condition of the quarry is when brought. Except for being headless, last night's puffin was almost intact, while this morning's puffin was not only beheaded, but well plucked also. The passerine birds brought were absolutely intact, while what was brought in by the Falcon for the Tiercel's own consumption consisted of fleshy parts of birds, not only plucked but absolutely skinned as well. After being relieved I went to an island about two miles away. Soon after landing there we found a mass of feathers on the shore and the head of a puffin, which was quite fresh, with the eyes clear and full as in life. Beyond a doubt the head and feathers of the puffin I had seen two hours previously brought in by the Falcon and torn up by the Tiercel, an interesting coincidence.