March Madness
It's that time of year again - Falcon Time!!! Territories are being claimed or contested, scrapes are seeing resident turnover. Falcons are canoodling 10 times a day, and have begun to lay their eggs. Tiercels are building up their stash of prey in preparation for the food demands of a clutch of clamoring gaping-mawed, rapidly growing eyases. The live cams are rolling, and the forums are generating pages upon pages of falcon-related observations. And falcon watchers everywhere are gearing up for their version of March Madness. Video capture software has been updated and we are practicing new techniques for uploading screenshots and video faster than ever so we can be the first to post a picture of the new egg, the new hatch, the decapitated prey, or the "poop shoot". Gentle souls, who normally keep their backyard feeders fully stocked, who catch household pests and release them outdoors rather than squashing them underfoot, who call around in the middle of the night to find a rehabber that will take an injured skunk, are now cheering when the cam shows Mr. Falcon returning to his scrape clutching a meadowlark or flicker. In our defense, we mostly all cringe when the prey happens to still be squirming or squawking - we're not heartless after all, just obsessed. And the focus of our obsession is nearly here. In just 30 short days, the first naked and helpless chick will force its way from a shell and become an immediate internet sensation, with thousands of adoring fans from across the globe, squeeing and awww-ing at every wobbly effort to lift its head or at its bulging crop, almost as big as the eyas itself, after its first meal. No Hollywood or royal infant will undergo more minute scrutiny for the first two months of its life!
Baby is hungry!
Baby has pin feathers coming in!
And then, we will watch as they head off, out of our lives and into the world to find their own place. Sixty percent of them will not survive to next Spring. 85% of them will never be seen or heard from again. We will break our hearts when we learn that one of "ours" has died. We will rejoice when that one in 20 is identified in its own nesting territory (and we will immediately add that nest to the list of nests we follow). We will be intensely conflicted when one of our darlings is recorded engaged in mortal combat challenging or defending territory, especially if it happens to be against another one of "our" favorites. We will burst with pride when they begin to raise their own offspring, posting photos of feeding time and comparing growth rates, taking polls of which one will fledge first. We will watch them and worry over them, and love them. We will share stories of the special ones for years to come. And, by the time they fledge, we will understand what it is that makes each one special in some way.
We are cam watchers, a unique breed. And this is our March Madness. Let the games begin!
Baby is hungry!
Baby has pin feathers coming in!
And then, we will watch as they head off, out of our lives and into the world to find their own place. Sixty percent of them will not survive to next Spring. 85% of them will never be seen or heard from again. We will break our hearts when we learn that one of "ours" has died. We will rejoice when that one in 20 is identified in its own nesting territory (and we will immediately add that nest to the list of nests we follow). We will be intensely conflicted when one of our darlings is recorded engaged in mortal combat challenging or defending territory, especially if it happens to be against another one of "our" favorites. We will burst with pride when they begin to raise their own offspring, posting photos of feeding time and comparing growth rates, taking polls of which one will fledge first. We will watch them and worry over them, and love them. We will share stories of the special ones for years to come. And, by the time they fledge, we will understand what it is that makes each one special in some way.
We are cam watchers, a unique breed. And this is our March Madness. Let the games begin!