Northern harriers hunting in a windstorm
I thought they were coming for me! But I was too awestruck to be afraid.
A novice birder, I went walking on a grassy butte one October day, binoculars at the ready. I’d made a little time between responsibilities to let the open fields work their magic on my weary mind and body, but doubted I would see many birds or other wildlife in the middle of the afternoon. So far, most of my luck had been in the early morning.
I didn’t know we were expecting a windstorm. As I climbed the butte, the winds grew stronger. By the time I reached the top, 60 miles-per-hour wind gusts billowed out my clothes and enlivened my senses. Halfway around the summit hiking path, buoyant and awestruck in nature’s wild power, I slowed, then stopped. Something (else) was happening.
Two large hawks soared above me — Northern Harriers, I later learned. Moving so slow … so slow. Getting closer. And lower. So low! I let my binoculars down on their strap. I didn’t need them. One of the harriers was so close I could see the colors and patterns of its underparts. I noted its huge wingspan. It hovered directly over my head.
My head!
In this moment, I realized I could be in some trouble.
A few years beforehand, while walking home through my neighborhood from work, a blackbird had swooped down and pecked my head. Ow! Surprised and thinking it must have been a mistake of some kind, I continued walking. Then, peck! Again. Ow! I looked up. Oh no — the bird was coming down for a third strike! I began running. I ran all the way home in a panic, though the bird stopped swooping and pecking after a couple of blocks. I can only imagine how funny this scene would have been to someone if they had happened to look out of their window at that moment.
A person knowledgeable about birds later suggested that I may have come too close to a nest or that the bird may have been after my hair, which (and she put this gently) in its very bushiness may have appeared as rather ideal nesting material. (By the way, human hair is actually dangerous for birds — too thin and long — so please don’t offer it as a nesting material!)
Now, standing under this majestic hovering raptor in the windstorm, it crossed my mind that perhaps I should run. I didn’t know what it was doing, and perhaps I was in the way. This was no songbird! A peck from the beak of this bird …
But I couldn’t. So great were my wonder and curiosity. This bird was so close! How close would it come? What would happen next? Was it approaching because I was there, or did it not care?
For a few moments, I swirled around in the unexpected and unknown, breathing awe in its purest form, witnessing a ritual I didn’t understand performed by a creature I had not yet identified while one of the five elements poured through me — all in a setting of magnificent natural beauty.
The only sound was the wind.
Slowly, the harrier floated away. Away from me, and toward, my research soon revealed, its hopeful dinner. It was hunting. Scanning for an unfortunate rodent to make itself known in the prairie grasses.
I didn’t see the harriers catch their meal that day, though I have many times since. Strange how an ordinary, everyday event can be extraordinary under the right circumstances. How mystery awakens and inspires. How comforting is the knowledge of its presence, everywhere, inevitable to encounter if only we open ourselves to it.
