For several years in a row, it was our good fortune to witness a daily display of snake power. A timber rattler was living in one of the piles of lumber next to the driveway. Every morning, he would slither up from the pile and sun himself on the metal roofing covering the wood. When it got too hot, he'd slide back into the shade of the 2 X 6 lumber. And when it rained, he'd uncoil and lift his head to the water, as if taking a satisfying shower. Then, one day, he did not reappear.
Up until the summer of 2008, snakes could be seen in some abundance in these parts: Rattlers, black snakes, copperheads and very occasionally, king snakes. Sometimes, they'd be too close to the house and we moved them into the woods. More recently, for reasons unknown, there seem to be fewer snakes to be found in the wilds.
Could it be that the Broadwing of the Badlands has eaten them all?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Wondrous Sightings No. 6 -- Broadwing of the Badlands
For several years now, it has been my pure luck to develop something of a relationship with a beautifully fierce broadwing hawk who, for reasons not yet known to me, chooses to display itself in this part of the mountains. The first time, it danced out of a tree along the graveled road we live on, gracefully dipping ahead of the truck for several hundred feet before lighting on another tree. This has since happened so many times that I usually stop the truck, roll down the window and observe this handsome bird for as long as it will let me.
Sometimes, it appears to dive bomb at the truck head-on, its talons dangling beneath its stocky rib cage. Other times, it makes a perfect sine wave, swooping ahead and away, displaying the characteristic black-and-white bands on its tail feathers. The Broadwing of the Badlands, named after this tortuous part of the north Georgia mountains, is a perfect predator, as I also learned one afternoon. For several years, we had a family of wild rabbits that comfortably chowed down on the native plants and hostas around the house. The paterfamilias of this rabbit gang acted like he owned the place, barely raising his head from a tasty meal when we singled him out in headlights at night. The rabbits did what rabbits do -- make more rabbits. That is, until the broadwing discovered what a tasty morsel junior rabbits could make. It dove straight down from heaven that afternoon, turned at the last moment to grab a baby rabbit and carry it off in front of me. I was witness to real power that day. We don't see as many rabbits anymore.
In more recent years, it has set up an observation post in the tall pines and oak trees that surround the vegetable garden, signaling its presence with a loud screech/whistle that is very hard to duplicate. So far, I am having a hard time mimicking broadwing talk, but it pleases me enormously that this impressive bird finds it to its liking to guard the garlic and beans and cukes and tomatoes from the rabbits, polecats, deer and wild hogs who also like to visit this open field. Birding literature describes these hawks as no more than the size of pigeons, surviving mainly on snakes, insects, rodents and frogs, but I can tell you that this hawk is much bigger -- a true guard bird.
How do I know this is the same hawk that returns here every year, one might ask. These hawks migrate thousands of miles southward every winter. Believe me, I know. This feel like a bird who knows his home. I welcome him to the neighborhood.
Sometimes, it appears to dive bomb at the truck head-on, its talons dangling beneath its stocky rib cage. Other times, it makes a perfect sine wave, swooping ahead and away, displaying the characteristic black-and-white bands on its tail feathers. The Broadwing of the Badlands, named after this tortuous part of the north Georgia mountains, is a perfect predator, as I also learned one afternoon. For several years, we had a family of wild rabbits that comfortably chowed down on the native plants and hostas around the house. The paterfamilias of this rabbit gang acted like he owned the place, barely raising his head from a tasty meal when we singled him out in headlights at night. The rabbits did what rabbits do -- make more rabbits. That is, until the broadwing discovered what a tasty morsel junior rabbits could make. It dove straight down from heaven that afternoon, turned at the last moment to grab a baby rabbit and carry it off in front of me. I was witness to real power that day. We don't see as many rabbits anymore.
In more recent years, it has set up an observation post in the tall pines and oak trees that surround the vegetable garden, signaling its presence with a loud screech/whistle that is very hard to duplicate. So far, I am having a hard time mimicking broadwing talk, but it pleases me enormously that this impressive bird finds it to its liking to guard the garlic and beans and cukes and tomatoes from the rabbits, polecats, deer and wild hogs who also like to visit this open field. Birding literature describes these hawks as no more than the size of pigeons, surviving mainly on snakes, insects, rodents and frogs, but I can tell you that this hawk is much bigger -- a true guard bird.
How do I know this is the same hawk that returns here every year, one might ask. These hawks migrate thousands of miles southward every winter. Believe me, I know. This feel like a bird who knows his home. I welcome him to the neighborhood.
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