Operation Desert Dove

We’re over here  Operation Delta Duck

I wanted to make this last post on my birthday…on Groundhog’s Day (Check Patrick’s Site for reasons why this is a good day for endings and beginnings) but I guess there’s something about wrapping up that makes me hesitate. I hate it when good things end, even good things that had heartbreaking moments. (Jolie?) It isn’t goodbye– don’t get me wrong, it’s actually rebirth. I had my last two hunts in the desert this year at the end of the season and it’s time to say goodbye “Operation Desert Dove.”

One of my reasons for moving to Sac was to be closer to waterfowl. I wish we weren’t in the a ridiculous drought, but I managed to move myself into the driest place in the west. Check out the map. Those of you shooting on big water did fine. Those of use waiting for ducks to disperse into the smaller waters were screwed. I chased the same two flocks of resident mallards all season. And then I made a trip down south for work over the week and a couple hunting excersions on the weekend.

It felt like coming home and yet, I felt like a guest wandering through strange hallways in the dark. To explore my old haunts at the end of the season and be surprised by new crops in old fallow fields, dry reservoirs in favorite places was disconcerting and made me a little sad. Were it still home, I would have known every acre by heart at the end of January. The strangest thing was not to know what ducks were down so I would know where to look. The boys at the gun club were shooting spoonies, unapologetic about a strange year. They thought the normal duck migration has mostly missed them, mostly flown over and continued to Mexico. The dogs need to work and spoonies were what they had. I didn’t see spoonbills anywhere they should be, though. Everything looked wrong everywhere in California. Even at home.

So when I found a raft of ringnecks at the Musashi’s pond, it felt like a gift.

The gift grew even larger when Stan pulled up beside my truck. I was happy to see him again, a witness to a good morning. “Where have you been?” He said in the clipped sedate tone he has that drives me nuts. It makes me crazy because generally speaking I’m tight lipped. Stan’s flat expression and brevity makes me yammer on like I’ve got a couple of shots of tequila down my gullet. I don’t know what he’s thinking so I just keep talking and filling the silence. I will never go up against that man in a game of poker. So in the amount of time that it took to put on a transmitter and take off Anakin’s equipment I had told Stan the story of my year since the last season, pratically day by day in an auctioneers breathlessness and had gotten permission to put Booth in the pond to flush.

Stan stood back and watched from a distance when the falcon got in the air. I thought he was flying off as I watched him. We’ve flown big water some this season and I think it has reminded him to make big outruns. As he flew off into the distance in a familar, but tight place, I could only think that he was leaving. But when he came back, he was at 800 feet or so and I sighed in relief.

I slipped Booth under the fence and watched him do what he had been dying to do all year. He flanked the pond, dove in, and pushed the water-clinging ducks off the water, barking out his progress all the way. The flock of ringbills left the pond in clean motion. The falcon clocked a hen, pitched up and grabbed a drake. Stan stood as still and silent as the Santa Rosas, but missed nothing. He pointed to where my falcon had landed and then to where I could let my dog crawl back under the fence.

We watched the falcon eat, talking about water and how farming would manage in the new economy. Stan was surprisingly positive. I stared off at the Salton Sea, trying to decide if it has shrunk a little or a lot. I examined the Musashi’s crop and Stan suggested I bring some artichokes home with me. (They were delicious)

I was almost sad, lifting the peregrine onto my glove.

I wanted the hunt to last long enough to make up for the season, but I realized it wasn’t a make-up hunt, it was goodbye. I instructed Booth to take the duck back to the truck, to which he gleefully complied. I haven’t been able to convince him to carry anything I’ve thawed from the freezer, but my dog knew this duck was his accomplishment as did the peregrine. Neither of them were sad in the least and so I took my cue from them and smiled at Stan.

This was a visit, not a homecoming. Tempe and Sister were waiting in the truck and my work for Ducks Unlimited required a few more meetings nearby and many things on my desk up North. Life was about the delta now, about helping to make sure that every season doesn’t exclude my gorgeous canvasback, that there’s money to figure out why the scaup are dwindling. Life took another turn, a surprise one, but a wonderful twist indeed.

Long ago in a galaxy far away, a melancholy girl bought an irracible falcon who was destined to take her on rollercoaster ride of a thousand adventures. Six years later in the company of the most incredible group of friends and co-conspirators gathered along the way, the journey begins again, in the delta.

Goodbye Operation Desert Dove — the doves eluded us, but the journey was magic. Hello Operation Delta Duck, where this year the ducks eluded us, but we’ll be back. And I hope you’ll come along with us. I get to help fund the most amazing projects at Ducks Unlimited and have so much to learn about my new landscape. I hope you’ll be reading and watching.

Please accept my humble invitation to join me on my next grand aventure.  

Coming Soon

WWW.OPERATIONDELTADUCK.COM

Sneak preview (it’ll redirect when it’s live)

Wilton, CA 

Things aren’t all bad up here. Sometimes just learning the landscape is a reward in itself. I’m going shush about the fact that I can’t find any ducks to stare at this photo for a while.

I’m having trouble finding ducks, well, anything other than mallards. It’s just the bane of a new place and a very odd winter weather pattern. The cold came late and the ducks have been slow to come down and arriving out of order. None of this means much to me because I didn’t hunt ducks when I lived here in the later 80s early 90s. I don’t know what duck season is supposed to look like for a falconer in the delta or the valley or the grasslands in Northern California. I’ll figure it out though. It’s just going to be a slow season. I’ve flown a lot of mallards, but haven’t caught a single one.

Anakin is flying in fine style up here. It’s weird, but the air is just better. His wings just snap through the air and he climbs up at a fast and furious pace. He flies equally well in the evening and morning. I sometimes bring him to work and fly either end of the day. We just haven’t been lucky or strategic. It hasn’t all be a loss of game. I found some pen-raised pheasant and have peppered our hunts with good lessons of remounting and flying over open land. The pheasants have flown high and fast and Anakin hasn’t turned a single one down or missed his mark. He’s powered through them in screaming stoops and the last flight he bound to the bird and rolled her. I found them with the pheasant on her back, the peregrine had her head cinched up and was safely away from feet and wings. I think he has a system now. I think if we find wild pheasant (and I see them often up here) he could catch one.

I am very much infatuated with the hybrid and still too scared or lazy or busy or something to fly her. I love her personality. Sister is going to be a good bird, even if she does want to eat Anakin. Surely I can put that aggression to use. Upland game extends until the end of February for falconers here. There is still time and I may gather my wits and guts. I just find myself exhausted with how much there is to learn about my job and the new landscape and the new animals in my falconry crew. The economy woes are also eating up my brain space. I am optimistic about how all of this will shake out, but all the thinking is making the days disappear into a whirl of information and ideas.

The new year is going to bring a new blog skin. Operation Desert Dove will become Operation Delta Duck (www.operationdeltaduck.com) , a blog of both falconry and conservation. I’ll have a lot to say, I’m sure. I have so much to learn and hopefully that will mean much to share. Working for DU is an extraordinary turn in my life. We’re doing amazing things. I want to tell you about them. I’ll be on the ball soon, promise.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service recently released the Final Environmental Assessment and Management Plan (FEA) allowing the limited removal and possession of migrant first-year “Northern” (predominantly Arctic subspecies) peregrine falcons from the wild for use in the sport of falconry.

snip

In the FEA, the Service considered eight alternatives for the removal and possession of migrant peregrine falcons in the United States.　The preferred alternative is to allow take of up to 130 nestling and post-fledging first-year peregrine falcons from the nesting period until September 1 west of 100o W longitude (including Alaska), and allow a take of up to 36 first-year migrant peregrine falcons between September 20 and October 20 from anywhere in the U.S. east of 100o W longitude.

 snip

In the FEA, the Service considered eight alternatives for the removal and possession of migrant peregrine falcons in the United States.　The preferred alternative is to allow take of up to 130 nestling and post-fledging first-year peregrine falcons from the nesting period until September 1 west of 100o W longitude (including Alaska), and allow a take of up to 36 first-year migrant peregrine falcons between September 20 and October 20 from anywhere in the U.S. east of 100o W longitude. [for those of you wondering, 100 degrees longitude is straight up the middle of TX through to Canada- bah!]

 RTWT (Or don’t, it’s 63 pages)

 I only have one question….can I put in for the out of state lottery get a passage take permit now? 

Friends,

It is with great pleasure that I announce that Gary Alten’s petition to delist the peregrine in CA was unanimously approved today at the Commission meeting. A Fish and Game representative presented the petition. Glenn Stewart, Gary’s Aunt, the Director of the CA rifle and pistol club, and myself, provided testimony. The vote was a heartfelt vote, and the Commissioners requested that the CHC plaque honoring Gary be displayed and projected on the overhead monitors during the vote. I have documented this historic event and will provide a further update later.

Congratulations to all is in order.

Bill Ferrier

And it’s about damn time. You can’t swing a lure without hitting one these days. I’ve seen ten just this season.

Rock on little peregrines. Rock on all you falconers who worked so hard to bring these beauties back into the skies.

Although the Onion suggests the p-falcons are unappreciative, I’m just thrilled that maybe someday I’ll be able to fly a passage peregrine just a season and then leave him to migrate, a brief fling in his young life.

Although Anakin is no slouch…

I love that I’m working for an organization that is a million strong. I love it even more that DU truly speaks for me. I believe in conservation. I believe in having a relationship with the creatures that I eat, regardless of how difficult it is to examine all angles of consumption. I not only believe in, but worship waterfowl. And DU believes in me.

If you’re wondering how Ducks Unlimited will work with the new adminstration, you can find the official word here.

From Bruce Lewis, DU President’s letter to President-Elect Obama

Citizens all over the nation are becoming more invested in the environmental health of our country. Following a century long tradition begun by outdoor sportsmen and women, they have come to realize the value in preserving and restoring our natural heritage. As a result, conservation enjoys bipartisan support in both the House of Representatives and the Senate. The current wave of support presents a valuable opportunity to initiate important changes that will create jobs, protect the nation’s environment and water supply, and preserve critical wildlife habitat, all while positively addressing the more pervasive issue of climate change. We stand ready to work with you in protecting our nation’s natural treasures.

RTWT

Enjoyable cooking to me is an inexact thing, something that is done with a paintbrush and the pallette at hand and then almost never replicated. Creating a day long meal feels like writing a short story to me, personal art that above all should be enjoyable to the artist, but a bonus if it can be shared with someone else.

Cooking IS creativity. Repetitive tasks allow the mind wander, let the subconcious bleed through. Mixing for taste and texture requires pulling up memories, sometimes deep remembrances and making them concrete experience once more. Immersion cooking allows the cook to explore all the senses, dally through emotions and just disappear for a while. 

The pheasant was pen raised, but the falcon caught her fair and sqare. Still this made having her for dinner more personal than an average meal. I was more worried about ruining the meat than I would ever be about a bird purchased in a store, already stripped of anything resembling its former life. How can we be thankful for a shrink-wrapped boulder of pale meat? These are the things I was pondering as I painstaking plucked a meal for the first time…an hours worth of thinking.    

I cooked an apricot, cranberry, apple glaze with enough cayenne to temper the sweetness, let it cool and coated the bird. Then I wrapped it in pancetta. I added cream to the glaze, more spices, almond slivers and mixed it with bread crumbs and stuffed the bird. I couldn’t tell you the measurements, how I long I cooked it, nor could I promise to ever make it again. I built the dish in careful increments of ingredients and time, but lost count of all somewhere in the rhythm. My hands were always busy making pie from fresh apples, mushroom empanadas, pouring a new glass of wine. The entire day disappeared in flow.

I served the hen with garlic mashed potatoes, aspargus and fresh cranberry sauce. She was delicious and the leftovers were even better.  I find myself most thankful for the day spent with the pheasant, a fling that was followed by a flurry of unplanned creativity. Even now, I find myself anxious to get busy writing this next novel. Perhaps I should allow myself a day to cook more often.

I should be hawking, writing, exercising, wrapping my head around my new job, catching up on freelance bits and pieces and this is what I worked on this weekend:

Texas Parks and Wildlife has a nice article about hunting with hawks in this month’s magazine.Great cover!

HT to Sean Stone, one of my DU partners in crime working in Texas at Ducks Unlimited.  Their office is doing great stuff too!