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My Hawk Catches Staci’s Pet Squirrel

Staci, my wife, soulmate, and today also my hunting companion, is yelling at a squirrel being chased by my red-tailed hawk, Tama. “Run, Chatterbox, run!”

This squirrel chatters well, hence his name. He is not good at escaping my hawk. My falconry bird, Tama, has caught Chatterbox five times. How is this possible, you ask?

Falconry is the hunting of wild animals in their natural state and habitat by means of a trained bird of prey. In my personal experience with falconry, it means I hunt squirrels and rabbits using a red-tailed hawk.

No gun, nothing but taking the hawk out into the woods and fields and letting her be who God created her to be. Raptors, like her, kill and eat prey. Sharp talons, and powerful beak, and keen eyesight are her tools used to spot the next meal from distances far away.

My thrill in hunting with a red-tailed hawk is watching the chase. It’s not necessarily the kill. Nature has a way of using life and death to keep things in balance. People who do not know about falconry might think it is cruel, as the prey frequently gets eaten. It reminds me of when we “civilized” humans view a National Geographic film showing the zebra being chased by the lion. Naturally, we all cheer for the Zebra hoping the mean lion will miss. We overlook that three young lions also require meat to survive.

Nature’s “survival of the fittest” often sees hawks capturing and consuming squirrels. But we caught silly Chatterbox 5 times! How?

When Tama grabs the squirrel, she doesn’t stab it with her sharp talons. She grabs and squeezes with all her strength. Picture a baseball player submerged beneath teammates in a dog pile, celebrating a victory strikeout. Better get him up so he can breathe. Or picture someone bear-hugging you so tight you can’t breathe. You will literally pass out in seconds.

Here is the trick. When Tama catches a squirrel, she “parachutes” down to the ground with her catch. She locks on and squeezes with all her strength. If I get there within, say, 15 seconds, I can save the squirrel from her grip.

Birds of prey have an uncanny ability with their eyesight. Also, if they don’t see something, then in their mind it doesn’t exist. Approaching the squirrel and hawk engaged in conflict, I rapidly covered the squirrel using a towel. Immediately, I show the hawk a fresh chicken leg. Tama instinctively grabs the chicken leg and in the same motion, I grab the squirrel with my gloved hand.

While she is feasting on her KFC chicken meal, I swing the squirrel around behind my back and release him. He’s free to go his merry way. Lord, have mercy!

This might make it clearer why Staci cheers for the squirrel and I for the hawk when we hunt together.

Staci and I have fished and hunted together practically all our lives. How many people get to say their dates involved frog gigging, snake hunting, and dove shoots? We also did the ordinary dates of eating out, going to the drive-in for movies, and church youth socials. All that was just ordinary (well, maybe not at the drive-in). Lord, have mercy.

We are both big hunters, but we are both tenderhearted and compassionate towards animals. Unnecessary harm and cruelty are not involved in true hunting. There is a standard of ethics involved in hunting. Maybe that’s a hard thought to understand unless you are a hunter with a big heart yourself.

Anyway, Staci has been supporting silly Chatterbox as he is being chased. “Run, run, run!” she says.

Chatterbox climbs the same tree and scampers up to the very top. At the very top he has come to the end of the branches, so now it’s jump or remain still. He jumps, but he hesitates. That’s when Tama swoops in and grabs Chatterbox with her talons/claws. She then floats down to the ground. We say the hawk is “parachuting”.

Instantly Staci says, “Lord have mercy!” She looks at me and yells, “Run, Dan, run!”

I’m already running, dodging vines and branches as I hastily make my way to Tama and her victim. The “Lord have mercy” routine, we call it, is quickly in play. I threw the blanket over the captured squirrel and showed Tama the delicious chicken leg. She goes for it, and all is well in the forest.

I’m delighted by the incredible bird’s performance. The hawk is happy as she is gorging on her chicken leg meal. Staci’s happy, which makes me happier than two teenagers at the drive-in. And Chatterbox,….. well, he’s happy, although I don’t think he realizes what just happened.

It’s difficult to know what a squirrel is thinking. Their brains are small. It seems they have trouble deciding whether to cross a road in front of your oncoming car. In Chatterbox’s situation, one would think he would learn from this. Lord have mercy, because he doesn’t.

Over the next few days, we would hunt this exact tree. Each visit yielded a squirrel close by. Either on the ground or climbing somewhere in the tree. You guessed it. It was the one and only Chatterbox!

So, that’s how Tama caught this squirrel 5 times.

The third time was sketchy. As nimbly and gracefully as a deer, I ran to the hawk and squirrel; I tripped and face-planted right into the leaves covering the ground. I lost precious seconds checking to see if any teeth had come loose or if there were any fractures or broken bones. Thankfully, I got to the scene of the hunting capture and freed Chatterbox once again. I had to voice aloud the phrase “Lord have mercy”, as this was now a ritual with this squirrel and his unwillingness to learn from his mistakes.

As Staci and I make our way back home, I comment about how stupid her “pet” squirrel is. Her reply got me thinking. “He’s not stupid; he just can’t help himself.”

I guess we humans (myself included) can’t help ourselves sometimes. You would think that we would learn from our mistakes. One would think that our people’s brains are much superior to a squirrel’s brain, but actions prove otherwise. A predator is out to get us. Divine intervention and God’s mercy have saved us from the consequences of our behavior many times over.

Lord have mercy. And He does.

We all know “that guy” that can’t help himself. You could be that person. When we do wrong or bring harm to someone or ourselves, it is easy to place the blame on others. Rather than play the blame game and all the negativity associated with it, I’m choosing to focus on the power of God’s mercy.

Rather than badmouthing someone (or myself) over constant failures and shortcomings, maybe I should give attention to God’s saving grace and mercy.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. John 3:17.

I witnessed Chatterbox receive several doses of mercy. Did he deserve it? Probably not. Will he ever learn from it? He hasn’t so far.

What about the survival of the fittest? In nature, only the best survive, whether a squirrel or me and you.

But in God’s universe, He loves each of us so much that He dishes out His mercy constantly. Thank goodness!

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ-by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:4-5.

So God loves me so much that I can do whatever I want and be as stupid as I desire, and God’s going to show me mercy? Well, no. Let’s save that discussion for another campfire chat. For now, look at your situation like this.

Chatterbox is still around because of mercy. Looks like you are still around too. Learn from your mistakes and shortcomings. Be grateful for God’s mercy in your life. His desire is for you to grow closer to Him. Several doses of mercy should inspire you to turn your spiritual journey towards God and his mercy for you.

Tama was one of my best hawks. In one hunting season she harvested 48 squirrels. Because of Mercy, Chatterbox’s 5 times are not included in that list. Lord have mercy!

See Ya! DanAinsworth Wilderness Preacher and receiving mercy myself

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Don’t Settle For Fish Sticks

Which meal will be your choice?

                  

I offer you fresh-caught mountain-lake trout cooked under the stars, a meal prepared amid mountain peaks still covered with snow. The background music is the sound of a rushing stream flowing from the crystal-clear lake where you just caught your supper! The aroma of a campfire blends in with the crisp, thin high-altitude air. Smoke dances from the campfire as you watch your fish bake in the glowing coals. We’ve fashioned a makeshift table using a flat-topped boulder decorated with flowers from the nearby valley. Filtered water from the melted snow is waiting in your glass. A couple of side dishes along with a surprise dessert complete this mountain top meal. Will this be your choice, OR…

Do you choose to chow down a generous portion of microwaveable minced fish sticks? If nuked long enough, they will be crispy, yet still slightly mushy on the inside. Most of the breading falls away from the disintegrating particles. These particles resemble fish caught in an otter’s regurgitated flow. Dip these fish sticks into some ketchup, maybe drown them in ketchup, and they don’t taste half bad! They are so convenient. You could whip up a quick meal for unexpected friends. Add a couple of table decorations and you’ve got your own Valentine’s Day treat!

Decisions, decisions. What’s a guy or gal to do?

I’m guiding three young ladies on a trip to the Lake of the Clouds. The goal for these young ladies is to catch and eat the fish they hook. They share with me their plans to have an evening meal prepared under the star-lit night. I’ve guided many folks in these mountains and the lakes and streams that are in the valleys between rock-covered peaks. Accompanying these young ladies will be both a challenge and fun times for me.

These ladies were new to fly-fishing. They’ve never held a fly rod in their lives. The innocence of them never fly-fishing did not stop the dream they were taking part in.

They spent a day and night at our log home on Higher Ground property. I give them lessons on how to fish. They learn techniques for presenting the fly. The rhythm of casting the fly rod is realized. Their practice cast throws the lure to the practice target, signaling a successful catch. They also catch nearby branches, their own hats, and one young lady’s own shoe.

My approach when instructing fly-fishing beginners involves posing one consistent question. Can you sing? If the person I’m teaching says yes, I then explain that it’s all about the rhythm. Once you find your rhythm, progress follows.

If a client can’t sing? We will clearly have our work cut out for us. It will get done; it just has to be explained differently.

Early the next morning, these three young ladies begin their hike to the mountain lake. Conversations with each other are non-stop. Hiking a four mile rocky path to a high mountain lake is their destination goal. Catching their own fish is the hoped for victory. Independence is what they are seeking. Plans are already underway for an all-night, sleepless camping experience. Why? They dare not waste any time sleeping during their safari into the Colorado Mountains.

We arrived at the rocky edge of the lake. They quickly put together their fishing rods and baited them with flies. Shouts of “Look, there’s a fish” abruptly interrupt my usual instructions on fishing and safety.

My sometimes inopportune ability to become invisible suddenly kicks in. These girls have become so excited that they don’t even know I exist.

Their excitement quickly takes a twist. The troublemakers called frustration and disappointment paw their way into these girls’ activities.

One lady spots a fish close to the bank. It quickly retreats to deep water when her fly lands with a loud splat above it. One lady fisherman has now caught the bushes behind her. She’s waving her rod left and right like a giant windshield wiper as she tries to break her fly free. The last young lady has suddenly tripped a ways down the lake and is battling in ankle-deep water to regain her balance and composure.

I guess it’s now my time to teach a life lesson with these three adventurers. “Let’s take a break, ladies,” I said. “Ya’ll gather here round this tree stump.”

Our next ten minutes of dialogue with each other unveils a significant amount of concern from my fishing students. Questions concerning how they were casting were the chief topic. They then reveal their true emotions. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This is too hard.” I’ve heard this from many folks who are fishing.

As an experienced fisherman, their next words hurt me the most. “I’m not good enough. I give up.”

After they circle underneath a spruce tree, I kneel beside them and present them with a gift. “Here you go, ladies, no worries.” It was a smashed box of half-frozen minced fish sticks. “If you catch nothing, we still have food.” The silence and wrinkled faces couldn’t conceal the confusion these girls faced.

“My advice as your guide is this. Don’t settle for fish sticks. With a little patience and a good bit of effort, you will catch fish for your evening meal. Don’t give up on your dreams just because life gets in the way. On our spiritual journeys, the same can be said. We settle too often and too quickly. An abundant life awaits if we can overcome just settling for less. Your life today comprised tangles, wet feet, and scaring the fish away. Girls, believe in your beliefs and doubt your doubts!”

One by one these young ladies made their way back to the lake shore. The encouraging words they were relaying to each other displayed new determination.

A splash and then a scream! “I’ve got one!” echoed across the mirrored lake. “Me too! Bring the net,” coming from just a few yards away, brought a smile to my face as I busily netted their fish.

Encouraging words shared between these ladies quickly turned to competitive talk. “Well, gals, I’ve got my supper. Don’t know what ya’ll gonna eat!”

“Oh yeah, you need to get a bigger net for this one.”

Netting fish occupied my time. These girls made pictures and took selfies, celebrating their luck with a high mountain toast.

As darkness spread across the valley, I started a roaring campfire as the campers prepared their sleeping bags for the soon-approaching chilly night. The girls gathered near the fire for the sheer pleasure of its warmth.

The fish underwent cleaning earlier. As I threw five fish on the red-hot glowing coals, a look of surprise shot from each girl’s face. “Won’t they burn?”

They receive an explanation that cutthroat trout have oily skin. The fish cooks perfectly within three to four minutes over campfire coals, flipping once.

The aroma of fish cooking combined with the cowboy coffee perking gave the area close to the fire a realistic Colorado Mountains genuine mountaintop camping fragrance.

I placed fresh-caught, campfire-cooked trout onto each plate. These plates already held side dishes, thus completing each one. Water filtered from the melting snow filled each girl’s glass. In the wilderness, this is fine dining at its best!

A prayer of thanks for the privilege of being encircled by God’s majestic creation quickly led to a chorus of “Amen”.

The long time of silence as they ate remains etched in my memory. The unease I was feeling because they might not like the food gave way to satisfaction of a job well done.

The ladies’ “Mmmmmm’s” and “Wows” convey their enjoyment with no need for words.

We spend our time watching the stars, satellites, and falling stars race across the horizon. Distant lightning flashes far away, signaling an electrical storm closer to Kansas than here in the Sangres.

The fire was retreating to a slow ember burning. It was time for me to retire to my sleeping setup. I maintain distance for privacy, yet remain available.

As I’m walking away from the girls and their fire, the words “Thanks for taking us” land on my ears. “No more fish sticks for us! Not in fishing or life in general.  We’re not settling for fish sticks!”

Maybe I wasn’t invisible after all.

I’m bundling into my sleeping bag and hear a young lady shout in my direction. “What did you do with the fish sticks?”

“The fish sticks? I poured them out at the tree stump just south of you. The bears like to eat them.”

“Bears?”