January 12, 2006
Falconers a rare breed in Santa Cruz County
By JULIE JAG
Sentinel Staff Writer
SANTA CRUZ — Glenn Stewart doesn't so much own his falcon, Sophie, as he does keep her.
Stewart is a falconer. Sophie, a 5-year-old peregrine, is his hunting partner, his responsibility and maybe even his friend. Yet she is far from being his pet.
"It's a partnership," Stewart says. "They are not working for you. If anything, you are working for them. They don't have to come back."
That becomes clear the moment Stewart raises his leather-glove-covered hand in an open pasture and sets Sophie free. Once she's begun her rapid ascent into the sky, his only connection with her is the tiny transmitter she wears around her right leg. But the chirping transmitter will only point the direction in which Sophie has flown; it won't bring her back. For that, he needs a lure — and her cooperation.
Stewart, 55, has gotten pretty good at getting his birds to cooperate. He's been a falconer for 30 years and has studied the birds for more than two decades as a staff research associate working with the Santa Cruz Predatory Bird Research Group, which is credited for helping bring the peregrine falcon back from the edge of extinction.
Yet in Santa Cruz County, Stewart and Sophie are both still rare birds.
While California counts the most falconers in the nation with about 630 — more than 200 of whom are expected to show up at the California Hawking Club's 35th annual field meet this week in Sacramento — Stewart estimates only a handful live in the county.
A big reason is falconry — which can be traced back to 2000 B.C. — is a hunting sport. Stewart and Sophie hunt ducks. Other falconers might concentrate on rabbits, squirrels or starlings depending on their environment and their birds. But in Santa Cruz, hunting grounds where dogs and birds can roam free are scarce at best. So, too, are houses with enough backyard space to house the birds.
Plus, falconry requires a full-time, lifetime commitment.
"It changes everything," said Stewart, who said he spends between 11/2 and eight hours daily training Sophie. "It affects where you live, what kind of car you drive, the job you have. People start working at night so they can fly during the day. ... It affects the way you take vacation because you can't get people to take care of a falcon the way they take care of a dog.
"They require more or less constant attention."
Stewart's wife and children have accepted his devotion to falconry as part of him, and so he considers himself lucky.
The commitment hasn't deterred Matisse Selmas, a 29-year-old Santa Cruz chef who has just dipped his beak into falconry.
Selmas has been Stewart's apprentice for one year and is looking forward to graduating to a general falconer after another. In five years, he'll be considered on par with Stewart as a master falconer. Just getting his apprenticeship has been time-consuming. The sport is closely regulated by the federal and state governments. So, burgeoning falconers like Selmas must spend months studying falconry and then pass a standardized test before they are allowed to take on a bird.
"From beginning to end it was seven to eight months of research and the test before I could even meet Glenn, who is a master falconer, and before I could even think about trapping a bird," Selmas said.
Falconers must also follow strict rules on how they can obtain their birds from a breeder or through trapping and even what types of birds they can train. In most states, apprentices like Selmas are limited to either the redtail hawk or the kestrel falcon. Master falconers like Stewart have their choice of at least a dozen different types of birds, but even they have to ask for permission to hunt with eagles, which can be dangerous to themselves and the falconer.
Most falconers abide by the regulations because, Stewart said, they are there to protect the populations of wild birds. With the regulations, he said, "there's almost no impact on the wild population. It's almost like buying a Labrador retriever."
Once Selmas had finally trapped a kestrel falcon, which hunt mostly starlings, he spent most of his free time training it. He stayed up one entire night holding the falcon on his wrist to teach her to perch there, and he kept her on a long leash as he taught her to chase his lure. After several weeks, she was ready to fly off the leash.
"It's scary," he said. "You're ready to either lose her or have her come back."
To Selmas' delight, she came back. If he wasn't hooked on the sport before, he was when she returned.
"The first time she's sitting on that post over there and looking for food and you call her and she comes back to you, it's an amazing feeling," he said.
But after several months of training and hunting with his bird, Selmas learned first-hand that she still wasn't his. One day during a training session, Selmas lost sight of the bird for a moment and it disappeared. Selmas searched everywhere for his kestrel, a breed too small and light to easily carry a transmitter, but never found her.
Now he's looking forward to trapping and training another falcon. In the meantime, he's enjoying joining Stewart, Sophie and Stewart's hound Riley on their duck hunts.
The hunts work like this: The whole crew will load up in Stewart's green Jeep Cherokee and head out toward Davenport to one of the few open spaces where Stewart has permission to hunt. When they find a pond with ducks on it, Stewart will release Sophie. She'll climb high in the air and circle around as Riley the dog points out the ducks. On Stewart's command, Riley will flush the ducks into the air. Sophie will dive toward one, reaching speeds of up to 200 mph as she bears down on it.
"They will come down at an amazing speed," Selmas said. "You're just flabbergasted."
If Sophie is on target, the impact of the collision is enough to knock the duck out. She then applies her razor-sharp notched beak to its neck to finish the job. Then, while Sophie sets to work plucking the duck so she can eat it, Stewart uses the transmitter to track her down. Once he reaches her, she will climb onto his wrist, ready to receive her reward, which is usually a portion of the bird she successfully attacked.
Stewart can take the duck home and have it for dinner, or keep it to feed Sophie for a few days. But the spoils of the hunt aren't as much of a reward to him as the hunt itself.
"It's been described as an extreme form of bird watching," Stewart said. "If you want to kill a duck, you get a shotgun, to be honest. I don't kill many ducks, but for me it's seeing my falcons go up a couple hundred feet and come down at 200 mph. That's the big thrill, and if she happens to kill something, that's an extra bonus."
When Stewart finally fits a blinding hood over Sophie's gray and rust head and gets her settled back onto his wrist, he breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't say as much, but he's happy to have his hunting partner back. She has made the choice to stay, at least for one more day. There's a saying that if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. Stewart knows Sophie isn't his. But she comes back, and that's what matters.
"This is what lasts," Stuart says. "The marriages, the jobs, they don't."
"But this," he said, looking at the proud falcon perched on his wrist, "this lasts."
Contact Julie Jag at jjag@santacruzsentinel.com.
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