In Pursuit of Red-Tails

The plight of New York City red-tailed hawks Pale Male and consort was recently brought to my attention by journalist Danielle, who introduced us to the disheartening story of the removal of the nest of these long-time city residents by the board of the co-op building where they claim squatters' rights.  Pale Male and girlfriends have been a symbol of the joy and exuberance of the natural world in the midst of a hostile setting, not only for New Yorkers but for the wider audience which enjoyed their exploits in the book Red-Tails in Love (1998)  by Marie Winn.

Ms. Winn has a beautiful webpage devoted to the story of the hawks, which includes years of nesting history and updates on the nest removal controversy.

Today's New York Times features the story of Co-op Board vs. Pale Male on the front page.  It seems that several of the conservative co-op residents have longed to evict the hawks for some time.  They finally overcame the various stumbling blocks in their way and effected a quick and complete removal of nest and supports.  The outcry has been swift and dramatic.

It will, I imagine, be short-lived.  As one saddened letter-writer to the Times pointed out yesterday, the loss of a hawk nest is a small thing in the context of our larger woes.

But it is an occasion for woe.  Twenty-five years ago, new to birding and the excitement of the avian world, I spent several springs watching a pair of red-tails nest in a huge sycamore tree that spread its branches across an isolated valley off the interstate.  I had discovered them quite by accident, and subsequently visited them every few days while they were raising their young.  I was practicing law then, and would drive south of the city in the early evenings, wearing my business clothes and sneakers, park in a construction site, and trudge across the muddy fields that led to that magical valley.  On week-ends I would get up early in the morning to drive down there, and spend hours crouched in the underbrush, just watching.  The parents would sail close to my head, screeching warnings of impending doom, as I crossed the open spaces of the fields, but they would forget about me as soon as I was hidden by thickets and brush.  I could watch them soar through blue spring skies, hunting and generally enjoying themselves, and I could witness their fluffy white young growing and elbowing each other with their wings until they practically tumbled out of the nest.

The nest is gone now.  Like most land surrounding interstates, that area has been developed --  God knows we need more office buildings and more hotel, restaurant, and bank chains. 

We are capable of losing so much, so quickly.