66 ~ Grounded
This morning I picked up this red-tailed hawk along County Road T, about a mile from the house. As I write this, the bird is resting quietly in the dark of a large cardboard box in the foyer.
This is the third grounded bird of prey I’ve reported on since starting Bird in the Bush (for the others, see posts #35 and #37). All have been nearly within sight of the house, and all would have been almost within sight of each other. My place seems to be something of a Bermuda Triangle for raptors.
The red-tail has no sign of injury, so it probably wasn’t struck by a car. Rather, it’s simply too thin and weak to take flight. My first thought was starvation, since this is the time of year when prey are least abundant. It’s nature’s own annual constriction of the supply chain. For several months, other predators and winter weather have been taking their toll on the stock of rabbits, pheasants, squirrels, voles and mice, with no prey reproduction for resupply. And other potential hawk food, such as a frog, snake or chipmunk, just isn’t available yet. Early spring is a time of living dangerously.
That said, the hawk’s main issue might not be starvation. I just finished a round of calls with the wildlife rehab center in Madison and the DNR. The rehab center is not accepting any birds now due to a recent outbreak in Wisconsin of avian influenza. According to a description from the center’s staff, the red-tail’s symptoms have some consistency with influenza (but also other things), and raptors are one of the groups of birds (along with water birds) on which the DNR is focusing its influenza testing and monitoring. So avian flu is possible, although it’s not yet been recorded here in Iowa County.
The outbreak apparently started in Arkansas several months ago, and has been moving north. Wisconsin’s DNR is braced for an intensification as the northbound spring migration picks up… (Speaking of which, this morning I saw perched on the eave of the roof the first phoebe of 2022. An energetic punctuation of optimism.)
I’ll let you know how the hawk fares, although the prognosis is not good, and euthanasia the likely endgame. On a more hopeful note, the adult bald eagle is now sitting slightly higher on its nest (within view of where I found the red-tail), more in a brooding position than incubation, a marker of a successful hatch. May this family remain safe from the flu outbreak.
I’m still making the best of the lean time, this season between seasons. Last Friday afternoon, I crossed the Mississippi into Iowa territory, where trout fishing is open year-round, and commenced my 2022 trout season. The stream was generous, and I did well.
The maples have been doing their part by flowing tremendously the past few days – heaviest sap output of the year. On yesterday’s mild afternoon I sat outside my makeshift sugar shack, tending the boiler’s wood fire, and read from a fine, twenty year-old book about midwestern trout fishing (Unknown Waters in an Unknown Land: Trout and the Soul in Iowa, by Dennis Clayson, 2002). When sunset approached, I dressed a whole trout with some seasoning, wrapped it in foil, and put it and one of the last beets of the 2021 harvest onto the coals under the maple sap.
It was a fine way to cook dinner, and a fine dinner al fresco followed, accompanied by the fragrant steam of maple sap.
After dark, I finished off the batch of sap on the kitchen stove, and bottled more than 2 gallons of syrup, nearly twice the production of the entire month prior. What had looked for weeks like an anemic year for the maples, has proved instead to be a late-bloomer. The maples’ lean time, too, has passed - as most lean times do.
