The Lark Trilogy by Neville Peat

Author:Neville Peat [Neville Peat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781775537465
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2014-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

TWO

HAVING FENDED FOR herself all winter, a picture of trim self-sufficiency, the falcon found her raptor radar tuning to a new, more vital pitch with the appearance of her mate, the tiercel. This was back in August, near the end of the month. From her rocky roost she greeted his initial, rapid fly-by and half-executed stoop, with a wing-stretch and an unconcerned ruffling of her feathers. She was playing it very cool. Nonetheless, the male’s attentions together with the lengthening hours of daylight were triggering subtle hormonal changes in her. Summer was coming, the breeding season.

She and her mate, who was characteristically a third smaller than her, had raised two chicks the previous summer — a commendable effort given that it was his first try at breeding and her second. Her first mate disappeared over winter, the victim of rabbiters who spotted him roosting fearlessly on a fence post one day and gunned him down without a single thought that he might be useful to them.

So she had found a new mate, a bold young bird partial to rabbits and hares himself, and for the second spring running he came bearing courtship gifts, first the hindquarters of a rabbit with the fur still attached, which exaggerated the size of the offering, and a few days later the carcass of a goldfinch, minus its head.

The first bait of courtship, the rabbit leg, he deposited on a ledge close to her roost then flew off as if overcome by nerves or embarrassment. There followed another mock attack, and a few days later he tried something more daring — he flew past her favourite roost, knowing she would be there, with the goldfinch clenched in one of his talons. Nothing happened. He made a second pass, and this time the falcon could not resist. She was in the air and chasing. He set a merry chase, jinking, diving, keeping just ahead. At one point, for about 50 metres, he adopted an eccentric flying style, accelerating with a fast deep-pumping wingbeat reminiscent of a racing pigeon while rocking wings and body through about thirty degrees. For all this apparent frivolity, he did have a flight plan. It brought him to a place he felt good about, high up on Taieri Ridge, with a small spring-fed stream chuckling past bluffs of splintered schist. He felt secure here. The ledges offered several sheltered roosts, and one ledge held special appeal.

Near it he alighted still carrying the bait that had excited the female to chase him. She landed a few metres from him, chest heaving, and eyed him steadily. He had one foot resting on the goldfinch. There was no dashing away this time. He held her gaze for a few intimate moments of recognition and rapport, then shaped up to offer the food by lowering his head, a sort of bow. Now his head was bobbing rapidly. He shuffled closer to her and extended the talon with the crumpled little bird in it.

The food was accepted by the falcon, signalling the pair bond secured.

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