Connecting the World

Female Peregrine Falcon alarm calling during our 2023 visit. Photo by Micki Long.

On peregrine wings

April 21, 2024. My companions and I trudge up the final steep ascent through a quiet Montana forest. Last year at this time, we navigated abundant snow and crossed mountain lion tracks. Today, we encountered no snow, two mule deer, and a singing chickadee. As we approach the canyon rim, we are met with a frigid wind and unexpected silence. There is no sound from the female Peregrine Falcon that accosted us with her strong voice when we visited her territory last August. But then, she was defending her recently fledged young. Today, we have come to see if she and her mate have reclaimed last year’s territory.

We set down our packs, raise our binoculars, and scan the surrounding cliffs. Moments later we spot her: a strikingly beautiful falcon perched on a rock outcrop, her blue-gray back facing us, her dark-helmeted head swiveling to inspect our distant forms. She is unalarmed. Based on her facial markings, I recognize her as the same bird we observed last year, and I am filled with wonder at the journeys she has made since then.

As she surveys her realm—snow-covered peaks and the broad sweep of a canyon filled with spruce, fir, and a rushing stream—I imagine her hunting shorebirds on the Texas coast during her southward migration or resting on an offshore oil-drilling platform in the Gulf of Mexico. Perhaps she loitered in the Yucatán Peninsula then coursed over Panamanian mudflats before crossing the Andes Mountains and settling in Colombia or flying on to Bolivia or Argentina. She may have clutched a parrot or Scarlet Ibis in her talons, or perched near a foraging howler monkey. She likely flew over humanity’s cities, its garbage dumps, its industrial zones, its farmlands. And now, after flying thousands of miles, she has returned to what we have dubbed her “home,” ready to raise another clutch of young.

The widespread use of the pesticide DDT, starting in the late 1940s, led to catastrophic bird declines. The Peregrine Falcon—the most widely distributed bird in the world, occurring on every continent but Antarctica—disappeared from many of its former haunts. No peregrines were found east of the Mississippi during surveys in the 1960s. No peregrines were found in Montana during surveys in the late 1970s. Peregrines had accumulated large amounts of the pesticide after feeding on their avian prey, which in turn had consumed it while feeding on insects, seeds, and plants. As a result, female peregrines laid thin-shelled eggs that the incubating falcons inadvertently crushed, preventing the birds from successfully raising young.

A massive, collaborative conservation effort eventually led to the banning of DDT and the reintroduction of thousands of captive-reared peregrines. In 1991, I headed to Wyoming for my first field job as a wildlife biologist: reintroducing five young peregrines to the wild. It was a watershed summer. Watching the fastest animal in the world (clocked diving at over 200 mph) learn how to use its wings was riveting—and transformational. As I have written in my new book Feather Trails, the birds flew with ineffable grace, dazzling speed, and breathtaking agility, inspiring me, through the alchemy of their flights, to dedicate myself to a bird-filled future.

Now, decades later, I shoulder my pack as we prepare to leave the peregrine territory whose occupancy we have just confirmed. Suddenly, the falcon pair appears in the sky above us. Captivated, we watch them, relishing the close view as they circle overhead. And then the male tucks his wings and dives. For a breathless moment, we are treated to a glimpse of the bird’s legendary speed, then he levels out and shoots skyward again. Once more, he dives, and my friends and I look at each other in wide-eyed delight.

As we head back down the trail, I am infused with the glow that seeing a peregrine always gives me. The bird stitches together our world—connecting us all—from the tundra to the tropics, from our cities to our coasts. And when it faltered, when humanity’s impacts overwhelmed it all those years ago, I was fortunate enough to be there—with countless others—doing my small part to help this magnificent bird recapture the skies.

Thank you for reading and thanks for all you do to help birds! (More helpful tips coming soon.)

Until next time …

Cover photo: “Peregrine, On Your Mark” by Morris Finkelstein.

P.S. To learn more about the remarkable peregrine and my own modest beginnings working with birds, please check out my new book Feather Trails—A Journey of Discovery Among Endangered Birds. Available now. Huge thanks to those who have purchased copies!