Accidental Raptors
A young male Sharp-shinned Hawk I was surprised to find in my net while doing songbird research on Block Island in 2013.
Getting to hold a bird in your hands for research is a tremendous honor and responsibility; it’s also an exceptional chance to meet many different species up close. When I was a doctoral student in 2013, netting songbirds (with permits, of course) during fall migration on Block Island, one of my work’s greatest thrills was finding a species in my nets I’d never held before––Nashville Warbler, Hooded Warbler, Yellow-breasted Chat, Savannah Sparrow...
One encounter, though, sticks in my memory more than most: the day in October 2013 when I came face to face with a Sharp-shinned Hawk, its talons tangled in my nylon net, and I had to do something I’d never done before in my life––hold a raptor.
My banding permit did not include hawks, and I wasn’t formally trained to handle them. My focus, after all, was songbirds. I’d been warned that a hawk might (rarely) hit one of my nets or try to pilfer a songbird from them (warranting frequent net checks). But, I’d been told, if a hawk did hit my net, it would more than likely just bounce off the fine mesh, and I would never handle one.
I was surprised to find this Merlin in my songbird net. Luckily, my first accidental raptor didn’t need to be touched to be released.
I began to doubt that counsel only three days into my first-ever solo field season. Imagine my surprise when, on September 7, 2013, on a routine net check, I discovered a Merlin––a sizeable falcon––just hanging out in the bottom trammel of one of my nets. I hadn’t been on the island for even a full week, and already I was faced with the prospect of extracting a raptor. Mercifully, I could tell that this bird wasn’t tangled, and all I had to do to free it was pull the mist net taut. The Merlin popped out and flew away, and, with a sigh of relief, I went back to finding only songbirds in my nets.
Capturing that raptor was a rarity, I was assured, after reporting the events of the day to my fellow researchers back on the mainland. I was very unlikely to encounter another one. Nevertheless, my banding mentor made sure to give me a few pointers, to be used in an emergency if necessary.
The first and foremost was to beware of talons, and to hold a hawk like a popsicle. I’ve been bitten quite a few times by songbirds, but, I was told, it’s not the raptor’s beak you need to mind––they mainly use their talons against the world, so they’re not likely to snap at you the way a cardinal or towhee or chickadee will. Instead, to defend themselves, they might try to grab or kick you with their feet. Talons are powerful and sharp, and can go right through your hand if you’re not careful. So, I learned, I should beware those mighty toenails and (gently but firmly) secure a hawk’s legs in my hand when extracting and releasing it. Hence, popsicle.
So, I proceeded with caution, and an ounce more preparation, as I continued my net checks that September. Yet, days melted into weeks, leaves faded from green to brown and fell from windswept branches, the air grew cooler, thousands of songbirds graced my nets, and I never encountered another raptor. Until...
On the sixth net run of October 17, at 10:30 AM, I found four birds in net number one: three Yellow-rumped Warblers...and a young Sharp-shinned Hawk. And this raptor wasn’t going to be freed simply by pulling the net taut––he had worked his toes into that mesh something fierce.
After extracting this young Sharp-shinned Hawk from my songbird research nets in October 2013, I snapped a photo, then released him. I knew enough to hold the bird gently but firmly by the thighs. Anyone expecting to handle raptors, however, should be trained in handling by an expert.
I immediately freed the warblers, hastily snapped a few pix of my accidental capture, and experienced something I’d often heard can happen when a sudden challenge appears: Just when I needed it, a deep sense of calm descended, and I worked silently with the raptor, telling him nonverbally through peaceful vibes what a good, cooperative boy he was as I held an ankle or feathered thigh gently but securely in one hand and carefully picked the mesh from his knobby, yellow toes with the other.
When he was free, he still remained bewildered but calm, and I kept him secured––a bug-eyed, fluffy popsicle––for another photo, then carried him a short distance from the net (so he wouldn’t hit it again!), and simultaneously both raised my arm and opened my hand. The hawk flew eagerly away, fleeing an experience I’m sure neither of us would quickly forget. It was only then, after the bird was out of sight, that an intense surge of adrenaline swept my entire body and I could hardly believe what had just happened. “Holy crap!” I cried out, not a soul within earshot except songbirds in the shrubberies and maybe a few deer. I had handled a hawk for the first time in my life, and I couldn’t imagine it having gone any better for a novice like me.
This is what I first saw when I approached net number one on October 17, 2013. The hawk cooperatively closed his wing upon discovering that I was looking at him, and thankfully did not flail as I extricated his tangled toes.
The Merlin and the Sharp-shinned Hawk were the only two accidental raptors in my nets that season, and having transitioned from songbird research to science writing, I have never caught another one (and I have no plans to). Despite not expecting or intending to ever catch a hawk, I am thankful to have had the experience I did, and am very grateful to the birds themselves for their calm and patience. A close encounter with a bird of prey, after all, doesn’t happen every day.
A note on bird ID:
How do I know the Merlin was a Merlin and the young Sharp-shinned Hawk was a male? There are a few field marks that give the Merlin away: dark body, striped tail, and dark eyes. Merlins are a type of falcon, compact predators with narrow, pointed wings; see AllAboutBirds.org for more. The young sharp-shin, meanwhile, has the coloring of an immature of the species, notably a brown streaky chest, brown back, striped tail and wings, and yellow eyes (adults’ are red); the small size indicates it’s a sharpie and not a Cooper’s Hawk, which is approximately crow-sized. Both Sharp-shinned and Cooper’s Hawks are accipiters, nimble raptors skilled at pursuing prey through forests. I didn’t take the time to weigh or measure this particular bird (obviously!), but females are larger than males, and my birder and bander friends assure me that, with my hand for scale, this little guy was very likely a male. See AllAboutBirds.org for more about Sharp-shinned Hawks and their kin.