During the time we’ve lived here I’ve got many short glimpses of hawks. They occasionally land in trees in the backyard, or drift and swirl through the air, wings unmoving, before disappearing as promptly as they came. I would scramble to get my camera or binoculars so I could confirm their exact identity, but never fast enough. There are two possible hawks in the area, the Collared Sparrowhawk and Brown Goshawk. They look remarkably similar especially when getting only distant views. Although female goshawks are much larger than either the males or sparrowhawks, the diagnostic differences between species come down to things like position of the first knuckle of the middle toe, the shape of the tail and where the powder blue is on the beak. There are people out there who can tell the different between the narrow silhouette of this or that raptor in the dwindling evening light from a mile off, but I’m not one of those people. However, this month was more fruitful for my hawk identification attempts.
In the evening of New Year’s Day, while sitting in the lounge room I heard the rising franticness of alarm calls which signals the arrival of a hawk. Often the hawks fly over before disappearing down the valley, while the chorus of alarm travels with it. Every bird valuing its continued existence and of a size that would make a delectable dinner dive into the depths of a bush or tree. Today though, the alarms remained, along with the occasional “kek” emitted by a hawk. I postponed my dinner to investigate. I found up in the branches of a stately old elder gum, a hawk pulling the feathers off a decapitated, bloodied bird carcass. I thought the ill-fated bird may have been a Crested Pigeon but couldn’t be sure as they were so high up in the tree. Even with some distant photos, the hawk’s identity could not be resolved. I consulted a friend who suggested that if the unfortunate bird was a Crested Pigeon then this was a female goshawk. The Crested Pigeons had nested in the backyard and had a bundle of sticks, which suffices as their nest, hidden in a bush not far away. The Willy Wagtails were none too happy and were complaining fiercely, ensuring the hawk was under no illusions about that fact. The wagtails were game enough to thrust their sharp claws into the hawks back, ruffling and removing some of the nicely manicured feathers. The wagtails were such a pestilence that the hawk moved to another perch in a lumbering flight hauling its meal. The New Holland Honeyeaters, not as game as the wagtails, sat carefully watching the lethal predator, keeping a safe distance.
A couple of weeks later, on a beautiful evening the hawk alarm calls began again. This time the identity of the perpetrator was more obvious, as the hawk landed on a low branch in the backyard with its prize. This was a Sparrowhawk and much smaller than the bird I’d seen previously, confirming that both hawk species stalk the skies above our house. This time a young White-plumbed Honeyeater was the hawk’s sustenance, feathers plucked before the meal began. The Willy Wagtails were again making their disdain felt. Even a Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike joined in the beratement of the hawk, swooping low above its head.
Though the scene of a hawk with dead bird in its talons maybe challenging to some, like seeing a pride of lions take down a wildebeest on the African plains. These animals are symbols of strength, agility, speed, cunning and determination in human culture. We should not forget why these animals have come to symbolise these attributes, and remember that the powerful predatory symbols we idolise are not the compassionate hawks who let their meals fly away.