Falcons
You haven't lived until you've had a full-grown hawk coming at you at 30 miles an hour, talons aimed at your head, 30 inch wingspan spread wide open for landing. Madlynn and I had that experience today at the Ireland School of Falconry located on the grounds of posh Ashford Castle.
The word incredible doesn't describe the thrill of launching a full-grown Harris Hawk off the leather gauntlet on your left hand, watching that magnificent bird spread its beautiful, powerful wings and soar effortlessly to the top of a 100 foot tree in seconds. And even more incredible is the descent at full speed toward your glove where the handler has placed a tiny bite of quail meat. The hawk comes at you at lightning speed, slowing to nearly nothing as she settles on your gloved hand.
Glove up, the hawk lands on your upraised fist. Glove down, the hawk buzzes the top of your head at 70 miles an hour, wings whistling past your ears, before pulling up to land on a high branch in a nearby tree. Walking through dense woods, the hawks came screaming around trees, buzzing past unless we'd raised that left hand for them to land.
We expected to have the chance to have the hawk take off and land a couple of times. Instead, we walked for an hour through the manicured grounds of Ashford Castle and the woods, the hawks coming and going dozens of times. We spent more than an hour flying the hawks before we took them back to their enclosure. I don't think either one of us will ever look at a bird of prey quite the same.
Speaking Ashford Castle, for the swells who are able and willing to pay the price of admission, the place is pretty exclusive. In fact, there are signs all over the grounds specifically letting the common people know that the grounds are Strictly for Residents Only. I wonder if the locals still poach on the castle lands?
Tonight we are in Westport at a beautiful spot on a little bay called Seapoint House. We drove through Connemara today on the way here. Spectacular bare hills covered with little white dots with wooly coats. As high as you could see up the sides of these hills, little white dots were everywhere. There are almost no sheep left on the Aran Islands now and most of their wool comes from Connemara where the ground is much more suitable for grazing animals.
Tomorrow night we're planning to try to go to Matt Malloy's pub in Westport. Matt Malloy is a member of the Chieftains, perhaps the most famous Celtic band in the world. Slainte tha!
The word incredible doesn't describe the thrill of launching a full-grown Harris Hawk off the leather gauntlet on your left hand, watching that magnificent bird spread its beautiful, powerful wings and soar effortlessly to the top of a 100 foot tree in seconds. And even more incredible is the descent at full speed toward your glove where the handler has placed a tiny bite of quail meat. The hawk comes at you at lightning speed, slowing to nearly nothing as she settles on your gloved hand.
Glove up, the hawk lands on your upraised fist. Glove down, the hawk buzzes the top of your head at 70 miles an hour, wings whistling past your ears, before pulling up to land on a high branch in a nearby tree. Walking through dense woods, the hawks came screaming around trees, buzzing past unless we'd raised that left hand for them to land.
We expected to have the chance to have the hawk take off and land a couple of times. Instead, we walked for an hour through the manicured grounds of Ashford Castle and the woods, the hawks coming and going dozens of times. We spent more than an hour flying the hawks before we took them back to their enclosure. I don't think either one of us will ever look at a bird of prey quite the same.
Speaking Ashford Castle, for the swells who are able and willing to pay the price of admission, the place is pretty exclusive. In fact, there are signs all over the grounds specifically letting the common people know that the grounds are Strictly for Residents Only. I wonder if the locals still poach on the castle lands?
Tonight we are in Westport at a beautiful spot on a little bay called Seapoint House. We drove through Connemara today on the way here. Spectacular bare hills covered with little white dots with wooly coats. As high as you could see up the sides of these hills, little white dots were everywhere. There are almost no sheep left on the Aran Islands now and most of their wool comes from Connemara where the ground is much more suitable for grazing animals.
Tomorrow night we're planning to try to go to Matt Malloy's pub in Westport. Matt Malloy is a member of the Chieftains, perhaps the most famous Celtic band in the world. Slainte tha!