There is a landfill in central New Jersey. It is a large, stinky place. It is also alive with wildlife. Especially birds. Gulls by the thousands come to fill their bellies, arriving when the first dump trucks come in, and leaving with them in mid-afternoon. Over 120 different species of birds visit this putrid oasis.
Including crows. Loud and brassy American Crows along with small and brassy Fish Crows come to forage and socialize at the large compost piles below the stinking garbage hills. The compost piles are a sweet nasal sanctuary from the death and decomposition so close by. The crows bury their feet in the warm piles and pound open prized nuts. They call and caw, fussing loudly as they zoom overhead. That small group of crows over there may be a family with a nearby territory. The group on the other side of a pile might be an unrelated group of migrants that have formed a temporary clique until they return north in the spring.
I catch these crows. I have a crow trap at the compost piles. I bait it well, filling it with bread, peanuts, eggs, dog food and corn. When I catch them, I identify them to species, age them and give them a little bracelet, a gift of the US government. And I take a little blood to test for West Nile antibodies. And then I send their noisy, raucous I-can’t-believe-you-caught-me selves off.
0975-42353. That was the number of a crow I caught last week. He (I am assuming it was a he since I can’t identify them to sex) was a beautiful crow, a gorgeous crow. Enormous, with glossy black feathers, tinged in blue, green and purple. Large daring eyes and strong huge feet. Huge. This crow was HUMONGOUS. I’ve never caught a crow as big as this one. He stood a head higher than all the other American Crows and probably weighted 100 gms more than the largest I have caught. He was MegaCrow. And boy, he could bite! He was fast and he was strong.
Life and death.
Today, I, my assistant, and a colleague went to the trap to retrieve trapped crows. We squeezed into the truck and bounced down the muddy road. As we came upon the trap, we saw a sight I’ve never seen before: the trap full of crows and in their midst was a Red-tailed Hawk. Shit. Shitshitshit.
There are about 50 crows in the trap, mostly huddled toward one end. The hawk is on the other side, but as we drive up, everyone starts flying about inside - crows desparately trying to avoid the hawk or bouncing off her back. Crows start coming in from the piles, screaming crow curses as they circle and fly past as close as they dare.
I have no leather gloves. How on earth am I going to get this hawk out of the trap without losing too many crows? Their blood is too precious - these crows represent potential survivors of a disease that has meant death to them. But I have no leather gloves and hawk talons and beaks are built for tearing flesh more sturdy than mine.
So I don the only gloves available - flimsy thin gloves cuffed with faux leopard fur that I bought on a whim ($2.99 at Walgreens - yeah, I’m a class act :rolleyes: ). I go in the trap. Crows are flying everywhere, bouncing off my head and back, but I am all on this hawk. She’s moving everywhere too - always keeping her golden eyes on me. I grab at a wing and catch the tips of her primaries. She crouches down and I am able to grab her back and extend her legs out. I hold her like an ice cream cone. A dangerous ice cream cone.
She is beautiful. Her tail is a cinnamon wedge and she has bulk to her. Her breast is streaked brown and red. The brown is her color. The red is crow blood.
I don’t have my banding or bleeding equipment with me, and so I let her go. She flaps off, crows chasing her as she retreats to some tall trees. I turn back to the trap to see what havoc she brought.
There are two crows lying on the trap floor. One is unbanded. The other is 0975-42353.
They are not torn up. There is some blood on the legs of the unbanded one - another large American Crow. The MegaCrow has blood in his mouth. When we catch and take the rest of the crows out, we find a third large American Crow with a bloody mouth as well, but he is okay. We bleed and band the crows and let them go.
Because the three largest birds were dead or had wounds, an image is forming in my mind. It may not be right (wooboy, I’ve been wrong about before, lots of times), but I think what happened is that the hawk came upon the trap with the crows inside. A big box of food waiting for her. She dropped inside and it turned into a nightmare for her - swirling black stabs from so many trying to save themselves was too much. Lunch is not supposed to fight back this much.
I suspect the biggest crows fought back the most. And in doing so, they put themselves within her taloned reach. They can easily get out of the way (from me, at least). When I take them out of the trap, the Fish Crows are the easiest to grab. They are very passive and I have got to be the scariest thing they’ve ever encountered. The American Crows have a whole 'nother attitude. When caught, they bite and grab. They try to bite you as you let them go, just to let you know.
0975-42353 is gone. I feel bad because if not for me and my trap, he’d be soaring over the compost piles tomorrow. He’d spy an acorn and break it open. He’d warm his feet in the decomposing leaves. He’d chase that red-tail. He’d caw, scold and rattle to others. He’d warble, that lovely quiet melodic song so rarely heard by us mere humans. He would be, just be. And now he’s gone.
