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Lazarus the Hawk: From Near Fatal to Far-Away Freedom

Pitiful. It was the only way to describe the condition of this wild red tail hawk. Covered with parasites, emaciated from lack of food, this bird was just hours away from death. In my gloved hands I’m holding a fatigued, lifeless body. I’m debating whether to end this poor creature’s struggle. Putting him down would be the obvious decision to end its suffering.

Screenshot
notice his damaged right wing

  But that’s when I saw it. Those eyes. Fierceness was glaring from its eyes. The fierceness it takes to come alive!

Just another normal day here in Westcliffe, Colorado. Normal until the phone call from a good friend. Mike tells me that his dog just caught a hawk. He wanted to know if I would want it. 

Mike knows I am a master falconer. I’ve flown birds of prey for 25 years. I’ve never hunted with a hawk caught by a dog, though. Either that dog can jump high and fast, or this bird is near death.

New falconer-raptor pairings create excitement. We normally trap a wild bird of prey to begin our journey and relationship together. Falconers take a wild bird and within less than a day the bird will eat from the falconer’s hand. “Manning” involves birds of prey learning their human partners bring no harm but share in the adventure of coexisting with this majestic creature for a period.

Staci and I arrived at Mike’s with anticipation and a bit of dread. Nature can be cruel. Remember her number-one rule. It’s the survival of the fittest. When an animal in the wild gets hurt, sick, or diseased, it must overcome whatever has befallen it. Or well, survival of the fittest.

We take the hawk home. Staci and I are both concerned about this hawk’s condition. I’m an outdoorsman and an avid hunter. Strange as it may seem to some, I have a tender heart as well. I want to help this bird. This hawk can’t even struggle to get away from me. It just sits lifeless in my lap.

I have prepared small bits of raw chicken soaked in water to feed the hawk. Hopefully he will eat, but his listlessness is giving me worry. He doesn’t even hold his wings up. They fall droopingly by his side. The hawk has a damaged wing. The last four primary feathers are gone. Losing this many feathers will cause any bird of prey to not be able to stoop, maneuver, and most importantly, fly to safety.

What happened to him? Most likely he got sick and weakened so much that he couldn’t hunt. Birds of prey have to hunt to survive. They eat meat. They don’t eat a salad! Once he got in such awful shape that he can’t hunt, his condition became critical.

I carry his exhausted body to the mews built by me for my birds used in falconry. It’s a fenced-in pen where he (hopefully) can one day fly around. It won’t be today.

Jesses and anklets go around the hawk’s legs. Then, jesses and anklets attach to a leash. Picture your dog with a collar and a leash. In the same way, I can then control this hawk to stay near me and perhaps on my glove, like all other wild hawks I’ve caught over the last 25 years.

Poor bird doesn’t even resist my fumbling fingers placing the anklets on him. He’s in terrible shape. A healthy red-tailed hawk will weigh from 2 to 4 pounds. His weight showing on my scales as I weigh him: just over a pound. This is bad. But there’s something worse. He’s covered with flat flies and bird lice. Strange how in nature parasites can appear from nowhere and find the weakest of the weak.

The parasites have already damaged many of his feathers beyond repair. Feathers on his breast and belly that normally provide warmth are half eaten away by parasites.

Seeing the lice and flat flies crawling over him causes me to recoil. I’ve accidentally had bird lice and flat flies crawl onto me before when handling birds. It’s more than a creepy feeling. Even now, I’m itching under my hat, on my arm, on the back of my ear. Whether it’s just my imagination or a parasite, stripping and a shower before I enter my home is in order.

I set the hawk on the ground. He collapses into a ruffled bundle of feathers. He attempts to spread his wings in a defensive posture. Instead of presenting a scary spread-eagle stance, he exhibits all his damaged feathers. Instead of displaying a dangerous set of talons, he rests on his side with his talons flailed out helplessly in front of him.

 A calm and reassuring voice is about all I can contribute. He gets a gentle nudge from me to position him in an upright position. He will probably not survive.  But those eyes. The fierceness in his eyes.

The hawk doesn’t move as I sit on the ground next to him. Still scratching my beard from possible parasites, I reach out with a morsel of food. Gently I place the piece of chicken in its mouth. Hawks instinctively open their mouths when they are on the defensive. He’s too weak to bite me as I placed the meat in his mouth. For a few moments, neither of us moved. I then gently force the meat into the back of his mouth.

It’s up to him now. He will not receive nourishment if he refuses to swallow. I can do only so much for him.

He swallows! Thank ya Lord! He swallowed the morsel of food! It’s hard to tell whether he realized I was feeding him. It’s probably just an impulse to swallow when there is food being crammed down your throat.

I pushed three more bits of meat down his throat. Then we call it a night. Forcing more on the first day would not benefit him. His body may not digest his meal. He could go into shock. A step forward, yet many potential issues loom.

It was a restless night with little sleep as I waited for the morning light to arrive. What scene would unfold when I arrive at his pen? Half expecting a dead bird, half expecting a hawk lying unconscious, I entered with a bowl full of cut-up pieces of chicken. There he stood! He remained motionless as I sat down beside him. I couldn’t help but talk soothingly to him. A bit of joy swelled up within me as he blinked twice, trying to focus on me. Again, those eyes reveal something more than just to exist from within this bird of prey.

I placed a piece of meat within an inch of his beak and remained motionless to see his response. An immeasurable amount of joy brought a smile to my face when the hawk bit the meat from my glove and swallowed it. 

Quickly now I place bits of meat close to his beak. Just as quickly he devours them. We are on the right path, going in the right direction now. 

This hawk, on the second day of our journey, has gone from near-comatose to having a 50 percent chance of survival.

Day three was interesting. When I arrived at daylight to give him food, he had somehow crawled his way to a limb sitting on the dirt. He was using this as a perch. One more sign that he was returning from the dead. I placed a tasty piece of meat in front of him. With lightning speed, he reached out with his talons and clawed my gloved hand. 

You’ve heard the expression, “hurt people hurt people”? Well, hurt hawks hurt people as well. This was a wonderful reaction from this hawk, though. The alertness in his eyes was now accompanied with a defensive snatch of my glove. Good, he’s now aware of his surroundings.

One fascinating truth that falconers understand when training their hawks; don’t look at them. Only look at them using your peripheral vision. It’s best to see them from the side, not from the front. See in the wild, if a hawk is looking at another animal and the animal is looking straight back, one of them is getting eaten. Kill or be killed.

I don’t want this hawk to feel uncomfortable. I want him to relax. Over the next several days, he becomes conditioned to my movements. 

His diet that he’s being fed will always comprise meat. I vary the types of meat to give him various sources of minerals, vitamins, and most of all energy.

After seven days, his condition had improved tremendously. He even steps towards me to grab a bite of meat. This is important as it shows he’s trusting me. 

Why haven’t I named him, you ask? I didn’t want to jinx his progress from the grasp of death. My son shared with me that his name ought to be Lazarus. 

The Bible tells of Lazarus rising from the dead. It seemed fitting, so Lazarus it is.

Lazarus became accustomed to me. Suspiciously, it would take him a moment, but then he would hop to me. His damaged wing prevented him from flying long distances. He eventually would flap five or six times to propel himself awkwardly to my glove holding his meal.

Because of his damaged wing, I could not release Lazarus back into the wild. He would need new feathers. Hawks molt their feathers late in the summer. I committed to rehab Lazarus into the next year then release him.

Hawks are not pets. They remain wild. Even when falconers catch and use them to hunt, they automatically return to their wild way of life when released. Licenses and various permits are required to possess a bird of prey. This keeps you and them safe. Let me repeat: they are not pets.

A bond grew between Lazarus and me. I want to say it was affection or a bond of love. You need to understand, though, that in my falconry career I have had several hawks and owls. They view their human partner as a refrigerator. The hawk that is being used in the sport of falconry is free to fly away if it so chooses. The hawk realizes, though, that I have a chicken leg in my pocket. When we are on a hunt, if we don’t have success chasing a rabbit or squirrel, he knows I will call him in for a KFC raw chicken leg treat!

The bond between Lazarus and me was truly from love. At least from my point of view. Lazarus taught me so much about life. He became a way for me to understand spiritual matters.

Think about this. Two entirely different creatures, a hawk and a man, form a bond and share life with each other. Reminds me of two other creatures. God and me. The mystery is immense, but somehow a Holy, all-powerful God brings me back from the dead and creates a bond with me. Because of His love.

Did Lazarus love me? 

I was sitting at the other end of the pen after feeding Lazarus a belly full one day. This was about a month after we began our journey (and relationship) together. It was basically just a quiet time for me. You’ve had these quiet times if you’ve got pets or animals. Whether it’s your horse, dog, cat, or even the chickens, haven’t you had a reflective time just being around them?

Here’s what I will never forget. There’s even a selfie to prove it. Lazarus, a wild red tail hawk, was pretty much dead. Because of me, he gets a new lease on life. Lazarus and I sharing moments brought immense joy. What exhilarated me the most was when Lazarus flew within inches of me and landed on his perch. He did it on impulse, without prompting. I will forever say because I felt it in my soul, that Lazarus flew over to me as if to say, “Hey thanks friend.”

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

See Ya! Dan Ainsworth, wilderness preacher, and falconer

Next month’s blog….. The release of Lazarus back into the Wild! stay tuned

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Lessons from a Fly-Fishing Master

Meet Jim Kilburn, a master at the art of fly-fishing. God put this man in my path, literally. Driving down a Colorado gravel road, there is a man and a lady walking in my direction. I slow down my truck (probably speeding) and recognize who this couple is. It’s Jim, the fishing Guru and his wife June, right there in front of me.

I’ve heard about Jim. Several people in Westcliffe, Colorado, had told me about this man whose fishing knowledge was unsurpassed. This guy knows how to fish.

See, Jim is a master at fly-fishing. He has fished with guys that have written books about fly-fishing. Jim himself could write his own books, but I think he spent all his time fishing rather than writing about it. I must reach out to this gentleman.

What goes on inside my brain, I can’t explain. (Neither can my wife, Staci.) But in super important times for me, like the one happening now, my brain locks up. My hands are vise-gripping the steering wheel, my heart adds several beats, and my mouth suddenly goes dry.

When interacting with other humans, people use and expect a certain protocol. Start a friendly conversation with a warm hello. Share a bit of small talk with one another. Not me, not today.

The truck rolls to a stop next to Jim and his wife. Seeing this legend of a fly-fisherman before me, I hurriedly roll down the window. My conversation begins with, “Hey there, sir, can you teach me to fly fish?”

No protocol, no warm greeting, just a request from me asking a favor. Now I’m arguing with my own brain about the mishap in communications that I’ve just made.

I’m preparing to hear him say anything. Anything like, “Well, someday”, or “you’ll have to get back with me”. I’m even prepared to hear Jim say, “No, I don’t have time to teach someone like you.” But he says, “Sure, be glad to. I can go in the morning”. Now I’m nervous. The Master will instruct me in fishing techniques. The next morning, we arrived at a secluded mountain lake. Sage growing in the nearby field gives the morning crisp air a fresh scent. Does he teach me how to fish? Well…………. first he taught me some knot tying. I’ve tied knots all my life, but Jim had several knots he says are the best…. and they were. Despite my clumsiness, I felt the Master’s patience while he showed me, many times, how to tie knots. We tied flies to the leaders, which led to tying leaders to the fly line itself.

Does he show me how to fish? Well, now we study the “bugs” found beneath the submerged rocks. He shows me nymphs, and well, I don’t know the names of all the “bugs and worms and critters” that he is showing me. While their names elude me, I now know their appearance. My fly selection matches the lake’s natural inhabitants, and these will serve as bait. I’m fixing to catch fish!

But first… Jim shows me how to cast a fly rod. I’m in heaven! Jim is in his glory! I’m witnessing a man using his fishing rod as if directing a symphony. The rhythm of his cast, coupled with his smile, and line curving behind him, then powering forward to its target. I’m caught staring in amazement. Then Jim says, “Here, use my rod, now you try it”. Uh oh, uuhhhh, now it’s my time to mess things up.

I’m whipping the rod, popping the line, but hey, I’m casting. Jim, who understands and has a teaching heart, patiently guides me. It’s becoming obvious to me now that Jim has a love for fly-fishing. So much love that he will give of his time to be with me on this fishing adventure.

He has been standing far away, (so that he won’t get hit by the barbed hook while I’m casting), (or should I say whippin’, flapping’, jerkin’, popping his fly rod). He walks over and says the most unusual thing. “Listen to the rod. Hear the whoosh the line makes as it’s being cast.”

Well, knock me down with a feather (or an 8ft 6weight fly rod). I hear it! By hearing the “whoosh” sound, I’m able to get the “rhythm” of the cast. It’s almost magical the difference this has made for me. The transition from mechanical action to sensing the joy of watching the fly touch the water. In these brief moments I’m no longer a man holding a fishing pole. I’m a fly-fisherman showing confidence with each cast of the fly. I’m ready to catch fish. Bring it on! But wait…

Has Jim taught me how to fish as I asked of him? He instructed me on knot tying, insect identification, casting, water reading, wading, and fish stalking. Now he’s teaching me how to fight! This day had started with a terrible, hard-blowing wind. I expected the master to call off today’s fishing adventure because of the hard wind. Instead, he shows me how to fight… yes, to fight the wind. Wind may ruin a lot of fishing days for some folks, but not Jim. And now, not me. I’ve learned techniques to battle this foe.

Enjoying having learned so much more about fly-fishing has rewired my brain so that it’s now functioning on four of the six cylinders available. (That 5th or 6th cylinder is a rare occasion for me.)

On our spiritual journey, just like this fishing adventure, we must come to where we ask the Master for help. What we sometimes don’t realize is that our Master is helping us live this Christian walk. But it’s the small things that make the journey. God’s time with each of us is priceless.

Did Jim teach me how to fish? Has my Heavenly Father instructed me in Christian living?

I think in both instances the realization came to me. It wasn’t my learning that was important, but the spending of time with the Master…… Jim in my fishing adventure, and God in my Christian journey.

I’m sure that I should write more concerning this subject. But I’ve got fish to catch…… and a Christian journey waiting to be explored. Good luck. And fight that wind!!!!!

Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Matthew 6:33

See Ya! Dan Ainsworth wilderness preacher, apprentice fly-fisherman, apprentice Christian

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The Power of Heartfelt Worship: A Christmas Reflection

I have a confession to share. I heard someone sing a Christmas song over twenty years ago that changed forever how I hear someone sing. Confused? So was I.

Someone invited my family and me to this small country church. Christmas was just days away, so they decorated the small country sanctuary with poinsettias in every window. A tradition in many Baptist churches was about to unfold. This was a Sunday night sing. Everyone is encouraged to sing. It’s your chance to sing a solo, maybe join a quartet, or someone play an instrument. C’mon, one and all. Or maybe not.

This middle-aged man had already signed the official “Who’s singing tonight” list. I learned to say that he was slow. The term intellectually disabled is now used.

As we were being greeted by church members, a shall we say squabble was going on in the back of the church.

A prominent lady in the church was attempting to get this guy, we’ll call him Paul — not to sing. I’m shaking hands with folks, but my attention is on Paul and this lady; let’s call her Edith. Edith, Paul, and the sound man are having what I see is a one-sided conversation.

The sound man interrupts the greetings in this small church when he shouts, “he wants to sing, let him sing!”

All the church members and visitors alike heard and felt an awkward silence.

Edith sees that everyone is watching them. She quickly marches down the aisle, huffing and puffing, revealing she’s not getting her way.

The pastor greets everyone and invites us to join in the worship and celebration of Christmas. Holiday music has always been a favorite of mine. I grew up singing all the carols of Christmas. So, I was excited to be here and to join in the singing.

Several folks, young and old, took their turns singing for the crowd of maybe 40 people.

Even Edith! She had a reputation for being a talented singer. She proved that as she sang “O Holy Night” for her contribution to the night’s singing. That’s one of the hardest songs to sing!

Impressive is how I would describe her voice. Powerful, and technically correct in so many ways. However, its emptiness disturbed me. I’m here to worship, yet I’m feeling empty after hearing a beautifully sung song. What’s wrong? Is it me? How many times have you been in a church service to worship and it just ain’t happening?

Paul’s turn has now been called out from the list of singers. He has been sitting on the very back pew. It takes several moments for him to make his way to the front and grab the microphone. Whispers intermittently broke the silence. The whispers may as well have been shouts as it was obvious people were disapproving of Paul’s attempt at singing.

He announces his song for the night. It’s the “Little Drummer Boy”. Did I just hear a snicker from someone in the audience? I’m pretty sure it was Edith.

Paul has no accompaniment tape. He has no one playing the piano accompanying him. No one is encouraging him. There is no one supporting him. No one is helping this man. He has no one.

Whether it was from the uneasiness of the moment, or from just not knowing what to expect, not a sound was being made from the congregation.

Paul clears his throat. He sings with his head bowed low. I’ve got to tell you I was pulling for him, hoping he could at least make it through the song.

“Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum”. Paul is barely audible. I struggle to hear him.

“Baby Jesus, I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum.” OK good, he’s singing a little louder, and it’s on key enough that everyone, even Edith, should feel he did a good job.

What happened next is what I remember every Christmas season. Paul raised his head, looking towards the ceiling. Tears flow from and down this man’s face like I’ve never seen before. What’s striking is that Paul is singing as he is crying. What is a difficult task for vocalists, regardless of skill? Why, it’s singing during a cry.

As he’s looking up, he sings the words, “Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum.” The biggest smile came over this man’s face. Whatever he was experiencing was contagious because the biggest smile came over my……… soul.

I saw a humble man, with no help from anyone, give all that he had to his Jesus. And Jesus smiled at him.

There in that small country church I saw true worship. I heard someone sing to their God. It wasn’t showy, superficial Edith. It was Paul. Just Paul. He showed his love to God, and I got to see Paul’s response as he knew God was smiling back at him.

All these years later, I enjoy talented singers. It’s fun to hear exceptional singers use their voices. But I’m always on the hunt for singers who sing from the heart. They sing to their God. They live for their God. And He smiles at them. He smiles not because of what we have or don’t have. He smiles because he loves. God is Love. Paul knows that. Do You?

You and I have no gift worthy of giving to a King. Yet, all God wants is you and me, just as we are. In this hurry-up, hectic world during the Christmas season, we lose focus. Busyness causes anxiety. Stress causes us to lose sight and sound of the true Christmas story.

For God so loved the world, that He GAVE us His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16.

Watching and listening to Paul those 20-plus years ago still motivates me to sing from the heart. More importantly, Paul gave me encouragement to LIVE from the heart. It’s not what you do, but who He is that causes God to love you.

Does God love me? You’d better believe it. He’s got my picture on His Heavenly refrigerator door!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Dan Ainsworth Wilderness Preacher