Birds, birds, birds: birds in trees and birds on the water, birds on cliffs and birds on bridges, birds on lampposts and birds atop skyscrapers. It’s spring, and between the bird class I’m taking and volunteering a few hours for Peregrine Falcon fledge watches in the East Bay and San Francisco the past couple of weeks, my eyes have been mostly on the skies (or skyscrapers/bridges/towners). After nearly going extinct in the 1970s due to pesticide use, huge efforts by multiple agencies, dedicated scientists and concerned citizens and protection via the Endangered Species Act, led to a spectacular recovery. Locally, they nest on nearly every bridge in the Bay Area and more than one tall building. Fledging is trickier for the most urban of those birds, and a network of fledge watchers monitors their first flights to help them out if they get stuck on a downtown street or some oddball building ledge or atrium.
Watching falcons take their first flights is another boomerang from my younger collegiate self and it feels familiar, gratifying, and, always, inspiring. Even in downtown San Francisco, amid an assortment of modern and vintage high rises, concrete and tarmac. Many offices are still empty but a steady stream of passerby, many in suit and tie, moved down California Street until 6pm. Some even stopped to ask what we were looking at. A trio of women looking amazed that they worked in a building from which the falcons were now taking flights.
"How are the birds?" I heard a familiar voice ask while I was looking through the scope and was delighted to see a friend from the Mysore studio of old who works downtown. After more than a decade of practicing yoga in the same room, we hadn't seen one another since before Covid. Unlike many of the downtown workers he was aware that the falcons were there.
Now one of the parent falcons was perched on the corner of a nearby skyscraper, the male, was on top of 100 California. On another rooftop, two young falcons were flapping their new wings and occasionally hopping back and forth about the ledge.
A few days earlier, we’d watched as one of the young birds finally just lifted its wings and... took off. It flew around screaming for a minute or two before landing on the side of a brick building across the street from its nest. It continued to scream, its talons holding onto the brick as its parents flew around and over it and by it, its siblings watched from the ledge. Eventually the bird let go of the wall and flew to another rooftop. Life in the big city!
Meanwhile, the pair of falcons nesting on the UC Berkeley Campus — CalFalcons — are famous, having three webcams, a social media presence, and several dedicated biologists and photographers recording their progress. Their nest's idyllic, Campanile-tower location in the middle of the groomed campus makes for a nice view as well, and this week dozens of seasoned fledge watchers and falcon fans were keeping track of the young falcons every move (as well as many, many more viewing online).
Sometimes I’ve been questioned by how my life has led me from watching birds to competitive sports, onto the arts and yoga and back again, but somehow, all those things add up when it comes to watching falcons. Watching the world's fastest flying birds grow into their ability isn’t so much different than watching yoga students master a new pose or a band get to it on stage. It’s all actualization, realizing — or attempting to realize — freedom on one’s own terms and contending with the obstacles that inevitably arise. It never hurts to be reminded of that possibility.