 From Marianne Hudson, Naturalist
Sycamore: Red-tailed hawk lives full life
I found Sycamore dead on the road this morning. His bright eyes were opaque and sunken. A heavy frost covered his wings and head. Sycamore was a Red-tailed Hawk that lived in my neighborhood. I named him for his favorite perch: the white-limbed Sycamore where he roosted every night. For about six months, I watched as Sycamore hunted from this lofty tree and spent his nights among its branches. From there, he had a great view of a small scrubby field and kudzu patch. Cotton Rats and other small rodents kept Sycamore fed while he kept me entertained. Every once in a while, Sycamore would have a visitor – a younger Red-tailed Hawk would visit the tree and hunt Sycamore’s territory. The visitors would always move on, but Sycamore stayed.
Having Sycamore in my hands was much different from seeing him in the tree. He seemed smaller and not quite so important somehow. Under the shadow of the Sycamore Tree, I held his limp body and learned the story of his death: a broken wing and crushed head meant he died instantly and his location on the roadside told me that he was hit by a car. Sycamore’s brilliant brick-red tail told me that he was at least one year old. His scarred and dirty feet told tales of battles with squirrels and ground quarry. Sycamore was cold and stiff. His thousands of insulating feathers now useless.
I was not sad for Sycamore. His quick death meant that he escaped the fate that befalls many raptors during cold weather: slow starvation. Most raptors die before the end of their first winter. Oftentimes their hunting skills cannot support the energy demands of a shivering hawk’s body. Cold weather means a hawk needs a lot of fuel to stay warm and alive - they must be successful hunters in order to stay in condition. Young birds frequently fail this test of survival. But not Sycamore: Sycamore died as an adult – meaning he had soared through his first winter and possibly more. He had the opportunity to breed. Sycamore’s death was swift and painless. I imagine he was swooping across the road to snatch a rodent when he collided with that car. Because he was a top of the line predator, his focus on hunting meant he would not have been wary of cars or hesitated to dash towards potential prey. As I pictured the last moments of his life, I was proud of Sycamore. He died as noble a death as a hawk could die. He died not because of a lack of skills or deficiency: he died because he was out doing exactly what he’s supposed to do: hunt the roadsides. His body was designed to do exactly what he was doing at the time of impact. Who wouldn’t want their last moments to be spent doing exactly what one was created to do?
The person who hit Sycamore may not have even known what happened. They, too, were busy attending to the essential details of everyday survival. They were operating a car that was designed to move down the road towards an intended destination: just one predator’s life intersecting with that of another. Red-tailed Hawks are a numerous species. The loss of Sycamore’s life will have no impact on the grand scheme of things. I placed Sycamore’s body in Russell Forest. Here, his proteins will nourish the soil and provide nutrients for another. He lived a hawk’s full life. I will continue to watch that Sycamore tree and look forward to knowing the next hawk that will share my roadsides. I think I’ll name him Sycamore.
Marianne Hudson, Russell Lands On Lake Martin Naturalist, can be reached at 256.496.2710 or Naturalist@Russelllands.com.
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