You never know when it’s going to happen…that’s part of the excitement—will I see it? Will I be there at the right place, right time? Well, this year, I was at the right place and right time!
On September 20th at approximately 8:00am, I excitedly watched as a train of Broad-winged Hawks soared over my property. There were 88 that I could count directly---but there were easily 2-3 times that many visible as a broad ribbon of birds that stretched deep into the southern sky, barely larger than pin dots disappearing in distance.
Not many things give me actual chills, but seeing this breathtaking spectacle always does; it’s hard to witness this event and not be filled with awe and admiration. Their sojourn seems impossibly long and hard…a determined procession following the ancient path of their ancestors again and again. No compass, no map, no weather forecast, no guarantees…and for first-year birds (which are born here in the Northern states and Canada)—well, they’re flying headlong into the vast unknown. Just imagine it---you desperately need to go somewhere that you’ve never been, have never seen, with nothing to guide you…and there is no choice to turn back.
Seeing them silently soar southward, I feel like I’m waving goodbye to a friend embarking on a dangerous mission. I admire their fortitude and resolve, but it’s still hard not to be wracked with worry about all the things that could go wrong. What these birds—and scores of other bird species do twice per year—is nothing short of miraculous. The more you understand about it, the more this statement rings true.
Many of these Broad-winged Hawks will travel 4300 miles, one-way, on their fall migration to Latin America and the northernmost part of South America; the breadth of it is simply astonishing. They will gather in such incredible numbers that people travel to Central America to view these kettles flying past on their route (known as “the river of raptors”), and where these birds can number in the hundreds of THOUSANDS!
To see even a small kettle of hawks as I did last September is exhilarating and inspiring, a spectacle as astounding to me as watching humans launch into space. Yet, as they vanish from sight, I can't help but feel dread for what awaits them – unforeseen obstacles, the harsh realities of a world transformed by human activity, weather that turns against them…perhaps a hurricane (or three) thrown in their path. But they will keep moving forward.
I am not so naïve to think they will all return.
As I stood outside, watching the last hawks disappear from sight , I was struck by how alone I was in my endeavor. How many people, I wondered, even took a moment to glance upward and witness this natural marvel? In a world that that is alarmingly self-centered, it’s a shame that the magic of migration remains a hidden gem for most, despite unfurling like a wave that rolls over our very heads.
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