Weasels

Andy Ellis writes :

Recent sketch idea for a painting of a weasel trying to catch a wagtail . Seen a few weasels in the dry stone walls up here and my best view was a few years ago when I was sat in the car in a gateway when a rather athletic weasel proceeded to climb up the lichen covered gate right be my car window . You have to admire such tenacious little predictors as these . A weasels skull is said to be able to pass through a wedding ring , whether this is fact , I am not sure , ? ... Depends on the wedding ring I suppose ...?

Andy's spectacular accompanying sketch brings to mind a couple of related surprises.

A hazy, windless, hot autumn morning, a light greyish blue sky, the colour of the bloom on unripe damsons,  I was flying my female peregrine Judy on the local airfield. I suppose she would have been about four years old at the time and had turned into a good dependable gamehawk who on such days as these might mount to tremendous pitches and go out of sight upwards. Too high for practical hawking but a wonderful experience in its own right. On such occasions the only sign of her approach was a roaring, ripping canvas sound as she stooped. I love this time of year before winter has arrived and the dahlias are gloriously still in full bloom, blackberries a regular snack as we hawk, picking a few whilst the hawk gains pitch and again after the  flight is over. All seems perfect and complete somehow. 

For falconers in the lowlands this early autumn period, before the real hunting begins with the start of the pheasant season, is an enjoyable time of getting hawks fit, bringing on youngsters and enjoying the last of the warm weather, often in an Indian Summer preceding seasonal change often quoted in Jorrocks observation ' Hurrah, blister me kidneys! It's a frost - the dahlias are dead, now we can go hunting.' Master of the Handley Cross Hounds, John Jorrocks got so excited at the prospect he danced a jig in Regents Park, his relations concluded he had gone mad and had him committed to a lunatic asylum!

On this day Judy was off about half a mile and gently working a thermal off the Tarmac of the main runway. She had got to about 1500ft (500mtrs) with every sign of going much higher when suddenly she tracked towards me a couple of hundred metres before folding into a vertical teardrop straight at the paving below! Nothing had flown, our covey was still clamped in the fresh drilled soil, it was strange, there was no throw up and Judy was no longer in the air. Scanning with binoculars showed she had settled on the pavement. Swinging the lure produced no response and she just stayed there with no sign of moving. I could have walked to her but instead got into the car and drove to her location, swinging around to come up alongside her.

She was standing on one leg whilst looking into the other foot but there seemed to be nothing visible? Obviously the flight was over and so I dismounted, a pigeon breast in my fist I started to approach but suddenly recoiled as the acrid smell of her prize overwhelmed me - she had caught a weasel. I recognised it instantly recalling the time about thirty years before when I had been so delighted my Gos had caught a stoat! Little did I realise the power of that aroma until I had spent days trying to rid my equipment, my clothes, my hawk, my car and myself of its nauseous pervasiveness. No matter what I tried it simply did not work and in the end I had to replace everything possible whilst vowing to do all I could in future to avoid a recurrence.

Now here I was, years later, with a high flying game hawk who for some reason known only to her had decided that the novelty of this opportunity was just too much to resist! Judy's foot was clenched around a small, tan coloured, furry ball, clearly dead, but still with potential to ruin what had hitherto seemed such an enchanting day. As an imprint Judy was much easier to handle that that passage Gos of years gone by and as she was somewhat intent upon sharing her success with me I at least had the opportunity to take things slowly, wait a little until her lust subsided a degree or two, get her attention with the more attractive meal of a fresh pigeon breast. She was keen to get on the fist, flying to it and landing with one foot, the other still holding her prize and overwhelming me even more with the stench. A female peregrine obviously has little sense of smell even though their taste is sharp enough when offered different foods, Judy seemed entirely unphazed by the circumstance.

She was soon into her meal and as it became awkward for her to feed on one foot she adjusted herself, released her grip on the small body and I was easily  able to ease it over the back of the glove and let it drop to the ground.

A weasel is such a delicate and smartly dressed little animal, attractive to look at but potent in the extreme with its defensive aroma. We walked smartly away leaving it where it had fallen. The following day it had disappeared, cleared up by the crows no doubt, obviously they had little sense of smell either! We drove home with all the car windows wide open, I held the glove out the window in the wind and then  gave Judy a bath on the lawn, also showering her back with the garden hose! In the morning there was still a mild aroma in the mews when I went to the screen perch but by the end of the day it had mostly dissipated.

She never caught another! And now synchronicity takes a hand as I write, Jenny calling me out of the mews " its not every day you see this - there's a weasel on the lawn!" And it was, there outside the conservatory seemingly playing but more likely searching and working out some lingering scent. It was  the first we have seen in the garden in 41 years.