On this Monday, I give you a quiet, melancholy look at things that have been lost. And sometimes that which has been lost can never be found again.

In the March issue of National Geographic there is a great photo of a funnel cloud of starlings. This reminded me of an experience I had as a teenager when our family made its annual fishing trip to Yellowstone National Park for cutthroat trout.

It was always a two-day excursion to reach the park from North Dakota. The first day we would usually get to Billings late and set up camp along the Yellowstone River. On one such occasion, as I was sitting along the riverbank at sunset, a huge flock of starlings flew in from over a bluff.

The starlings wheeled like a giant blanket flung into the sky. Like sentient smoke, they banked and turned in unison, passing so close overhead I heard their wings ripping the air. When the flock flew in front of the setting sun, the world grew darker. I shivered even though it was early June and warm enough for me to be shirtless.

The sheer numbers were amazing, maybe 50,000 birds, like the flock in the National Geographic photograph. The bird vortex moved east, over the bluff until the sun brightened again, pressing pleasant heat against the back of my hands and torso.

I had brought my binoculars to look for wildlife and now I used them to follow the flock. Through the lenses, the birds became singular and I could follow discrete groups. They swirled, coming straight at me for a moment, then sliding away. I continued to scan the flock until I reached the leading edge: birds on one half and sky on the other. They switched direction and the leaders became the followers. I took the binoculars away and blinked at their loss of individuality.

In the middle, where the birds were thickest, the shape was black, a sinuous, twisting dark cord. One dot separated itself from the others, flying against the current. I saw it only for a second, but it was distinctly larger than the starlings, and its wing beat was different. I focused the binoculars again, my breath coming fast, and scanned the flock. It would be unusual for a single bird to fly with the starlings.

There was nothing for several minutes but the horde streaming by. Then the strange bird emerged with long, slender wings whose tips were very sharply pointed, making a striking and unique silhouette. And it was fast - much faster than the starlings and twice their size. The cloud shifted, swallowing it, as the entire flock drifted slowly east, farther into the plains.

I consulted some of my bird guides later that evening back in camp and learned that it had been a peregrine falcon. The peregrine is the fastest bird on record, reaching horizontal cruising speeds of 40 to 55 mph. When swooping, the peregrine flies at much greater speeds, however, varying from 99 to 273 mph!

This falcon had swooped into a flock of starlings in the tens of thousands. It hadn't even thought twice about doing so. It changed the entire dynamic of the flock and stood out with its great speed, strength, courage and determination. It was one amongst thousands.

Starlings are great in numbers worldwide; in some states, the American peregrine falcon is listed as endangered -a rare, fast bird. While the starlings were exciting to watch, the falcon swooping amongst the flock took my breath away.

When the Minnesota Vikings traded Randy Moss this week, they took away the peregrine falcon that has excited us since 1998. They took away the single player that took our breath away.

Now, all Vikings fans have left to watch is a flock of starlings. Our peregrine falcon has been taken away. Is there another one out there?

Family Plug

For those who enjoy The Wife's® blog, she has written a new entry...Spring Fever. Head over to her blog and catch it!

Posted by maasx003 at February 28, 2005 6:35 AM