A Delightful Visit from a Cooper's Hawk

We had a nice surprise yesterday (December 27, 2024) - a visit from a Cooper’s Hawk.

Laurie and I were just finishing lunch, sitting at the kitchen table. The day had been gray, with light snow off and on.

Laurie looked out the window - “Hey! Check it out - a Hawk!”

The hawk was sitting on the pipe rail fence in the backyard, perhaps 10 yards away. Who knows how long he’d been sitting there. He had his back turned to us. I ran to get my camera, and started taking pictures out of the living room window.

The Cooper’s Hawk sat on the pipe rail fence lining our back yard.

He looked to be a first-year Cooper’s Hawk. He seemed oddly colorful - a lot of blonde feathers around his upper back and head. He held his wings loosely, partially hanging down, and he had raised the crest at the back of his head.

He reminded me of illustrations in old falconry books, ones showing accipiters in partial yarak. “Yarak” is an old Persian term, referring to a hawk that has the hunt-lust. They’re hungry, and focused, and all they can think is that they want to eat…Now!

I’m guessing that he had just missed prey when we saw him.

He seemed aware of us in the house watching him, but did not seem very worried about us.

He sat on the fence for perhaps five minutes, swiveling his head around, staring at the world. Every now and then he’d lean forward a little bit and stare at something with particular intensity.

He knew that we were watching him, he must have seen our forms moving in the house. But he didn’t seem interested in us.

After about five minutes or so, he stopped scanning, his crest came down, and he started to groom.

The Cooper’s Hawk even stopped to preened briefly.

He groomed for perhaps a minute, then stopped and leaned forward. He stared over his left shoulder for a few seconds.

Then something, presumably over near the bird feeder, caught his attention.

Next thing we knew, he leapt forward into the air. He turned himself all the way around in less than his body length, and went blasting low and fast toward the bird feeder.

He leapt forward into the air as he was turning. In this photo, you can see that he’s nearly reversed the direction he was facing in about a body length.

We lost sight of him for ten seconds or so. The next we saw him, he was on one of the branches near the bird feeder. I just had time to bring my camera up - and he jumped away. I caught just a flash of his tail and legs as he took off.

He flew over near the bird feeder, sat on a branch for twenty or thirty seconds. By the time I got the camera lens on him, he had already taken off again.

He had flown low and fast to land on the ground inside the woodshed, perhaps 15 feet away from his previous perch. It was astonishing how quickly he could move.

He landed over in the woodshed. He stalked around on the ground, staring intently at the base of the gardening bench, scraps of leaves and branches on the ground, the walls of the shed, seemingly everything.

Under the woodshed, he’d move with that strange hop/stomp dinosaur movement that Coops have, then stop and stare intently around himself.

He seemed to be quite convinced that somebody, somewhere, owed him a dinner, and he was pissed.

We could hear a lone Chickadee calling, someplace over by the bird feeder while the Coops searched the shed.

He stalked around the woodshed for perhaps a minute, then flew up and onto the corner of a nearby horse panel. From this perch, he had a view of the bird feeder, the garden, the nearby shrubs, and the horse pasture.

I was quietly grateful that he was probably too small to take a horse. Though I suspect the thought did occur to him.

The Coops jumped off of the ground, flew over to a nearby horse panel overlooking both the pasture and the garden.

He didn’t fidget on the perch - his feet stayed in pretty much the same position while he was up there. But he swiveled his head back and forth, glaring at the world.

He stayed on this panel, looking around and around.

The Coops stared at ground, he stared at trees, he stared…at everything.

He would also, in passing, stare at us. He did not seem troubled by us, but was perhaps was wondering how well we’d fit inside his skin.

After ten or fifteen minutes, he suddenly flew off. He flew low and fast, hugging the terrain, until he was out of sight.

I came out of the house to see where he’d gone. He was on a juniper snag, perhaps 40 yards away. Perched, and still scanning everything around.

Eventually he flew off to a Juniper snag. A snowy Mesa Verde in the background.

As I watched him, the sky slowly darkened and began to drizzle.

Mesa Verde was in the background, its slopes and foothills white with snow.

And I thought that life really couldn’t get much better than this.