Saturday, March 23, 2013

CURIOUS BUZZ


It isn't often you can get close to a turkey vulture…"close" being a relative term, of course. While a chickadee might not decide you're invading their space until the distance separating the two of you is under six feet, a buzzard—which is what most country folks hereabouts call these big sepulchral creatures—is quite a bit more stand-offish. Closer than a hundred feet and they're apt to get edgy—and even that is often pushing things. 

They're just being sensible. For all their soaring mastery aloft, turkey vultures are slow and clumsy when it comes to getting their ungainly selves airborne. Should your intentions be detrimental to their welfare, they know they need time and to get "on the wing" and make their escape.  

Sure, maybe they're a little paranoid. Or it could be they're aware of being regarded by many with ill-concealed distaste, if not malice aforethought. Buzzards aren't exactly warm and fuzzy. In the public mind, they're the feathered lepers of the bird world—unsavory characters, unclean, undesirables best shooed away to conduct their dirty business elsewhere. 

It's always surprising to me how many otherwise decent outdoor folks count vultures as lesser members of the avian clan—unfairly viewing them through a similar prejudicial lens as many do undertakers and coroners, simply because the birds share their own commitment to the dead, wherein they play a top role in nature's necessary clean-up crew. Frankly, I suspect such an unfounded bias may simply reveal an inability among these intolerant individuals to handle reminders of their own fleeting mortality.

Whatever the cause, buzzards usually like to keep their distance…except when curiosity seems to override their caution. 

Turkey vultures are fixtures here along the river. Welcome neighbors. When not off sailing the high blue sky, they regularly roost, sunbathe, and lazily loll among the huge sycamores across from the cottage. It's not uncommon to step outside and find several vultures sitting on a nearby limb. Most times they promptly fly off. But occasionally they wait, as if choosing to watch first and see what might be happening. If my activity looks interesting, they're apt to hang around for quite a while—a black-robed audience taking in a free show.

The turkey vuture in the photo above seemed more curious than alarmed. I was checking out a stretch of river a mile or so above here.  Several buzzards were circling around and playing in the updrafts over an open hillside. I watched this individual bird break from the pack, angling down, descending to land in a nearby clump of understory bushes beside the gravel lane. 

The vulture seemed to be watching, interested about what I was up to. It stayed put when I walked back to the truck and began driving slowly its way—eyeing me as I drew parallel to where it sat, eight feet up on the right-hand side of the road. 

I stopped. The buzzard held. I made its portrait through the pickup's windshield—though it's admittedly not a very good photo. The bird looked at me. I waved, then buzzed down the passenger-side window and offered some pleasantry about the weather. No response. Unfortunately I had things to do.    So I waved again and drove slowly on by. 

And after I'd passed, I watched in the review mirror as the bird hopped off the limb, caught the wind under its wide wings, and began sailing off and up to rejoin its brethren.      

6 comments:

Lynne at Hasty Brook said...

I would love to watch a Turkey Vulture up close like that. I'm glad you are among the ones who respect them and appreciate their beauty.

Grizz………… said...

Lynn...

I like them; they're just endlessly fascinating, real characters. Masters of the sky. And bright. Not to mention vital, though granted not the prettiest bird around. I'm honestly quite honored to have them as neighbors

The Weaver of Grass said...

People are exactly the same here Grizz about our buzzards - and also other birds of prey. Because we live in an area where there are regular shoots in the pheasant season, gamekeepers see all these birds as a threat. Although it is against the law, they are often poisoned or shot - it is a great shame as they have just as much right to be around as all the other birds.

Gail said...

HI GRIZZ - I love your 'meeting' and interlude with that turkey vulture. You make it so natural, you and him, him and you, being who you are and accepting all the, - "the way it is' factors for each of you. I just love the understanding and respect you share about all of nature and how you relate to it all. Glorious and honest and true. Thanks.

If you get a moment I posted a new post, go take a look-see!
Love Gail
peace.....

Grizz………… said...

Weaver…

Over the years, I have seen a huge shift in attitude to the positive here among most folks in regards to their attitude towards birds of prey in general. Yet I'm equally sure this change is due—to a great extent—to general media characterizations, Disneyesque fantasies, and stylized advertising, far more than it is to any real gain in their overall knowledge and understanding of wild things and their role in nature's balance.

Sadly, turkey vultures and black vultures still don't get much respect. They're, at best, views as nasty, disgusting birds…when the truth is, they're anything but. I've come to really admire and enjoy them, and feel increasingly proprietary toward their wellbeing and public persona. Buzzards are neat birds, and a delight to have around.

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

I've never been able to take a "holier than thou" attitude towards my fellow creatures…even though I've always been and remain a fisherman, hunter, wild gatherer, gleaner, and occasional keeper of chickens and small livestock. Which may sound, superficially, like an impossible philosophical and practical dichotomy, but is simply honest recognition of a baseline truth: life is sustained by life.

That said, I respect and honor that which shares my world, living and elmental. I talk to birds and squirrels, dogs, cats, flowers, tress, creeks, even stones. I've been this way all my life—and still have rocks and sticks and shells I collected as a kid. My sorts of treasures. I'm not, however, an animist. Just a peculiar old fly fisherman who shares his riverbank home.