San Francisco’s Peregrine Falcons & Fledglings

Peregrine Falcon - ©ingrid

Originally posted in June of 2009, this piece deals with the new fledglings on top of San Francisco’s PG&E Building, but also with general issues of wildlife survival and human interaction.

Since our young Peregrine Falcon chick Hi died in a window collision shortly after fledging, it’s been a dramatic season for Peregrine admirers, watchers, and caretakers in San Francisco.

I’ve been following the tales of joy and woe since the early days of this year’s falcon cam — installed above a nest on the 33rd floor of the PG&E building. The affiliated Yahoo group fills in the missing pieces and ground-level stories we viewers can’t see once the young birds fledge and disappear from the lens.

The two female eyasses, Liwa and Kiwel, fledged shortly after Hi. Kiwel seemed to be faring well, perched on a nearby roof where both parents heeded her calls. But Liwa struggled with her footing on landings, grazing at least one window, clinging to narrow high-rise ledges before trying the next spot. Eventually, Liwa ended up on ground level in need of medical exam and a rescue. She was pronounced well and returned to the PG&E building, but has since been MIA — not necessarily a catastrophic development, but one that inspires concern over her whereabouts and well-being.

In the interim, the promising fledging days for Kiwel took a rough turn when she also showed up grounded and injured. Her situation, unfortunately, is more serious than Liwa’s. Diagnosis: fractured clavicle, or collarbone. According to the wildlife biologist in charge, there’s a good chance of recovery without surgery. But it’s going to require bed rest — well, perch rest — for this young, aspiring flyer.

Meanwhile, back at the nest, the parents return periodically, sit over their Bay Bridge panorama, then glide out with the thermals. We don’t know if they’ve found Liwa. They most certainly know Kiwel is missing. As Saturday approaches, the “fledge watch” team in SF hopes that weekend streets of the city are silent enough to carry the calls of Liwa as she beckons her parents to her. We all have our fingers crossed that Liwa’s path, since her release, has been a safe and healthy one.

Sad news update: Little Liwa was found dead by a citizen who reported her band. Much to the frustration of us mailing list folk, no further details were provided. We don’t know what particular circumstances led to Liwa’s death. Kiwel is still in recovery, headed for a check up soon.

Wildlife and Modern Survival

These anecdotes of three young Peregrines trying to survive in the city are a portal into the hardships endured by all wild animals in their natural settings and in this case, those forced to navigate the hazards of human behavior and technology. In searching for information on Peregrine clavicle injuries, I came upon a disturbing number of falcon cases where the injuries were deliberately inflicted by gunshot or other human action. It is, of course, illegal to shoot Peregrine Falcons. But gunshot wounds in birds are distressing, irrespective of the legality. We see these types of wildlife afflictions (and many others) at the hospital where I volunteer. And you would witness the same at any wildlife facility across the globe.

Consider that even in the best of cases — in San Francisco and San Jose, where the young falcons are monitored by camera and ground crew of fledge watchers — the natural hazards are sometimes so overwhelming as to cause multiple casualties. Add to that the fact that some people are intent on harming — instead of living with or protecting the wild animals among us — and the prognoses for their survival can seem bleak.

On a numerical scale, the story of Peregrine Falcon species recovery from the damage done by DDT is monumental. On an individual level, a wild animal’s salvation is in winning the hearts of us humans who, most of the time, have the power to issue a thumbs up or thumbs down on critical environmental issues. Those of us who watched these Peregrines — Hi, Liwa and Kiwel — from birth to fledging, grieved terribly on the news of Hi’s passing. We stress over Kiwel as the x-rays confirm her injury. We feel for them as if we know them. And in a way we do.

It’s the same way Hugh and I “know” the baby birds we feed each spring at the hospital, or the palm-sized baby squirrels who suckle from a rubber-tipped syringe then fall asleep in our hands, clinging to our thumbs with their paws.

Empathy is Not Anthropomorphism

When you work with wildlife in any capacity, the main thrust of your work is to help without attachment, to heal and then release. An inappropriate human bond with a wild animal can jeopardize its survival. And it has, for instance, in cases where animals, such as coyotes, become habituated by well-meaning souls, and are then harmed or killed as a result.

But there’s a different familiarity that arises from this type of relationship. It’s one of emotional distance when possible, but it’s still love. And respect. And more than anything, it’s empathy. We tend to feel empathy with those to whom we can relate. Some of us have more rigid ideas of who and what is deserving of our empathy. And unfortunately, for many modern dwellers, the disconnect between the us and the them — between humans and our wild animal counterparts — prevents some people from recognizing our inherent commonality.

It doesn’t take much to engender it. Although I’ve always been close to animals, working with them in various capacities, I had never previously worked with wildlife. In a few short years of volunteering at the hospital, Hugh and I have come to see more profoundly the animal as he or she is in his or her appropriate environment and social structure. We see the amusing personality variations between the demur finch — and the feisty one who’ll climb your arm like a branch, out of his enclosure, to escape the ritual of his daily meds. We’ve come to appreciate the acute intelligence of crows and other corvids whose sharp awareness renders them utterly stressed in captivity. We see firsthand an animal’s anxiety as it’s forced to interact with us, its predators. We see the suffering incurred by natural circumstances and all too often, by the obstacles we lay before them in the form of invisible windows, automobiles, poisons and plastic entanglements.

Wild animals are not us. They are not pets. They are entities unto their own. But to diminish these characteristics in any animal as “anthropomorphism” is to deny completely the traits and personalities that belong rightfully to these animals — many of which are, indeed, similar to ours. They are not human. But that does not preclude them from having some or many of the traits all animals (humans included) share.

It’s precisely why, when faced with seemingly innocent encounters like the one I had among children and goslings, I find it so important to gently nudge young people in a different direction. To impress upon them as they’re forming their ideas about animals, that there’s a confluence in our existence. And where the two meet — humans and non-humans — we will, I believe, find some semblance of what it means to create a world in balance.