Raven's Call ~ Part Two
It didn't take long to see that these black birds were far larger and way more acrobatic than common crows we thought them at first to be. There were five of them (we see them over our valley only in ones and twos, and usually distant from each other) and they were obviously enjoying one another's company, if you'll forgive my attribution of human emotions to other kinds of creatures. I don't think this is entirely in error in this case, nor would you, had you seen the performance.
Dennis, who carried the binoculars, was first to notice as we stood on the highest point of the mountain, our daypacks resting on the metal rod that benchmarked the spot for map-makers. "One of them is carrying something" and the rest of us shaded our eyes with our hands to see, and I attempted to stand up for a photograph with my 200 mm lens--about half of what I would have preferred to close the distance on my swift, black subject.
The raven who carried the dark object was "it" and the others followed nearby--usually below, in case the lead bird were to drop the parcel, which I can easily imagine would be a rule of this game. I drop it. You catch it. Then we chase you. Looking at the fuzzy image (as alas, most of them are) you can make out a tail to the dark object carried raptor-like in his talons. This fact alone was new to me--that ravens use their feet to carry things aloft.
Five minutes later, a bird appeared with a conspicuous white package, first in its beak, then in its talons. It seemed to have indistinct edges, and I am almost certain it was a downy white feather. Again, at least one more bird pursued the carrier, and if birds know joy, we were seeing it in their interactions on the Buffalo.
If not bird joy, then I can speak with certainty of mine. To be looking out and even down on five ravens--a reclusive bird seen usually briefly and at great distance--and to have them doing what they do in the very wild from such a magnificent vantage point--was an unforgettable pleasure, failed photos notwithstanding.
To see their rolls and tumbles, spins and dives gave me belly rushes. I had the sense that they could they could see the stronger currents in the constant 30 mile west winds like we see a trail clearly in forest, seek them out, and jump into them the way a surfer takes the best wave. First one bird, then the next followed those turbulent tubes of air up the rocky channel below and west of us. Then it would find the still point at the end of the rocky ravine, hover briefly, and fall with wings pulled tight, disappearing below our line of sight, only to reappear a few minutes later when it became his turn again.
We watched until we realized our faces and fingers were going numb from the cold wind. The ravens didn't seem to understand cold, or fear of heights, or hurtling at great speed toward rock walls. They were in their medium, and for a moment, we were able to share it with them. What a memory!
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