Parrots mobbing visitor at Lory Loft

MANILA, Philippines — Julie, the Lanner falcon, gripped my gloved hand tight with her talons. She perched calmly as I caressed her speckled crop.

Around Singapore’s Jurong Bird Park I strolled, with the magnificent raptor riding on my fist. People stumbled and crashed into each other as they gawked at us. Others fumbled for their cameras.

I was the only participant in the Falconer Program for the day and within the first few minutes, I had caused enough minor accidents on the way.

Before handing me Julie, the raptor keeper made me don the falconer’s uniform – a forest green vest full of pockets, with capacious plastic-lined ones for scraps of meat.

I put on the thick leather glove stashed at the back. “Left hand,” he ordered. In the heyday of falconry, men hunted on horseback, their falcons on their left hand and their steed’s reins on their right.

I gathered Julie’s jesses – the leather straps binding her legs — and held her close to my body, hoping she does not bite. If she flies in a frenzy and hangs herself upside-down my fist, I’ll have to haul her back bodily, risking bites and a “footing” strike from five pairs of razor-sharp talons.

I took Julie to her enclosure at the back of the Fuji Amphitheater, an area off-limits to spectators, and found myself amidst the park’s performing eagles, hawks and vultures. All cocked their heads and ogled at my gloved hand with interest. To them, a gloved hand meant meat.

Jurong’s star Himalayan Griffon stuck his ruffed neck out between the cage bars as I passed and demanded to be fed. A splendid vulture with a nine foot wingspread, his wild kin soars beyond 20,000 feet in their native home at the roof of the world.

I bunched a sliver of meat deep in my glove and offered it to him in my clenched fist. The vulture dug his powerful beak between my fingers and extracted the meat with ease. He could have shredded my hand too, despite the glove. He already took a big chunk out of his keeper’s leg when the man’s attention lapsed for a second. But this time, he only went for the tidbit.

In the next cage, a huge King Vulture eyed me. His gaudy beauty, iridescent face and wattles, belie his great strength. “He kills all competition at mealtimes. That’s why he’s called king,” his keeper noted.

Just then, another keeper turned the Secretary Bird loose on me. The four-feet tall predator stomped about, her crest of plumes resembling 19th century quill pens bobbing up and down. She nuzzled my hand, gazing up at me with thick, curly, long lashes from which I could easily hang my falconer’s vest. I felt sorry I didn’t have snakes — her favourite dainty.

Then it was time to fly the raptors, starting out with feather-weight Brahminy kites to the medium-sized Harris hawks and heavyweight vultures.

In ancient falconry, eagles and vultures are the only birds fit for an emperor. Now, falconry has returned as a hobby of the very rich. I felt like royalty, handling these magnificent winged hunters.

However, unlike other predators who can be trained on affection, birds of prey are mainly food-conditioned. They make good hunting partners but I cannot expect them to be as demonstrative as say, tigers.

Yet, they’re intelligent. Wild sea eagles have accosted me before and vocalized in answer when I mimicked their cries. Once, a male eagle dive-bombed me when he thought I was trying to woo his mate.

Eagles, hawks and falcons show affection by calling at your approach, nuzzling your nose with their beaks, grooming your head, play-pouncing, feaking — cleaning their beaks on the arm or hand of the person they trust.

Vultures fetch objects and play tug-of-war. They even use tools —  dropping rocks on ostrich eggs to break them, and people – hastening on the scene when they hear gunshots to seize prey that hunters abandoned. War zone vultures wait by the minefields for animals to be blown up.

But raptors do not come when called. To summon them, they should know I’ve got the goodies. To a trained falcon, the gloved hand is the equivalent of a dinner plate.

No need to whistle, the raptor-keeper said. All I need to do is turn my left shoulder towards the bird and stretch my gloved hand out full so his huge wings don’t clobber me on the face. As soon as he touches down on my fist, I must get hold of his jesses so he can’t foot me.

Eagle talons are longer than the fangs of a lion. They’re his most dangerous weapons, too. He kills prey by constricting them with his feet like a python. I’ve to be extra careful retrieving jesses in between such dangerous armament. The bird will bite anything between thumb and forefinger thinking it’s food.

At first, I flew the raptors from their keeper’s fist to mine. The Brahminy kites got so excited, they took off straight for me as soon as I turned my shoulders to them.

Once, while I was flying the Harris Hawk, the kites – some of them without jesses, swooped in to beat him to my glove. Wild kites inhabit the park. They barge in the training sessions and during the bird shows, stealing the thunder from captive raptors.

Wild birds mix in with Jurong’s captive population. Wild Maribu storks feed among the banded flamingoes. Blue fairy birds hop among the crowds, looking for handouts. Migrating birds stop over to rest and forage. A pair of Himalayan Griffons stranded during their annual migration even opted to stay for good.

Now, after the Harris hawk polished off the meat on my glove, he refused to budge. When it was the vulture’s turn, he was just as hesitant to leave. Next, I fed the hawks and kites from a silver dish. They stooped on me as soon as they caught the flash of silver and the arena resounded with the sharp ping of talons striking metal.

The rest of the meat, I tossed high overhead. Hawks and kites somersaulted in mid-air as they caught the scraps with their feet.

Ultimately, the keeper showed me how to do the exchange. In a real hunt, the raptor is flown to a rabbit or a fox. After he has pounced on the prey and killed it, the falconer retrieves the prey by distracting the bird, offering him meat from his hand in exchange.

Stealing what a predator has grabbed is a dangerous manoeuvre where the falconer can get bitten, or worse, footed.

First, I flew the Harris hawk to a bunny decoy. He swooped down, squeezed hard with his talons to “kill” it and mantled, spreading his wings over his catch to hide it. I tossed meat before the hawk, covered the bunny with my body and took it away as soon as the bird pounced on the morsel.

I wanted to fly the bald eagle too, but he’s bad-tempered and is not part of the program.

With plenty of time left, I traipsed to the Cockatoo Yard, greeting each bird by name, getting ecstatic as they greeted me back.

In adjacent Penguin Parade, I watched Rock Hoppers and Kings dive after fish like tuxedoed torpedoes. Then I climbed the Lory Loft and was covered with hungry red lories and rosellas from head to foot in seconds.

The tiny parrots, part of the 1,000 inhabitants of the world’s biggest walk-in aviary, helped themselves to a cup of nectar mix in my hand. But those who can’t squeeze in licked my sweat-drenched arms and shoulders instead, finding the saltiness to their taste and tickling me to death.

Close by, the Window on Paradise enclosure seemed all shadows and noisy shrubs. I had to squint hard to spot the trogons – the gaudiest members of the crow family.  Europeans in the Middle ages only saw their resplendent plumage brought back by the first galleon traders who reached the Far East. They thought birds of paradise were nectar-feeding ethereal creatures gliding on air without feet.

Impulsively, I mimicked the calls of a red bird of paradise and in a flash, one lit within inches of my face. He spread out his white neck fan, shook open his russet wings, fluffed his chrome yellow tail drapes and danced for me.

In the Royal Ramble, I crawled on my hands and knees until I persuaded a Crowned Pigeon to nibble on my fingers. As big as a chicken, in electric blue garb with carmine red eyes and a crest of blue feathers, he was the most beautiful pigeon on earth.

At the Night Birds’ Exhibit, I watched snowy owls sitting so motionless visitors wondered aloud if they’re not stuffed. Then I played hide-and-seek with buffy fishing owls and eagle owls who rotated their necks 180 degrees to follow every move I made.

Before leaving, I managed to catch Jurong’s All Star Bird Show where cormorants, flamingoes and hornbills dove for fish or marched as a flock. Trilingual parrots showed off, Brazilian macaws raced on bicycles and flew in sync through hoops.

In the finale, the Birds of Prey Show, I watched the raptors I’ve handled earlier go through their paces. I felt so privileged I’ve flown them and touched them in a way the audience never did.

(For questions, comments, suggestions, etc. please contact the author at emmieabadilla@yahoo.com.)