For the second time in two weeks I was alone. Silhouetted against the sky, Aquila stood sentinel over the field as he perched on the top of a very conspicuous snag. Again I crossed the rock piles, this time though, I crossed them entering the field, headed toward the best cover. Hopefully, this would correct the problems of last time, and push the rabbits toward sparser cover and not toward the piles. Things went downhill as I descended the last pile and into the thick brambles. These are those brambles that grow as tall as you are, and just about as dense too. It would be suicide without a right-handed glove. It was suicide, or more murder, as I walked through the stickers, hand held high, soon the tally of AAAH!'s outweighed the tally of HO!'s. This disturbed my greatly, as this field is packed with rabbits, the kind that have had hawks, dogs, and the occasional human predating them for years. They knew full well what to expect, and despite hawk's best effort, the four slips I managed to kick up all eluded him. He was either in the wrong position, or chose the wrong spot to dive. Ever observant though, he never turned one down.
Finally I left the briars. Entering a spot of thinner cover I saw another flight as Aquila went down here too. The rabbit ran straight out of his grasp and back into the thorns. I pressed in the opposite direction. My strategy was soon rewarded. I knew of a certain brush pile there by one side of the field. It is great cover, and I can usually jump one there too. I inspected the pile, poking with my weak milkweed stalk hawking stick. As I prepared to head for the briars again, to repeat my trick, I looked into the arch where two roots crossed. Something caught my eye. I looked at what appeared to be fur� Then an eye jumped out at me� followed by an ear� and the whole beast. Lo and behold, there was a rabbit, there the entire time. I squatted down next to it. Its beady gaze was focused on mine. If I'd had a thicker stick, or it had been bunked in grass, the scene would have ended in a kill. In stead, I shouted to Aquila, "Hey Aq, get ready, cause here one�" By the time I finished shouting, it's nerve broke and the rabbit broke cover and headed through the draw (I think I've been misspelling that one too�) into the next field over. Aquila was after it nearly before it busted. He crashed through the low-lying vines and perched about three feet off the ground, then was off again. He gained height, but by then had lost the rabbit. He returned to the tree line and waited patiently for me. I swung out wide and began beating in an arc back toward the draw. Soon, and right where I expected, Aquila lit out again, headed down toward a small rustle in the grass. Soon that rustle grew, and split, from the switch grass and into the draw again. Aq reversed direction and was within moments of smashing headlong into the rabbit when he hit the draw. He's no Goshawk, and was unable to flash navigate the thick tangle of the line. He waited for me to rescue him. I did and headed through the draw, casting him up again on the other side. He waited patiently in the top of a small thorn tree (which I should know the I.D of, but don't) for the reflush. I relished the moment. Thrusting my 'stick' into the thickest cover I could find brought about a refulsh. I'm still not sure it that was the rabbit, but it was one, so off we went again. He crashed into a thin spot; the cover was about a foot thick of tangled weeds. I made in to rescue him from the weeds slowly. I knew that the bunny would be close by. To my dismay one, two, three tails running through the brush, and Aquila unable to give chase. I watched their flight; they made an excellent turn toward the thinner cover and away from the rocks. (I later found a hole there too.) I cast the hawk again, and again he took the snag. I worked through the thick stuff again, by now my hand was a bloody mess, I swear those thorns are poisonous. But I soon forgot my pain as the hawk lit out again. I saw the whole flight. It busted in front of me, into thin milkweed. "If it's moving that slow, it's going to a hole," I thought. I watched, and just as it rounded the corner of my vision range, Aquila was down on it. He hit his mark, after about an hour of the hardest hawking I've ever done, he did it. I made in quickly and dispatched with the unfortunate doe, and cropped Aquila up. Hopefully this has boosted both his experience, and his confidence. I'm not concerned with the former, but the latter seems to be an issue.
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