There was no sine in the snow. I stared at the white wasteland before my feet. It was still about twenty feet before the first track appeared; running under a felled pine, then out again. I kicked it anyway, and was not surprised when nothing happened. I trudged on, looking for where the sine was densest. The frequency of tracks picked up as I entered the rock piles. Again I was hitting this field. The rabbits are experienced here, but so is my bird. The cover is thick, but he is swift. The rabbits are plentiful, but the field is slated for ruin. I was shaken back into the hunt when I saw a flash of whiter heading under a rock. Running to it, I peered inside. It was a tunnel, without a resident. I looked up, seeing the browner back running full tilt across another pile. I glanced up toward where Aquila was, but caught him about halfway down, in a near vertical dive. He didn't make contact, but that was unimportant. I watched the whole flight unfold. I bounded over the three foot pile of concrete debris to where Aq was looking at me, a look that said, "Where'd it go? It was right here!" I picked him up and hefted him into the air again. About 15 feet away, there was a dead snag, with probably 30 feet of height. In a few moments he was there, waiting patiently. I again picked up my trail, following a mysterious set of boot prints that disappeared about halfway through. I stooped to check out a cavernous hole, that might shelter one when my ears were shocked to here a crunch followed by a plaintiff wail. AAAA AAAA AAAA! It cried. As I looked toward the sound, I saw a struggle in the brush. "Is there a hag in the field?" I thought, bemused. Then I looked at Aquila's former perch. "Little rascal!," he wasn't there.
I trudged through the stickers, and found the two of them, still locked in mortal combat. I relieved Aquila of his obligation and proceeded to let him feed for a few moments, also giving a treat from the fist. Before he got too full, I decided that another chase was in order, I had time, and the weather was fine. I pulled him off the head with another tidbit. Then cast him into the air. He was upset by the loss of his kill, and so flew to the nearest perch. A small Hawthorn it was. Or, I should say HawThorn, as he proceeded to bate again and again, with one jess skewered by the tree. "OH NO!" I moaned, and made in to the tree. You almost have to be me to understand what was happening in my mind. I closed my bag and took it off, preparing how to ask the nearby houses to borrow a branch trimmer. My worst fears were confirmed after climbing about three feet off the ground. Gigantic thorns blocked my way, protruding from branches that were thicker than the thorns (and that takes some work). I jumped down into the thick brambles below, and attacked from a different angle. This time I gained purchase, inching toward him, branch, to branch, to branch, until I was nearly 10 feet off the ground. I strained to reach the jess, now obviously stuck, but couldn�t. Timidly, I exchanged grips for a moment, my feet planted firmly near the trunk, but my left hand about three feet out on the thin limb that imprisoned Aquila. I just barely reached the thorn, breaking it, I slid the jess free. Aq subsequently flew to the top of the tree and gloated. "How you gonna get down, Human?," he seemed to emanate with glee. I slid down the trunk, and took several patches of thorns with me. Ouch! Donning my bag I continued the hunt.
It was actually a great hunt, the rabbits broke cover every time, heading across the road, an excellent flight; and the last flush I actually had to help Aquila. I saw the rabbit bunked in the open, under sparse branches of a low lying tree. I crept forward, calling him to be ready. In a flash, the bunny was gone, at a full run for a cedar tree. When he hit the tree, the hawk flew two thirds of the way through by the time the friction brought him to a stop. Once extricated, we headed across the draw into sparse cover looking for the ones we had pushed that way. It was not long before one broke from some Brome Grass and headed for the draw. HO HO HO! I shouted, and Aquila was off, headed for the bunny. But it knew we were after it, and stopped in some thick thorns. "No way!" I thought and charged the bunny, it's nerve failed and it broke again. That was a fatal mistake. Aq hit in the open, plowing into the bunnie's backside. There was no squeal, but I could see the struggle well enough. Aquila was happy as we walked home, he ate so much of a crop he still has some left today, and I got two cottontails out of the deal, one that weighed in at two pounds fully dressed! That seems large to me�
So there's my snow story. It's all melting around here, so we won�t have as much fun now.
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