Unfortunately we are experiencing difficulties with our email address… info@woodlandsfalconry.com and because of this some people have not been getting replies to emails that they have sent us. The email address  that we are using at the moment and shall be using from now on is woodlandsfalconry@gmail.com .  I apoligise for any inconvience that this has caused,

Regards,

Tom

Running a small bird of prey centre certainly has its ups and downs but recently it has all been down. I could only open to the public for three or four days in December due to all the snow and freezing conditions. Days with absolutely no money coming in were spent shovelling snow and boiling what water I could get my hands on in an effort to thaw out water pipes so I could get things washed and cleaned. Even just getting to see my birds became an ordeal as it took two full kettles of boiling water to unfreeze the well oiled padlocks.

With daylight being so short and driving conditions so treacherous, it was a full day’s work to get here, put birds out for an hour while I cleaned their night quarters, fed them all with enough time so that the food would make it to their stomachs before it froze in their crops, which could be a potential lethal scenario. Then it was time for them to go back in for the night, which was another ordeal as dealing with frozen leashes and tying a one-handed falconers knot with frozen fingers is not as easy task.

But this morning was different. Today the thaw is on, no more biting freezing conditions, I can feel my fingers again and am so relieved my toes hadn’t turned black and fallen off!. The place is flooded from the outside tap being left on as turning it off was not an option yesterday, but at least the snow is nearly all gone and I can put my birds out onto the once again green lawn to weather. I carried buckets of fresh water to fill their baths and the falcons jumped straight in like happy penguins, glad to be able to wash once again.

The aviaries were not cleaned out over the past week as the snow was so deep, but this morning I got in with shovel and rake and went through each one, took away any waste material and refilled the baths before opening to the public.

I was in a good frame of mind as I filled the plastic bag with wet bird droppings and dirty gravel. As I came to the last aviary which houses the two eagle owls the male greeted me as usual. We call him “The Professor” and a milder mannered owl would be hard to meet. But the female is a demon, an ill-mannered hissing and clacking ball of fury, with about as much charm as a Komodo dragon with tooth-ache. Husbands and boyfriends that visit the centre love her as they can say things like “typical female” out loud and get away with it.

She is settled enough with me, but today as things have been so quiet around the centre she decided to take insult from my intrusion into her aviary and flew around like some demented Banshee. She then jumped from the nest-ledge to the front wire and landed on the ground. I ignored her and continued to do the cleaning as she launched her massive frame into the air again. With me bent over and her being so big she jumped up to me and used the back of my head as a launch pad, pushing herself into the air with those large talons of hers; talons large, powerful and sharp enough to puncture the heart and squeeze the life from an eight-pound hare!

As the plan was to open today, I had made an effort to look presentable and had worn my new lambs-wool jumper, a present from my girlfriend to keep me warm over the Christmas.

As the blood streaked down the back of my head and clotted in my new lovely lamb’s wool, I decided to make a quick exit from the aviary. I grabbed the black plastic sack, slung it over my shoulder like Santa Claus would have done and retired quickly to the outside.

But as fate would have it, on exiting the aviary, the plastic caught on the wire of the door and decided to rip slightly, allowing dirty gravel, wet messy bird-crap and the most foulest of the messiest messy stuff to pour down my new lambs wool jumper, slide disgustingly down my jeans and slither across my boots to leave a slimy heap upon the gravel that any self-respecting dung beetle would turn his nose up at.

So with my blood clotting properties knitting away nicely with my short but otherwise manageable hairstyle, and clothing soaked in gooey stuff that would put any bacteria off regenerating, I opened the door to the public and wondered to myself………………… is it all really worth it!

Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin on this one.

I suppose it started back in February with a guy who I did not even know, clicking the “enter” button after placing an advert on the web.

But then again maybe it had started months before when I dropped food into my pair of Lanner Falcons in a seclusion aviary and only one of them made an appearance that day and came down and showed interest in the food. Seclusion aviaries are used for a pair of falcons or hawks to breed in. Leave them alone with peace and quiet hawks and these birds should, in theory, breed away to their hearts content. With a half open roof so they can watch and enjoy the season’s change, a covered area so they can enjoy their nest ledge away from the wind and rain, and a peep-hole so a human like me can keep a close eye if things went wrong.

But no matter how close an eye one can keep on birds, if one decides to pop its clogs and die of old age there is very little that can be done about it. And die he did, at the ripe old age of twenty three.

The advert read something like this; “Male Lanner Falcon for sale, three years old, would make good breeding prospect.”

Ok fair enough, sounds just like what I am looking for, so I click on it and open up the advert to get the man’s number and low and behold if he isn’t selling a few birds. I rub my hands together as I reach for the phone.

“Sorry, but the Lanner is already sold.”

I listen as I see the breeding prospects plummet for another year.

“What are the other birds you have for sale?” I ask casually. My heart had already left my head to finish the conversation.

“Well we have a male Ferruginous hawk,” he says. “Light phase” (meaning white-bellied and beautiful. The Latin name is Buteo Regalis, or the regal buzzard)

I have flown a female one of these many years back and did not enjoy the experience, as at the time I was hunting for the pot and if enough seconds had elapsed between her catching her rabbit and me swapping it for a different reward the rabbit in question had not only been killed, but also gutted, skinned and devoured! I wasn’t particularly interested in a ferocious Ferruginous Hawk.

“We also have an African-Spotted Eagle-Owl, a Tawny Owl and breeding pair of Barn Owls.”

I am not really an owl type person. I like the fluffy little chaps, can admire the way they fly silently and gracefully through the darkness to capture their little rodent dinners. But really, if a grown man wants to put flesh on his plate, it’s a proper bird he needs; a hawk or falcon, the birds of noble kings and emperors, a bird that just oozes elegance and respect.

“By the way I also am changing some things in my falconry centre and have a Turkey Vulture available.”

I take back what I just said about noble falcons and suchlike, because truth be told, I just love ugly Vultures!

There was a deal was struck there and then over the phone and all that was left for me was to break the news to my better half that I was spending money on some more birds. The owls were not a problem as she just loves the soft-feathered cuddly little guys; once she got overt he facts that they were once renowned as evil, a herald of forthcoming doom and the cute way they can swallow a rodent whole without even licking their lips.

One more obstacle in the way was the fact that he was in Yorkshire in the UK and I was in Ireland which put one sea and a few hundred miles between us.

So I phoned her to break the news………….

And before I could swing the conversation around to the subject of spending hard earned monies on more predators, she said, “It’s Valentines Day in a few days,” and then asked, “Are you taking me away for a holiday or buying me a lovely present?”

“Oh, eh, yes dear, both” I stumbled. “I will take you away for a little break, and buy you a beautiful present. I hope you like it,” I said, letting her know what an absolutely fabulous man she had found in me!

Ok, now it was time to become fabulous.

I Googled Mr. Romance and came up with the man who had gotten me into trouble in the first place; Saint Valentine.

I then typed “Wikipedia” and pressed “Enter.”

Wikipedia…….

The first representation of Saint Valentine appeared in the Numemberg Chronicle, (1493); alongside the woodcut portrait of Valentine the text states that he was a Roman priest martyred during the reign of Claudius 11, known as Claudius Gothicus. He was arrested and imprisoned upon being caught marrying Christian couples and otherwise aiding Christians who were at the time being persecuted by Claudius in Rome. Helping Christians at this time was considered a crime. Claudius took a liking to this prisoner — until Valentinus tried to convert the Emperor — whereupon this priest was condemned to death. He was beaten with clubs and stoned; but when that didn’t finish him off, he was beheaded outside the Flaminian Gate.

No mention of flowers or chocolates there then!

So I sent her a text and explained the situation. Within a minute my phone rang.

“You are buying me a what?”

A week later we boarded the ferry across the Irish Sea on a beautiful clear morning.

I am not that well travelled in the UK so I had taken a loan of a Satellite Navigation system from a friend who assured me that there would not be a problem with it.

Having not used one before, I happily switched it on as we un-boarded the ferry on the other side.

I am not usually an easily frightened or intimidated person but when the voice of Christopher Lee cut through the morning sunshine, it sent a cold tingle up my spine.

The Sat Nav, voice was set to “Vampire” and from the moment we touched the tarmac in Wales this blood-sucking navigational parasite done his utmost to destroy any chance of us reaching our destination unharmed.

“Let me consult my magic book.” he said in his slow and eerie voice

I have been to Wales a few times and I knew that the quickest was to Yorkshire was to stay on the motorways across England, not to take every side road and laneway that led to a dead-end with no way out.

It quickly became apparent that this Vampire was using modern technology to kill us.

I ignored each turn the Vampire wished me to take and stayed on the motorway.

He didn’t like it…….

“Let me consult my magic book.” He said, sounding a little bit more pissed off with every mile travelled. And we had a lot of miles to go yet.

He settled down as the morning wore on, at one stage he even stopped consulting his magic book and told us, “You are brave people indeed to travel alone in these parts!”

But we ignored him again for a while and just as things were getting along fine and dandy he shouts;

“Take the next exit or die”

He said it in such a blood-curdling way; he left no doubt about it, to take the next exit or else. When he gave me that order, I am sorry but I obeyed.

That carnivorous blood-sucker brought us through every town and village on the way to our destination, and every time I asked for assistance to get back on the right track he said, very slowly: “Let me consult my magic book.” And consult it he did. But by then we were on yet another wrong road and cursing him and any un-dead family he might have.

Anyway, seven hours later we eventually reached a sign that said Yorkshire and let us know that in distance, if nothing else, we were nearing our destination. We were cold, tired and physically exhausted from driving across the Yorkshire moors in pitch darkness, having been repeatedly stopped by closed roads, not re-directed as we would have been in Ireland but just stopped by ROAD CLOSED signs everywhere with no directional help, just the blackest night all around us.

After driving for nine hours on what should have been a four hour trip, and haven driven through every town and village between Holyhead and Yorkshire in rush hour traffic and being so desperate that we knew that soon we would be killed and eaten by whatever creatures prowled the Dales after darkness, we again asked The Vampire for help.

“Let me consult my magic book,” he said, obviously pretending that it wasn’t him that got us into this mess in the first place.

“In 300 metres, take the next right,” followed by an evil laugh, and the words; “If you dare!”

We took the right turn and were duly met with a sign that read ROAD CLOSED which looked exactly like a ROAD CLOSED sign that we had read an hour before on a piece of road that looked exactly like this one.

With tempers fraying and an air of dislike towards all modern gadgets, I somehow managed to stop her from throwing the Vampire Sat Nav. out the window. By this stage she was pulling out her hair and was prising the sucky thing off the windscreen and screaming, “If you consult that magic book one more time…” As she balled up the connecting cables to make it more aero-dynamic to throw through the night air, I just about managed to save it. Luckily so, as it wasn’t even mine.

It was an interesting trip if nothing else. We eventually found somewhere to stay. We were not murdered in the middle of the night which is always a blessing. We even got up early to a beautiful sunny morning, far removed from the night before.

Later we travelled to meet with Stuart that had placed the advert and spent an enjoyable morning in his falconry centre, loaded up the birds and headed back down across England and Wales without mishap. The Vampire seemed to have softened during the night. We didn’t really become friends with him or start to trust him completely, but we did manage to come down across England and back through Wales without mishap.

After a late crossing on the ferry back to Ireland we were both tired, and as it was me that was driving I envied her as she nodded off to sleep.

Now I have to admit that I knew the road like the back of my hand so maybe it was out of mischief that I plugged in the Sat Nav. one last time.

As the voice once more cut through the night with those immortal words… “Let me consult my magic book….” She suddenly came awake and screamed. “NO!!!”

Anyway, the Vulture and the other birds are well established in our centre now, all having survived the journey. But now and again as we speak to people in the centre and she explains about how we acquired the vulture, I sometimes hear a raised voice saying those words that will haunt me for ever;

“He bought you a what, for Valentines!”

Tom.

I have kept and flown many species of raptors over the years and I have to admit that my least favourite was always the owls. They just never done it for me, give me a stooping falcon or a soaring Harris-hawk any day. I just never saw the attraction that some folk have with owls, just as I never saw the attraction that some people have for snakes and piranha fish; creatures that just sit there and stare back at me was never really my cup of tea.

But I do have an interest in our own Irish native species of flying predators, whether diurnal or nocturnal. But that’s not a good enough reason either; I just like this little guy, I put him out in the morning, feed him during the day and put him in at night. But since I opened the Bird of Prey Centre he has been a major attraction with the public, kids and adults alike love to handle him and they are more than welcome to as he takes it all in his stride. I haven’t flown him as yet but my daughter has done some work with him on the creance (a strange word that I cannot find the root of) meaning a long training line used for safety just before a bird is flown free.

Anyway back to his little episode. I have a couple of small raptors and during the recent bad weather I have been watching them like a hawk and taking them indoors at night when the temperatures plummeted to scary minuses. We also have a little Boobook owl from Australasia and a European Kestrel which between the three of them don’t weigh more than a bag of sugar.

As I mentioned earlier, a few days ago Spook decided to become dead. Olwyn; our little Boobook owl was off colour and was given extra food in the form of mice and hamsters to make sure he got through the cold spell in one piece. But Spook never showed signs of being down in condition. This is a major problem with birds and one of the reasons there are a million dog and cat vets out there for every one vet specialising in birds. Dogs, cats and humans look sick when they are, but birds are covered in feathers which camouflage any illness until the very last minute or beyond.  Spook showed no signs of being down in condition until my Fabulous Assistant picked him up one morning and I glanced over and saw him use his wing to balance himself on her glove. He seemed alright but a bird that drops his wing as a means of balancing instead of his usual quick flap and a quick hop to the glove was a sign of concern. I took him on my fist then and saw that something was definitely amiss.

I suspected either a slow loss of condition, but he had been given extra food and should have been alright. Or, worst case scenario, Aspergillosis. Now if you want to scare a human, diagnose cancer and shout the C word at them, but if you want to scare a bird of prey there is very little scarier than Asper, as it is lovingly know as. It is a fungal infection of the air sacs and lungs and I won’t bore you with the details but if you ever find yourself covered in feathers and your lungs full of Aspergillosis spores, well, as they say in the bible; may god have mercy on your soul.

I missed the vet and connected to the Inter-web the first chance I got to find out more and quickly discovered that if Spook was a two hundred pound ostrich and the disease was in its initial stages I might have had some chance. But Spook only weighed nine ounces and was already showing signs of being in serious trouble.

As I mentioned earlier I like the little guy and gave him what I reckoned was his last feed as I placed him on a towel in a dark box by the fireside. As bedtime called he could not even stand and looked up with those big super-model eyes, eyelashes blinking as his life eked away.

Life is tough and I have been through this many times. I have lost too many people and too many pets, dogs and birds, companions all, both human and not. If Spook was dead in the morning, well ………… so be it.

Next morning I put the kettle on before I picked up his dead body. Always best to face tea before Rigor Mortis. But there he was looking up, fluttering his eyelashes like Kate Moss. But all that day he didn’t eat and it was not until that night that I decided to force feed him to make sure he had food in his stomach. Most birds have a crop; a bag between their mouths and their stomach that stores food as digestion takes place. But owls don’t have this storage facility and as I tried to put food past his gagging point where he needed to swallow it he took great pains to work it from the depths of his belly and successfully threw it all back up again. I eventually went to bed in despair and tossed a couple of day old chicks into his box as an afterthought.

Next morning I checked him before putting on the kettle and there he was, sitting on his towel, looking up at me and pretending nothing was wrong. And beside him was a pellet made from the waste bits of the day-old-chicks that he had consumed sometime during the night.

Anyway, it turned out not to be Aspergillosis as he is still alive. And as I tap away on my keyboard now he is sitting on the back of my chair, hopefully happy as the proverbial Larry. He is preening himself and I noticed he just crapped all over my lap-top case.

One of these days I will get sense, straighten out my life and take up a proper career without these stresses and worries.

Wish me luck…….

Tom

To anyone interested,

Woodlands Falconry and Bird of Prey Centre will be featured on the RTE One Nationwide programme on Monday the 11th of January.

Cheers Tom

And to all those that couldn’t make it, but sent their best wishes.

The whole day had a fantastic atmosphere about it and somehow or other the sun managed to shine all day. (I had prayed to every god I know; from Gneisha to Thor, with a special “please” to the Aztec Sun God)

A big thanks too to the speakers; Siobhan from Wicklow Leader who helped me so much. And Terry Flanagan from “Mooney Show” fame who was so good to change his plans to be there.

And a huge thank you to Saoirse Ronan who said a few words and cut the ribbon for us, and to herself and her parents who gave some super prizes for the raffle.

Anyway, it couldn’t have went better and I just wanted to thank everyone for putting in so much work.

Cheers,

Tommy

We are situated in Rathwood Home and Garden, just five minutes from Tullow County Carlow.

Contact us:
059-9156878 Wednesday to Sunday 10.30 ‘til 5

It is on the border of Wicklow/Carlow.

Just take the Shillelagh road out of  Tullow and just after you enter Co Wicklow, Rathwood is on your right, you really can’t miss it!

This is something that I have been working on for the past year or so and all the hard work is finally coming together!

Come and spend some time and meet all the birds;

eagle, owls, falcons and hawks.

Hope to see you all there,

Wish me luck, thanks

Tom

There are two types of bird babies in the world, precocial; the pretty, cute, fluffy, endearing ones, and altricial; the helpless, ugly, smother-it-at-birth, useless, needs-to-be-fed-by-it’s-parents-for-weeks type.

Precocial babies are like the chickens and ducks we are so familiar with. They can stand, feed, run, and in the case of ducks and other waterfowl, even swim soon after hatching. These precocial babies need to “imprint” on their parents and siblings straight away so they can recognise them, stay with them and hopefully not get lost as they search for food.
This group of birds are hatched with their eyes open and are covered with a heavy growth of down to keep them warm until their feathers grow. If these babies are hand-reared by humans they see the human as their parent straight after hatching and will follow him or her everywhere, clambering over, through or around obstacles so as not to let their “parent” out of sight. Very soon after they leave the eggshell they dry off and are up and about as a family, leaving the nest site and head off in search of food and shelter.

Ostriches, rheas and emus are precocial, as are most grass eating birds and this of course makes perfect sense; they are up and away under the protection of the parents instead of waiting around for the parents to return to them after spending hours feeding.
Deer, elephants and antelopes do the same; no hanging around waiting for mammy’s return, better to be up within a matter of hours and away with her so she can look after the babby and feed at the same time.

Humans (and all the other apes) on the other hand are altricial. There is no way these pink, furless babies are going anywhere in the immediate future. Take my friends baby for instance. Such a useless lump of lard; crapping where he lies, can’t even stand up with or without assistance and spends his day sleeping or calling out for more food when he knows his mammy is about.

Some birds use this technique too. The whinge-‘til-you-get-fed-technique, and it works. All the birds of prey use this method as it would be impossible for them to hunt effectively with a load of babies in tow. Better to leave them behind in a nest and await the return of parents with food. Pigeons and other foraging birds like finches, sparrows and crows all belong to this group. Their eyes are closed when they hatch and they are completely naked, depending on the brooding parents to keep their body temperature regulated.
The reason altricial birds eyes do not open until they have grown up a bit is quite a simple one; there is just no point. Take hawks, finches or thrushes for example, while their parents are out foraging it would be a disaster if their hungry babies begged food off every passing bird or moving shadow. They would be prey to crows within the hour. Better to be blind and silent until the right mother comes along.
Wolves, dogs, cats and many other animals use this technique too. It is safer for their babies to be helpless for longer instead of exploring outside the den too soon where danger lies with a hungry eye and no mercy.

So back to me and mine. I got myself an ugly, bald, helpless altricial baby bird. It’s a blue and gold macaw whose beak is far too big for is head, its head is far too big for its body and it has enough spare skin to make a pair of moccasins. Its bottom beak is like a bucket into which I pour a few spoonfuls of special baby formula every few hours, and its crop when full makes him look like a big pink ugly squidgy bullfrog. He is nearly four weeks old now and the feathers are just starting to show through the skin, so the transformation from ugly duckling to a beautiful bird has begun.

It should be interesting watching him grow, training him and hopefully flying him without any mishaps.
Wish me luck, as I need to go now and mix up his formula and feed and change him!

Tommy Byrne

I hate rain. My birds hate rain, my kids hate rain and even my dogs hate rain. If there is a God wouldn’t you think he would have thought of a nicer way to water the Earth, or maybe Ireland is just the wrong place for me to live and practice falconry.

As soon as I put the birds out on the lawn in the morning the skies turned black and out of what was once blue came big fat raindrops that hit the ground so hard they splashed back up again. Everything was wet in seconds. The dogs ran for cover and so did I.

The falcons pulled their necks in and got ready for a soaking and very soon the Harris Hawks, which are not as waterproof as the falcons, looked like they had a good going over with the power-hose.

But I kept telling myself it was only a shower. You see it was only a shower, followed by another shower, and another, and another, with little respite in between, and this went on all day. As soon as the birds looked even half dry enough to put back in, the heavens would open up again and another deluge would pour to earth and everyone would again run for cover.

I fed all the birds outside, but on days like this they don’t seem to want much as they sit there, not wanting to move in case even more water gets in under their plumage.

I had little jobs to catch up on; I was using silicone sealer to block up some holes in my tow-box trailer that had let some water in, but as soon as I climbed the ladder and positioned myself, down would come the rain and soak everything, not even the silicone would stick in these conditions.

I got out my extension lead and circular saw to cut some timber for boxes I am making, but as soon as I had them ready and the wood marked for cutting, the skied opened up again.

Evening came and the rain seemed to ease off just a little, I made a dash for it and put all the birds back in their night quarters. They were still soaked but at least the temperature was in the teens and they would dry off soon enough.

It was a miserable day, the birds were glad to be put in out of it. The dogs hadn’t been seen since earlier and even the kids had given up and were gone inside to watch a dvd.

My wet clothes were stuck to me and water dribbled down my neck as I stood in the trailer looking out across black horizons.

I picked up a hawking magazine that was lying there and stared reading about falconry in South Africa and how they manage to fly their birds in such hot dry weather. I mentally put Africa as a potential place to move to if this weather doesn’t break soon, along with Asia, Australia, Spain and just about anywhere that uses the word blue to describe its skies.

I really did feel miserable and thought things could get no worse, and as I looked down at the magazine I held in my hands, a single droplet fell on the page. Now I did feel stupid and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, but it was not a tear that fell……

the fecking trailer had sprung another leak!

Roll on some good weather, please, please!

Tommy Byrne.