Ain't No Snipe Hunt

Most people, after a Friday night show during the last weekend of performances, would go out to celebrate and unwind.  Party as it were.  This bunch for "It's a Wonderful Life" as been a wonderful home-body group.  I don't mind.  Tonight I got to stay up late and have fun in an entirely unexpected way.

I got to track down a hawk.

Cynthia M. creates, sets and runs the lighting plot for many Theatre Huntsville shows (as well as for other groups.)  She is trained and talented in this, and her "real" job is do such for various VBC events.  She is also a fabulous friend to animals and a rehabber, of sorts.  (During the spring shows, she'll often have something small and adorable in the booth.)

She was told that two days ago that a hawk flew into the South Hall and had not left.  The raptor was chasing a pigeon dinner that flew in through one of the big loading doors that was open at the time.  It enjoyed its meal, but now it had no idea how to get out and was hiding up on the cat walks.  Oh, and a major event was going to be on Saturday, so did she know how to escort out the uninvited guest?

Cynthia planned to do it after the show, when all of the various people in various parts of the VBC for various reasons would unifiedly be gone.  When I heard her talk of it, I asked if I could come help her. Raptors are such BEAUTIFUL creatures!   It would be a privileged to help one.

She came prepared with a pair of welding gloves, some blankets to hood and calm the bird and a cat carrier, for carrying it out of the building.  She supposed it was the red-tailed hawk that has been living around the VBC for the past three years.  It's usually found near the Concert Hall, across from Big Spring Park.  But, anything can happen when you're thinking about lunch.  Me, I stayed in my back-stage black.  A red suede jacket and a blue bowler didn't seem wildlife appropriate.

I would classify this as an adventure.  I got to see a part of the world I'd never seen before, from the top.  When we arrived at the South Hall, our first job was to reconnoiter from ground level.  This got the attention of one part-time security man.  Here we were, wandering around holding a box to conceal things in, and Cynthia without her badge.  All cool, though, 'cause who would make up a story like our? We didn't see anything remotely avian from the floor, so up to the catwalks.

She directed me through a few doors, and I was surprised at how easy it is access the building facilities.  Not that I, as an honest person, would do so.  Around and around, up the stairs.  I figured I'd more likely get queasy from dizziness than from the height.

It is a different world up on the catwalks.  From the ground, it is lights and metal, a ceiling without the concealment.  But when you're up there, it is secure avenues high, high above the floor.  Conduits that carry wires, air and water.  Miles of cable like well directed rivers. Caged channels creating overpasses for the wiring.  Low girders, wrapped in carpet and bright tape, that STILL connect with foreheads.  Scaffolding and trusses in clean geometrical patterns.  A graveyard of lost helium Mylar balloons.  A world where the denizens keep it tidy for safety, open for access, and the visitors forget their cola cans.

It was fascinating, and not once did I concern myself with the height. It was more secure up there than on the ground.  We split up to scan the ceiling.  With all of the grey metal and straight lines, it should be easy to spot something round with brown feathers.  We quartered the first hall, found nothing, and crossed over to the second.  We wondered, did it leave?  Did it swoop low out a door and was in another part of the building?  Cynthia confirmed that it had come in; she'd seen what it had left of the pigeon it had chased in the first place. Hence, the welder's gloves.

We met up in the far back corner.  I looked up, and there it was, almost over our heads!

What a lovely bird!  And in the last place we looked, too.  It was perched too high above us for us to reach.  Not that it wanted anything to do with us.  You see, it wasn't the red-tailed hawk.  It was a greyish little sharp-shinned.  Very scared.  Every chance it got, it glided away from us on silent wings, keeping as much duct-work between us.  It remembered how it came it.  Its preferred perch was near the wall with the loading doors.  I so wanted to get a photo, but we did not want to tire it out.  It seem to be doing well on its last meal, but too much fly and too much fear would tax it.

We agreed that the best thing to do was to let nature take its course. We came back down from the cat walks and found the regular night guard, AJ.  He turned off all the lights in the hall.  We closed all the doors.  We talked to the head of security to arrange to have the big loading door-  first the exterior, then the interior-- opened with the dawn.  After a dark and quite night, the introduction of natural light should attract the bird. Nature will take over.

Cynthia and I walked back to our cars, chatting about what we love about life and animals.  And agreeing there is no known purpose for cockroaches.  We left with our prayers for the hawk.

From Emily, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul."