Originally published Jan 09, 2021; updated Oct 15, 2024.
Hovering, steady as a drone, the American Kestrel, Falco sparverius, looked to be flickering.
Kestrels don’t hover purely by their own power like hummingbirds.1 Their wingbeats aren’t “fast enough to generate enough lift to keep them aloft, so they have to face into the wind and rely on it to provide lift for them.” This is called windhovering.
The small falcon worked the wind to stay in place, scanning downward for prey. “Windhover” is another name for the Common Kestrel—the European or Eurasian Kestrel, Falco tinnunculus. Larger and less colorful than Falco sparverius. Gerard Manley Hopkins, in “The Windhover,” writes:
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
The American Kestrel went from stationary flicker to pint-sized projectile and dove to the ground. It flew low with a meal. I watched, close enough to a road to see cars. In some pictures I took they’re in the background.
I wasn’t in a cul-de-sac, but sedans and SUVs juxtaposed against specialized predation by a falcon hardly taller than a Penguin Classics paperback struck me.
The American Kestrel is North America’s commonest and smallest falcon. I’ve seen them described as “delicate,” “petite,” “fragile.” Despite their mastery of wind, they’re prone to be bullied by it.
American Kestrels are widespread, but not always common to see. A 2020 Audubon article says “in recent decades, more than 90 percent of kestrels have disappeared from New England's pastoral landscapes.”
Watching the bird “flicker” felt apt. Candles flicker when they could go out. The moment could’ve expired at any time. Every second, a privilege. I’d lose sight of the bird as it dove or beelined for a fencepost. Small and fast, it had a habit of vanishing. I rubbed my eyes and lost it, luckily spotted it in a distant tree.
I had American Kestrel encounters for three consecutive days. The first, I’d gone on a whim and saw one.
A male harrier cruised, Circus hudsonius—grey ghost. Behind him perched something small. I’m embarrassed to say I thought it might’ve been an Eastern Bluebird, Sialia sialis. American Kestrels aren’t big, often compared to Mourning Doves, Zenaida macroura, for scale. Still larger than a bluebird.
The second day I walked the same trail, a loop, in the opposite direction. Walking a new direction meant it took longer to find the bird hovering over the same field. It got a rodent and flew to a fencepost. I let the bird eat while I looked for Northern Harriers and Horned Larks, Eremophila alpestris.
I rounded a bend in the trail where I’ve seen harriers but saw nothing. When I don’t see anything, I stop, listen, do a slow 360. Over adjacent grassland, small flicker. American Kestrel. High but not too high, next to a road I often drive. Easy to miss. How many times have I driven by a kestrel without knowing?
My third day of kestrel-watching, one took off, small and quick, and landed on a fencepost. I took photos, some with a porta-potty in the background. Pedestrian settings can be a backdrop for the remarkable. Kestrel preoccupation gave way to pursuit of Northern Harriers, but then: American Kestrel on a roof.
There is something endearing about American Kestrels. You want to root for them. “Few birds capture our hearts and imagination like the American Kestrel,” Audubon says. Watching a kestrel pump its tail, it feels more mockingbird than falcon. A few wingbeats, a dive, a rodent in its talons, and the kestrel reminds us of its standing.
When reflecting on my kestrel-watching, I am grateful there is habitat for these birds to hunt, that it was not developed.
Kestrels and humans can coexist. Kestrels perch on wires. Where there aren’t good nest sites people build boxes for them. There is room for us both. We must take not only our needs into account, but needs of species like kestrels.
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Hummingbirds beat their wings 80 times per second and they, explained in Habitat, rotate their wings to create “lift on the up and down strokes, allowing them to hover in one place.”
Wonderful photos and a great essay, James. I like the colour and markings on the American Kestrel - so striking. I have only seen them twice in my life. I remember the first time I saw one and the kestrel was on an overhead wire just as you described. I was not into birding at the time and did not know what I was looking at. Beautiful small and deadly bird!
Saw hundreds flying through on their migration south three weeks ago here in southern Ontario. Beautiful to watch.