12/2, Eight Minutes with Tristan

Tristan at the Great Hill, Dec. 2

Sometimes as the Swedish Chef used to say, you have to "get loocky". And even then you might only get a few minutes to enjoy the view.

After a quick glance at the Amsterdam parakeet nest early this afternoon (it was empty at the moment, but Bruce was scanning the area), I headed into the north end of Central Park to look for Tristan and Isolde, the Cathedral red-tailed hawks. Unlike last Sunday, there was no quick and easy sighting.

I entered the park a few minutes before 2:00 at the West 97th St. entrance and meandered over toward Sparrow Rock at the top of the North Meadow and then to the Compost Hill. Then over to the top of Green Hill to scan the woods on the east side of the Great Hill and to check out the construction crane just north of the park. Nada. Perhaps because of the wind gusts, there were few birds in the air, and even a seagull sighting seemed cause for a bit of excitement.

Back over toward the Great Hill via the Lock path, then up to and around the top of the hill, over to the Blockhouse and then slowly back toward the loop road. It's now 3:00 and nary a hawk in sight. A few minutes are spent contemplating the park map posted alongside the road near the top of the Great Hill, and then thoughts about whether to call it a day early. Heck, might as well head out... Hey!

Perched 50 feet away and almost directly over the path leading from the signboard to the top of the Great Hill is a hawk. Its light belly band reveals it's Tristan. Actually, the breast is so pale that one almost wonders if Palemale is way outside of his territory. But no, let's just say that it's Tristan.

But unlike Lola's two-hour perch last Sunday, Tristan is apparently in not much of a mood to hang around. While I'm trying to figure out how to send a text message to another hawkwatcher, he zips over to a nearby tree. He stays out there just long enough for me to wind my way through the thicket and take a few pix — hmmm, blood on his talons; someone's easten more recently than I have — then he's off to a treetop closer to the lawn at the top of the hill, scattering a crowd of sparrows or starlings. I've barely made my way over there and again he's off, but this time soaring south over the hilltop and descending somewhere near the Pool.

And that was it. Although I spent another 40 minutes scanning treetops between the Pool and the Compost Hill, and back again, there was no further sighting of Tristan, or of Isolde.

At 3:57, the light was getting dim and it was time to exit the park to watch ye alma mater play football. A quick check was made on the parakeet nest on the way; the two monks were seen huddling together, watching over the corner of Amsterdam and 103rd St. as the afternoon came to an end.