“Tin Hinan”, Chapter 7, Part 2

Falconry with Goldens (Berguts), but in China. Huge Goldens.

The sun had just begun to mount the sky when ten men collected in the courtyard. Horses shook their bridles and pranced, while the smoke of breaths, beasts and men, rose in the morning chill.  The men had their hunting birds on their wrists or in cages made of thin branches.

I was dressed in my woolen robes, with good, stout leather sandals and knitted socks and except for my hands, I was warm enough.  Standing apart from the men, as was only proper, I wondered where Immel was.

I watched the birds sitting quietly on thick carpet- covered wrists, mostly falcons and a few larger hawks amongst them. They all had tiny metal bells around their ankles.

I went to sit down and await Immel.  He appeared on his large horse holding the reins of a smaller mare.  My eyes widened with surprise when I saw what was on the back of that mare.  It was the biggest eagle I had ever seen!  A Golden, but much bigger than I could have imagined.  Immel and another mounted man took a long tree limb and stretching it between them, perched the eagle upon it, tying the bird securely to the limb with thick thongs.   He motioned for me to come and mount the smaller horse, and swung me up.  We left the ksar and wound around a mountain trail, higher up on the mountain than I had ever gone.  They were going after mountain dove and pigeon, and by the size of the eagle, probably bigger game.

Immel gestured for me to fall behind his horse and there I had a chance to observe this eagle.  Most of the hawks and falcons had their eyes sewn shut with strong thread passed through the top and lower lids. They rode quietly on the wrist. This Golden rode like a king,  his head unhooded, nor did Immel blind him with the threads.  He looked from side to side as he occasionally called out with a barking laugh.   I could tell Immel was proud of his eagle, and as eager as the bird to have him flown. He was secured with braided thongs, almost as thick as a woman’s arm, and the bells around his scaled ankles were large silver ones of different tones. I could tell, for he raised his feet constantly and shook them.  He was quite a handful, and only a man the size of Immel could have commanded him.

We came through the forest, as it rounded up the mountain and came to a large plateau. The men carefully got off their horses with their birds. One hawk’s eyes were unstitched, and launched into the air.

“Hip-hip-hip-hip!”  The man’s voice was high pitched and excited.  This was the call for the bird to cast out into the sky, looking for prey on the ground.  The eyesight of a hawk can see up to a mile away, and find a rabbit hiding in the grasses. After a while, the man called him back, twirling his lure with a rabbit head on the end of it.  It must have been a young bird, newly trained but rebellious, for it took time to get his bird to earth.  Then the stubborn bird mantled over to within five camels’ distance, and the man had to chase the young bird over the ground.  The laughter of the men was tolerated, but I had seen men kill their hawks in a rage.

Next a peregrine’s thread was pulled from her eyes and she was sent aloft from the wrist of her master.  There is nothing so beautiful as a falcon soaring on the thermals far above in the heavens, and then to see her fold her wings and drop through the air. We saw her disappear above us, just a black speck in the blue. Then hurling to the earth, a sudden burst of feathers told us she had killed a bird on the wing.

This was all sport, for there was little expectation the hunting that day would bring food for the tribe at home.  It was the way men enjoyed themselves, with their hawks, kinfolk and out of the sight of women.

Each falcon or hawk was launched and tried in the air.  Each came back except one.  It was a black mark on the man who lost his hawk to the heavens.  Perhaps a child had thrown a stone at the bird while he was tied to his perch outside the door.  For whatever reason, this hawk decided that he could hunt for himself.  The trick was to starve them enough and to only feed them from the wrist.  If they got a sense they could hunt for themselves, they were lost to human commands and would reverted to the wild.

When all of the birds had flown, Immel dismounted and placed his bird on his forearm.   The eagle barked in excitement and lifting each foot in turn, rang his bells.  Immel talked softly to it and then with a strong upward thrust, threw him into the air.

Ah! His wings were as long as a camel was tall!  He flapped strongly until he had obtained the heavens and soared above us, circling and barking like a malevolent jinn. He was so vast when he soared low over us he cast a shadow and spooked the horses.

“Immel, my brother! This time your eagle might not come back!”

This made the others laugh and Immel shrug his shoulders.  “What can I do? Sigi has a mind of his own.  I can only implore the Gods he remembers where he is fed.”

I was still watching the sky, looking at the Golden circling higher on the thermals.  He was such a large bird he was easy to watch, as he gave a flap to lift himself as he floated effortlessly over the mountain.

“You have never seen a Bergut before?”  Immel’s voice cut into my scanning the heavens.

“I have never seen a such a bird!”  I glanced up at him, shading my eyes with my hand.

“I bought Sigi from an Arab as a fledgling.  He is the largest of the Golden Eagles.  I am told by this trader they are used in pairs with metal sheaths on their talons to hunt tigers.”

I started to laugh, until I saw his face.  He was serious, but considering the size of his eagle, perhaps it was possible.

“What game has he brought down?”

“The occasional lamb or goat from someone’s flock.”  He smiled and shrugged.  “Sigi has cost me for his appetite.”

I laughed.  Sigi could cause some trouble between tribes.  Wolves did harm, too, when they could.

“Of course, he has paid me back with the wolves he has killed. The skins make a nice barter.”

Wolves! A bird, even a bird as large as Sigi, killing wolves!  That was something to think about.

Today though, when Sigi reappeared over the mountain, Immel called his return cry and the eagle looked down at the rabbit offered on Immel’s wrist.  The hunting was short and Sigi must have been hungry, for he flew down and landed at a distance.  Immel whistled to him and twirled his lure, enticing the eagle closer.  The horses didn’t like this huge bird near them, and shied and snorted in fear.

Immel walked out to where he had thrown the rabbit to Sigi, and found him mantling over the prey.  Sigi knew the game and started to take off again, but Immel had strung long leather braids on his two legs, and with a dive to the ground, grabbed them before the eagle could regain his flight. For a matter of moments it was not clear who would win, as Immel fought to keep the eagle on the ground.  Sigi was strong enough to pull Immel over and only when he sat up, was Immel able to wrestle the bird closer.  Sigi barked and hissed and finally Immel pulled him in.  Picking him up, stuffed under his arm and holding his leathers firmly, Immel brought Sigi back to the men.  There was general laughter and comments aplenty about Immel’s sense in having such a bird, but Immel was used to this behavior, both from the bird and the men.

That was my introduction to Sigi and I was allowed to accompany Immel and the others again. I was told that the value of Sigi would be two camels, but I knew Immel would never sell him for a hundred.  Soon, I had my own falcon, a little sakir who was fast and brought down doves for the pot. It was a gift from Immel and she started our friendship.  Most women would want silver or a sweet oil from a man.  I got a bird.

Jane Kohut-Birdtells
Copyrighted, 2007, 2009

TIN HINAN, Chapter 7, Part 1

Algerian Mountains in Winter

Flying the birds in Morocco, Hooding is new, as birds usually have their eyes 'sewn' shut until launch. A fragment of a rug serves as a glove.

TIN HINAN,  Chapter 7

During the passage of two full moons, Takama and I worked in Immel’s house. Soon after dawn we rose from our pallet, walked into the woods on the mountain and gathered fallen limbs for the morning fire.

There were large, leafy trees, with broken limbs underneath we could bring back for the fire. I was told they were shrubs. Called ‘loki’ shrubs, when Latin scholars of centuries later came upon ‘loki’ they changed the name to Acacia  laeta. Regardless the name, it was a nourishing bush.  Livestock fed on its leaves, the women made a dye of its bark, and  sap was used to help tan sheep, goat and the occasional wolf hide. It was also a good wood to make charcoal.

We carried the bundled wood on our  backs to the small courtyard before the house.  There either Immel or his mother would build the fire and the day would begin. Three times a day we carried the heavy clay jars to the well and back up the stone stairs to the house. Our legs ached with the labor up and down those steps to the well and the steep inclines in the mountain woods.  We were desert women, sand dunes the only hills we climbed.  This mountain terrain was very different, but water more plentiful.  The river in the valley fed the well in the center courtyard.  There were springs on the mountain, and we found these with the help of other women.

Every morning we milked the goats and made the yoghurt from their rich milk.  Each batch of yoghurt had ancestors from the batch before, because it wouldn’t culture unless the new milk was mixed with the old.  Every family had their own kind of yoghurt, for it tasted of the goat’s diet.  Mother Leila fed her goats dates and barley porridge, the leftovers from our first meal of the day to start them out right. Our yoghurt was delicious and there was competition amongst the women in the ksar as to whose was best.

Winter was approaching.  Already the mornings were cold and our breath was smoke before us.  The mountain bushes were covered with frost and the trees dropped their leaves in preparation for the winter.  The mountain presented so many changes, things I would never have imagined in the desert.  Takama and I found rodents, rabbits and other small animals we did not have names for. We saw pigeons and other birds our desert men hunted with falcons, and just seeing familiar birds made me homesick.

My father loved his hawks and took me hunting when I was a child.  This was strange for a man to do, but I was spoiled, being my father’s favorite child. Older brothers had married and gone off to the tents of their wives, and my father treated me as a son with his companionship.  My mother at first raised many arguments why this was not proper for a young girl, but my father enjoyed teaching me the skills of our tribe.  The compromise was this: I would learn to weave the cloth and rugs, embroider and learn the womanly arts that would make me ‘marriageable’.  He could take me hunting and teach me archery, but I had to apply myself to womanly skills. I worked hard around the tent of my mother to be able to hunt with my father.

Mother Leila had a large rug loom set up in the communal room, and when it rained (which was rare) or when it didn’t, she could be found nimbly knotting the dyed wool and cutting the excess with her sharp little knife. I had been exempt from the rug loom for this was something that vassals like Takama and her kin would do.  I would be employed in fine embroidery and had done a lot of that. Mother Leila had us work in the front room, on embroidery or stitching leather bags for the camels and horses.  Each piece had symbols and decoration to be considered, and these functioned as amulets and charms for the men.  Long fringe was also added, usually wool, because we believed that movement would scare the jinn away from our journeys.

Immel had disappeared. We were told he was taking some of the loot over the mountain to trade with another tribe.  He was expected home before a new moon rose.  A journey across the valley, up the mountain, across that particular mountain range and down into another valley would mean a journey of many days.  Too many journeys would tempt evil spirits so they kept their trips to a minimum. Only a few times a year did they gather the men and go over the mountain.  They timed these journeys when the cultivation of the plots and orchards could be interrupted.

One evening when Takama was weaving at the small loom and Mother Leila was knotting a rug, Immel came in and flopped down on a bench.  I was trying to knot fringe for a large saddlebag and I was surprised to see him.  He listened patiently to his mother recite a verse of a poem, though she stopped and started numerous times.

“Tin Hinan.”  His voice made me look up.  “Would you like to go with us to hunt the mountain pigeon?  I have asked my father if it would be proper, and he has consulted the elders.  They see no objection to a woman learning to hunt with a falcon, for it’s been done before.”  He smiled at me brightly, some internal laughter behind those dark eyes.

“What would a proper desert girl know of hunting, Immel?  Are you cracked in the head?  What woman would want to?”  Mother Leila was shocked at the thought.

“But Mother,” I said from my bench.  “I know the falcons. I hunted dove and pigeon
many times with my father.”

“Oh, foolish girl, Immel is laughing at you!  He has an eagle he hunts with, a big and fierce bird.  Only he can call it to lure, and sometimes it doesn’t come home.”

“Mother is right, Sigi is large, even for an eagle.  He is a Golden. He has a mind of his own, but we are friends.”

A Golden Eagle!  My heart lept in my chest.  I had never seen such a bird, though I heard from my father Arabs hunted with them.  An eagle of such power could take a lamb from the field, in fact, could kill many lambs!

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007, 2009

“Tin Hinan” Chapter 7 (part of)

This chapter is also long and I will split it in half.

I used to be a falconer…an apprentice falconer, because you have to train under a Master Falconer for 5 years. My son was very young and feeding and weighing and keeping a hawk is not for the faint hearted. Birds of Prey can be dirty and dangerous. Part of the care is feeding them roadkill. A little of that goes a long way.

Of course I have never hunted with a Golden Eagle, only a Redtailed Hawk, big, slow and clumsy birds. I never understood why we couldn’t start with a fast, sharp, intelligent peregrine…but there you go.

My adventure in this realm was short lived…but I did come away with an appreciation of Birds of Prey, and I painted a lot of them. Immel’s bird is called “Sigi” after my first encounter (and painting) of a Harris Hawk from England. Sigi was the hunting hawk of a very good friend, Steve in Devon. Sigi was a real card. He would sit on the desk and watch the screen and peck at the keys. Steve thought he might be a writer in a past life.

I have a very recent wordpress painting website :

http://janekohutbartels.wordpress.com with lots of paintings of birds of prey and various landscapes. There is a Golden Eagle there.

This intro about hawks really should be written for the second part of Chapter 7, because that is where the action is. It’s based on what I remember in the fields with others demonstrating with fast hawks and slow pigeons. Berbers and Arabs still hunt with the Golden Eagle, a very powerful and the largest of the birds of prey. They can take a lamb from the field or kill a wolf. There was one Golden Eagle taken in England that had as reported, a wing span of 10 feet. It’s name was Atalanta, and one day, in the 70’s I believe, was shot by a farmer.

Lady Nyo

CHAPTER 7

For two full moons, Takama and I worked in Immel’s house. Right after dawn, we would rise from our pallet and walk into the sparse woods and gather fallen limbs for the family fire. We would bundle the wood and carry it on our backs to the small courtyard before the house. There either Immel or his mother would make the fire and the day would begin. Three times a day we would carry the heavy clay jars to the well and back up the stone stairs to the house. We milked the goats and made the sour yoghurt from their rich milk. Each batch of yoghurt had ancestors from the batch before, because it wouldn’t culture unless the new milk was mixed with the older yoghurt. Each family had their own kind of yoghurt, for it tasted of the goat’s diet. Mother Leila fed her goats dates and barley porridge, the leftovers from our first meal of the day. Our yoghurt was delicious and there was competition amongst the women in the ksar as to who made the best.

Our legs ached with the labor up and down those stone steps, and the steep inclines in the mountain woods. We were desert women, and the sand dunes were the only hills we climbed. This mountain was very different, but water was more plentiful. The river down in the valley fed the well in the center courtyard. There were also springs on the mountain, and we found these with the help of other women.

The weather was changing and the winter season upon us. Already the mornings were cold and frost on the mountain bushes was common. The trees had dropped their leaves, in preparation for the winter. The mountain presented so many changes, things that I never would have imagined in the desert. Takama and I found rodents, rabbits and other small animals that we did not have names for. We saw pigeons and other birds our desert men hunted with falcons.

My father loved his hawks and took me hunting with others when I was a child. This was strange for a man to do, but I was spoiled, being my father’s favorite child. Older brothers had married and gone off to the tents of their wives, and my father treated me as a son with his companionship. My mother at first raised many arguments why this was not proper for a young girl, but my father enjoyed teaching me the skills of our tribesmen. The compromise was I would learn to weave the cloth and rugs, embroider and learn the womanly arts that would make me ‘marriageable’. He could take me hunting and teach me archery, but I had to apply myself to household skills.

When the weather was clear, we set up our small looms to weave a narrow strip of cloth outside the house of Immel’s parents. The rich cottons, linens and silks brought home by the raiders were too expensive for us to wear. They would be traded with other tribes, most likely the Arabs to the east for grains and salt and more weapons. The salt was distributed to each family in the ksar, for salt was indispensable in daily life.

Mother Leila had a large rug loom set up in the big first room, and when it rained or when it didn’t, she could be found nimbly knotting the dyed wool and cutting the excess with her sharp little knife. I had been exempt from the rug loom for this was something that vassals like Takama and her kin would do. I would be employed in fine embroidery and had done a lot of that. When it rained Mother Leila would have us work in the front room, on embroidery or stitching leather bags for the camels and horses. Each piece had symbols and decoration to be considered, and these functioned as amulets and charms for the men. Long fringe was also added, usually wool, because we believed that movement would scare the jinn away from our journeys.

Immel had disappeared. We were told he was taking some of the loot over the mountain pass to trade with another tribe in the far distance. He was expected to be home before a new moon had risen. A journey across the valley, up the mountain, across that particular mountain range and down into another valley would mean a journey of many days. Too many journeys would tempt the evil spirits and they paced their absences from the ksar to a few times a year.

One evening, when Takama was weaving at the small loom and Mother Leila was knotting a rug, Immel came in and flopped down on a padded bench. I was trying to knot fringe for a large saddlebag and was surprised that he would join us. He listened silently to his mother recite a verse of a poem, though she stopped and started numerous times.

“Tin Hinan.” His voice made me look up. “Would you like to go with us to hunt the mountain pigeon? I have asked my father if it would be proper, and he has consulted the elders. They see no objection to a woman learning to hunt with a falcon, for it’s been done before.” He smiled at me brightly, some internal laughter behind his dark eyes.

“What would a proper desert girl know of hunting, Immel? Are you cracked in the head? What woman would want to?” Mother Leila was shocked at the thought.

“But Mother, I know the peregrines, I hunted doves and pigeons many times with my father.”

“Oh, foolish girl, Immel is laughing at you! He has an eagle he hunts, a big and fierce bird. Only he can call it to lure, and sometimes it doesn’t come home.”

“Mother is right, Sigi is large, even for an eagle. He is a Golden. He has a mind of his own, but we are friends.”

A Golden Eagle! My heart pounded.  I had never seen such a bird, though I heard from my father that Arabs hunted with them. An eagle of such power could take a lamb from the field or kill a wolf in the forest!