Ornithologist Ólafur Karl Nielsen has been studying the Gyrfalcon, Iceland’s national bird, for over two decades. Each year he makes several field trips to the northeast of the country to monitor the breeding success and population of the Gyrfalcon, and its most important prey, the Rock Ptarmigan. I joined Ólafur on a recent field trip.

My first close encounter with a Gyrfalcon was the same summer that I first met Ólafur Karl Nielsen. I had permission from the Ministry for the Environment to photograph at a Gyrfalcon eyrie, with the condition that I select a suitable nest in cooperation with Ólafur.

When I first met him in the northeast of Iceland he gave me directions to a nest, where I erected a hide. For three days I would enter the small circular tent in the morning and leave in the evening. When I entered or exited the hide an adult Gyrfalcon would dive at me. There was a loud hissing sound as its wings split the air inches above me, and my natural reaction was to duck. Its roaring screams sent shivers down the spine. If it would have struck with full force it could easily have wounded me with its razorsharp claws. But the dives were meant as a warning. “Get off my territory, leave my fledglings alone, and mind your own business.”

I felt privileged as I watched the life of a raptor unfold before me. This was my first time in a hide, my first glance into the life of a Gyrfalcon, the largest and most powerful falcon in the world. I watched as an adult brought food to its young. I observed with interest as fledglings flapped and trained their broad wings, getting ready for the most majestic feature of a Gyrfalcon’s life, the flight.

Now, three years later, I’m standing exactly where I placed my hide in the summer of 2000. There are two adult falcons diving at me, both parents are at home. Everything seems the same, yet nothing is the same. My passion for birds is stronger than ever. My admiration for the Gyrfalcon has grown into a deep respect. I don’t duck anymore when they dive at me. If a claw would scrape my head, I would wear the scar with pride.

On the Trail
The land before me is vast and rugged. There are mountains in the distance and volcanic rock of various sizes is scattered everywhere around. We are driving a dirt track that ends somewhere in the middle of this barren land. From there we’ll walk to a Gyrfalcon eyrie.

I’ve joined Ólafur Karl Nielsen on one of his annual field trips. He is visiting eyries to collect field data and ring chicks. With him is his field assistant, which happens to be his son, Ólafur Hrafn Nielsen. Also traveling with the father and son team is Dany Pierret, a Belgian nomad.

Ólafur is an ornithologist at the Icelandic Institute of Natural History. He has made the study of the Gyrfalcon and its primary prey, the Rock Ptarmigan, his field of expertise. Since 1981 he has conducted field research within a confined study area in the northeast of the country. His chosen area has the highest density of Gyrfalcons in Iceland, but they are far from being common. There are often considerable distances between nests, although in some cases relatively small areas can support more than one breeding pair, if there is abundant prey. But normally only about five nests can be visited each day. It takes time to navigate the rough tracks, which lead to the nesting areas and in most cases some trekking is needed to get to the eyries.

Where the track ends we start walking. I stop briefly to adjust lenses in my backpack and when I’m ready to continue the walk my traveling companions are dots on the horizon. Ólafur is a tall lean man with the fastest walking pace of any person that I’ve traveled with. I have to run to catch up.

We’re getting close to the eyrie as the adult female is already in the air, preparing to tackle us. Her offspring are well grown and out of the nest, two of them sitting on rocks just above it. As we get closer the falcon starts to dive at us, screaming in protest. Ólafur takes a moment to assess the situation. He hesitates to proceed, as the fledglings may be too old to be approached for banding. There is a possibility they might try to fly off and harm themselves in the process, as they aren’t fully fledged yet. But after a careful evaluation he decides to try for one of them. With outstretched hands, wearing thick gloves for protection, he slowly approaches the smallest of the three siblings. The young falcon sits completely still as if it were hypnotized. Even as Ólafur’s hands are inches away from the bird, it’s still as a rock. The moment his hands touch the falcon it’s as if the hypnosis wears off in an instant, and the bird starts whining and struggling to get free. Soon it has been weighed, measured and is wearing a metal ring around its leg, and within the hour its siblings get the same treatment. As we walk back to the cars Ólafur tells me that an old farmer gave him directions to this nest during the early years of his research. I ask if he thinks there have been Gyrfalcons nesting there for a long time. “Possibly for thousands of years”, he answers.

I part with the crew to attend to other matters. I’m determined to find a nesting pair of Merlins, which can be photographed. In the past I’ve found the Merlin a more difficult subject than Gyrfalcon, as they usually nest on unapproachable cliff faces. I have a few leads from Ólafur, which I want to follow.

The next day I find nesting Merlins, but I also make a more notable discovery. I find a Gyrfalcon nest, which Ólafur Nielsen wasn’t aware of. In the evening we speak over our long-range mobiles. He’s surprised to hear of my finding, as there is another pair with youngs, close to the eyrie I discovered. “There have never been two nesting pairs so close at this location before, it’s quite unusual”, he tells me. We make plans to meet again the following day.

“Congratulations”, Dany says, when I show them the nest. “They’re not easy to find.” This is the fourth time Dany joins Ólafur on a field trip. I first met him in Reykjavík city one week ago. “I want to travel all my life”, he told me. And he is indeed a seasoned traveler. Apart from his time spent in Iceland, he’s lived in Canada, made a solo trek covering vast distances on foot in Greenland, and traveled with nomads on the steppes of Mongolia. Dany is a kindred spirit, with deep love and respect for nature and its creatures, and a special fondness for the Gyrfalcon. His care for the falcon’s welfare is such that in the middle of winter a few years ago, when he was living in Iceland, he rented a car, drove as far as he could and walked a long way through the snow to rebuild a stick nest, which had been used by falcons but fallen apart. To his delight the nest was used successfully the following spring. Since then the expert construction by the Belgian, who is a carpenter by profession, is referred to as “the famous nest”, as it was featured in an article in Living Bird magazine. Last year Ólafur also refurbished an old stick nest, which had been used frequently by falcons, and had fallen apart. His new nest was made from fence posts, which he cut to fit on the nest ledge, and lined with natural materials, twigs and grasses. This spring falcons laid their eggs there and successfully reared two chicks. It’s the same pair which I photographed in the summer of 2000. My first falcons.

The Nest
There are four chicks in the nest I found. Ólafur Hrafn secures a rope for his father, which he uses to lower himself onto the nest ledge. When he has finished processing the chicks he collects all food remains in and around the nest. Dany has been lurking beneath the nesting cliff and suddenly raises his hand into the air, holding a part of a bird’s wing. “Ólafur, it’s a Short-eared Owl”, he shouts.

When we are leaving the nesting area an adult falcon makes an appearance. It gives out a few screams and disappears as quickly as it appeared. “It was carrying prey”, Ólafur Karl tells us. “It has gone back to hide the prey.”

Back at the cars he spreads out the food remains and starts to examine them. “Which species do you have there”, I ask. “There is the Short-eared Owl, which is very rare”, he tells me. “Out of more than 30,000 kills recorded, I have only found owls twice before”, Ólafur says. He then lists what else was in the food remains: 2 Whimbrels, 3 Puffins, 1 Snipe, 2 Widgeons, 2 Mallards, 7 Arctic Terns and 27 Ptarmigan.

The Gyrfalcon relies heavily on the Rock Ptarmigan as its most important prey. Ptarmigan numbers are lower now than ever since population monitoring began in the early 1960’s. Ólafur was hoping for an increase this spring as last year showed a historical low-point, but the population had decreased even further. The Rock Ptarmigan, which was once common in the vast Icelandic heath land, is now a rare sight.

The Ptarmigan is a traditional Christmas food for many Icelanders and the tradition of hunting them is an old one, where the hunter went out on foot in the dark of winter and got food for his family. But a new breed of hunters has emerged in the last decades, equipped with super-trucks, which can take them almost anywhere, and armed with state-of-the-art weapons. These “professional” hunters sell their products to food chains, often with a considerable profit, especially during low years when demand exceeds supply. According to hunting reports around 6,000 individuals hunt ptarmigan, but 10% of them are responsible for 50% of the total catch. As of autumn 2003 all ptarmigan hunting will be banned for three years, as decided by the Minister for the Environment, a ruling that has met strong opposition from the hunting community. But in spite of the lack of ptarmigan, the Gyrfalcon seems to be faring well this summer. Many pairs have bred successfully, which is undoubtedly to be thanked by an unusually mild winter and spring. The weather forecast predicts the same kind of weather for the next few days. Heavy clouds, cold and rain. Not the most exciting conditions for a bird photographer. As I say goodbye to Ólafur Karl, Ólafur Hrafn and Dany, I wonder where I should go next. South, or east? I decide to drive south through the central highlands, the Sprengisandur route. Last year I found a Snowy Owl there; I wonder what I’ll find this time?

Whatever awaits me doesn’t matter. In the spirit of a wandering nomad, I just want to travel, all my life.

Facts
The Gyrfalcon, Falco rusticolus, is the largest of the long-winged hawks. It inhabits remote, circumpolar Arctic and Subarctic areas. The Icelandic population of this majestic raptor has been estimated at 300-400 breeding pairs.

The Gyrfalcon is adapted to catch prey both on the ground and in the air. It’s faster on the wing and more powerful in striking its prey than the smaller and more maneuverable Peregrine, which is a close relative.

The Gyrfalcon, like all other falcons, does not build a nest, but mainly uses stick nests built by ravens or other raptors. It also nests on well vegetated cliff ledges. Breeding starts early, in the beginning of April. Birds that breed early will lay four eggs, while those that breed in the end of April will only lay three. Since the Gyrfalcon breeds so early in the year its breeding success is heavily dependent on the weather conditions during breeding. Breeding pairs remain on their territory all year round, while juvenile birds may wander far in search of food and often winter on the coast.

Because of its size and power falconers valued Gyrfalcons, and while Iceland was still under Danish rule they were trapped and exported to Europe to be used for falconry. Today the Gyrfalcon is protected and its nest cannot be approached without license.

The Gyrfalcon is Iceland’s national bird.

The article was published in the 2003 issue of the Icelandic Geographic Magazine.