Raptor School, Where the Raptors Train You Part 1 |April 14 -18, 2025

This past week, I did something bold, scary, and utterly life-changing—I attended The Raptor School. What started as a dream became an experience beyond words. I trained with birds of prey—yes, real raptors—learning the basics of bird handling and training from some of the most awe-inspiring creatures I've ever met.

Each day brought something new. I practiced lure throwing, learned how to handle bald eagles, held owls with ancient wisdom in their eyes, trained black vultures who knew the meaning of mischief, and bonded with a young Harris Hawk who had a whole lot to say. These weren’t just training sessions; they were lessons in trust, presence, communication, and adaptability.

One bird who left a deep impression on me was Theo, a Aplomado Falcon. Small but mighty, Theo reminded me not to underestimate strength based on size. I learned how to call him, how to hold him on my falconry glove, and how to reward him properly.

But most importantly, Theo taught me that I had to adjust my behavior in order to work with him. He required calm, consistent signals—and once I matched his energy with my own focused presence, we built a mutual understanding. Fast, tough, beautiful, and resilient—he was everything I needed to be reminded of in myself.

Then there was Solo, a Peregrine Falcon who introduced me to the art of lure training. A lure—attached to a string—is swung in the air, mimicking prey, and the falcon flies in to catch it mid-flight. Solo didn’t just catch it—he ripped it right out of my hand. That raw power and precision took my breath away.

Solo stood proudly on the lure he had just won from me—not smug, but resolute, confident in his skill. And yet… I swear there was a glint in his eye, almost like a quiet smirk that said, “You thought you could outsmart me? Silly human.”

He was fast (unsurprisingly, considering Peregrines are among the fastest animals on Earth), but also had a mischievous streak—often flying off to perch where he wasn’t supposed to mid-training.

Still, when we got in sync—when I fine-tuned my cues and respected his timing—our connection clicked. That feeling of alignment was nothing short of electric.

Did you know?

The Peregrine Falcon is the fastest animal on Earth, reaching diving speeds of over 380 km/h (240 mph) when hunting. This breathtaking stoop allows them to strike prey mid-air with incredible precision—making them both aerial acrobats and elite hunters.

Another unforgettable encounter was with Basil, an 11-month-old Harris Hawk with a big personality and an even bigger voice. He never stopped using his contact call, essentially “talking” to us the entire time. It was adorable. He is only 11-month old after all so I don't blame him for the chatter.

Basil taught us that silent body language and the right signaling can work wonders. We taught him to fly through a hula hoop in the forest—something he had never done before. Harris Hawks, like all raptors, are expert hunters, but Basil is still just a baby. Communicating with him meant relying entirely on body language and non-verbal cues. You can't just tell a wild bird what you want. Can you imagine trying to explain to a young hawk that you want him to fly through a hoop or land on your glove—when he has no clue what you're asking for and you can’t use words?

It was, in a word, frustrating.

Training with Basil involved a lot of trial and error, making signals, reading his response, and adjusting in real time. But what did he teach me in return? Patience. So much patience. And when he finally got it—when everything clicked—I was unbelievably proud of him. And in that moment, I realized I needed to be proud of myself, too. I needed to offer myself the same grace I offered Basil.

Learning any new skill takes time, and it's okay to wobble before you soar.

That tiny hawk reminded me of all that—just by being himself.

I keep saying it was an incredible experience because it truly was. It didn’t matter that my body ached from standing all day or hiking up and down hills across the facility. None of that mattered.

On our last training session together, we took Basil on a forest walk for more hoop work. But partway through, he spotted ducks in a tiny pond and, being the curious raptor he is, took off. He dive-bombed the water—only to discover, mid-plunge, that ducks dive. He ended up soaked but unhurt, hauling himself out of the pond and up into a nearby tree before returning to the instructor’s glove.

No hula hoops that day—instead, we shifted to glove training in the field, letting him dry off on a few perches between flights. Watching him stand in the sun, wings stretched open, drying off with quiet determination was such a beautiful moment.

He never gave up. He took a fall, got back up, and kept going.

Did you know?

At just 11 months old, a Harris Hawk is still considered a juvenile—but already shows remarkable intelligence and trainability. These social raptors are unique among hawks for their cooperative hunting behavior in the wild, often working together in family groups—earning them the nickname “wolves of the sky.”

Here is me training with Basil. Remember, he's training ME how to work with him.

And that’s exactly what he reminded me to do, too. But here’s the thing: signing up for this training was more than just about birds. It was about me.

Taking time off work, traveling solo, and investing in something I’ve never done before—it felt like jumping off a cliff without knowing where I’d land. I had no plan for what to do with these new skills. I was nervous, unsure, and constantly tempted to listen to that old, familiar voice in my head saying, “Why are you doing this?”

But somewhere between the early morning sessions and the silent moments in the aviaries, I heard a different voice: You’re worth it.

At The Raptor School, I came up with a phrase that felt truer each day: “Where the Raptors Train You.” And that’s exactly what happened. The birds trained me to be present, to trust myself, to drop fear and pick up courage. They reminded me that life isn't about shrinking to fit someone else’s idea of safety—it's about expanding into the unknown and chasing the wild things that make your heart beat faster. This experience reinvigorated my passion to be a wildlife photographer, writer, and documentary filmmaker. It’s a reminder that investing in ourselves, even when we don’t know the outcome, is always worth it.

So here’s to the raptors—for their grace, their grit, and their gift of reminding me who I really am.

And the story’s not over yet. I still have so much more to share —like my dream interaction with bald eagles and the unforgettable experience of handling owls. So stay tuned for Part 2, coming tomorrow.