propane lantern, bird feedâ¦. Letâs get going!â
14
They took their positions half an hour before dawn. The rest was waiting.
Starting with first light, Rick had the binoculars on the condor. He saw the bird bring its head out from behind its shoulders and start looking around. From the cover of a slab of rock and through the gap in the branches of a juniper, Rick observed every slight movement, hoping Maverick was about to fly.
He let his mind drift, imagining what that might be like. To fly, to be actually flying. To be soaring above these endless canyons and seeing it all from the air. To fly like Maverick, or like Lon under his hang glider. Lon had mentioned taking people up tandem. Rick could almost imagine what that would be like, the two of them under that big wing.
If Lon ever offered, he wasnât going to say no. Evenif he was afraid. If he could take that leap off the cliff, heâd be living his dream.
The first pair of ravens flew to the carcass in midmorning. Maverick looked on as the ravens started with the calfâs eyes, then opened the belly. By noon theyâd been joined by a dozen others. One oâclock, one-thirty, and still the condor hadnât flown. It took the patience of a vulture to wait out a vulture.
He wondered if it was hot in the pit. He wondered if Lon was all cramped up. He wondered if the man was trying to remain in a kneeling position all this time, the way heâd been when Rick had left him before dawn.
He was proud of that pit and the camouflage job they had done. There wasnât a bit of raw earth showing around it. Theyâd hauled off every bucketful and scattered it. If the ravens hadnât been suspicious, then Maverick shouldnât be either.
Maybe Maverick just wasnât hungry?
It was just after 2:00 P.M. when Rick saw the sudden bend in the birdâs knees, saw him unfold his great wings and launch himself off the edge of the fin. Maverick was coming down to feed! Rick saw him put his tail flaps down, flare his wings, and make a less than graceful landing fifteen feet from the carcass.
The ravens were agitated by the condorâs arrival, but they didnât fly. Maverick acted like a spectator for a full ten minutes before he made his move. Slouching close to the pit, he thrust his head forward, hissing. Theravens stayed by the calf until Maverick bluffed with several rapid flaps of his huge wings, which scattered them.
Looking around carefully, the condor stepped onto the calf. He continued looking around a full minute longer before he began to feed. At this exact moment Lon was looking up from underneath Maverick and the calf, through the slot theyâd so carefully camouflaged with weeds and bits of grass. At this moment Lon was looking right at the condorâs face as the bird bobbed for meat.
The wait continued. It was killing Rick that the biologist hadnât made his move. If Lon waited much longer, Maverick might step off the carcass. Maverick might fill his crop and be gone.
The ravens were moving back in, working at the calf around the edges. The condor lunged at one; it jumped away. Maverick shifted his position, and started looking around warily instead of feeding.
Thatâs when Lon struck. Through the binoculars Rick saw it clearly. He saw Lonâs hands seize the base of the condorâs legs. Suddenly the condor was wearing leg shackles made of human hands.
Rick expected that the condor would slash instantly at the manâs hands with his powerful beak, but Maverick hesitated, as if his feet were stuck in place of their own accord. He beat his great wings once, twice, trying torise, then flapped for balance as Lon began to pull him slowly downward.
As the condor was descending, it folded its wings tight against its body as if cooperating. Rick watched as Maverickâs shoulders and head slowly disappeared inside the pit.
And then Rick ran. He ran as fast as he could.
âWhat can I
14
They took their positions half an hour before dawn. The rest was waiting.
Starting with first light, Rick had the binoculars on the condor. He saw the bird bring its head out from behind its shoulders and start looking around. From the cover of a slab of rock and through the gap in the branches of a juniper, Rick observed every slight movement, hoping Maverick was about to fly.
He let his mind drift, imagining what that might be like. To fly, to be actually flying. To be soaring above these endless canyons and seeing it all from the air. To fly like Maverick, or like Lon under his hang glider. Lon had mentioned taking people up tandem. Rick could almost imagine what that would be like, the two of them under that big wing.
If Lon ever offered, he wasnât going to say no. Evenif he was afraid. If he could take that leap off the cliff, heâd be living his dream.
The first pair of ravens flew to the carcass in midmorning. Maverick looked on as the ravens started with the calfâs eyes, then opened the belly. By noon theyâd been joined by a dozen others. One oâclock, one-thirty, and still the condor hadnât flown. It took the patience of a vulture to wait out a vulture.
He wondered if it was hot in the pit. He wondered if Lon was all cramped up. He wondered if the man was trying to remain in a kneeling position all this time, the way heâd been when Rick had left him before dawn.
He was proud of that pit and the camouflage job they had done. There wasnât a bit of raw earth showing around it. Theyâd hauled off every bucketful and scattered it. If the ravens hadnât been suspicious, then Maverick shouldnât be either.
Maybe Maverick just wasnât hungry?
It was just after 2:00 P.M. when Rick saw the sudden bend in the birdâs knees, saw him unfold his great wings and launch himself off the edge of the fin. Maverick was coming down to feed! Rick saw him put his tail flaps down, flare his wings, and make a less than graceful landing fifteen feet from the carcass.
The ravens were agitated by the condorâs arrival, but they didnât fly. Maverick acted like a spectator for a full ten minutes before he made his move. Slouching close to the pit, he thrust his head forward, hissing. Theravens stayed by the calf until Maverick bluffed with several rapid flaps of his huge wings, which scattered them.
Looking around carefully, the condor stepped onto the calf. He continued looking around a full minute longer before he began to feed. At this exact moment Lon was looking up from underneath Maverick and the calf, through the slot theyâd so carefully camouflaged with weeds and bits of grass. At this moment Lon was looking right at the condorâs face as the bird bobbed for meat.
The wait continued. It was killing Rick that the biologist hadnât made his move. If Lon waited much longer, Maverick might step off the carcass. Maverick might fill his crop and be gone.
The ravens were moving back in, working at the calf around the edges. The condor lunged at one; it jumped away. Maverick shifted his position, and started looking around warily instead of feeding.
Thatâs when Lon struck. Through the binoculars Rick saw it clearly. He saw Lonâs hands seize the base of the condorâs legs. Suddenly the condor was wearing leg shackles made of human hands.
Rick expected that the condor would slash instantly at the manâs hands with his powerful beak, but Maverick hesitated, as if his feet were stuck in place of their own accord. He beat his great wings once, twice, trying torise, then flapped for balance as Lon began to pull him slowly downward.
As the condor was descending, it folded its wings tight against its body as if cooperating. Rick watched as Maverickâs shoulders and head slowly disappeared inside the pit.
And then Rick ran. He ran as fast as he could.
âWhat can I
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