On January, 16th, a Peregrine Falcon named D’Arcy died. She was only six years old. When I read the news posted on the Facebook page by the Canadian Peregrine Foundation, tears filled my eyes. I knew her well, as did so many residents across the GTA.
I was first introduced to the famous raptor in 2020, when I volunteered to be part of the watch team to keep eyes on her newly hatched chicks as they began their first flights after fledging. D’Arcy and her mate Lucky nested on the ledge of a west Toronto office tower, which meant young Peregrine chicks had to learn to navigate around glass buildings in the middle of Bloor street. First flights usually meant crash landings and as a volunteer my job was to keep eyes on the birds, and rescue if necessary.
That year, all four Peregrine chicks fledged and made their way into the world with only a couple of abrupt landings – once behind a building and another on someone’s porch.
Although I always took my camera on the watches, I didn’t get any photos. The Peregrines were always up in the sky, so I observed and admired from a distance. How could I possibly manage to get a good shot of these birds, I used to think. Too high, too far, too fast. I didn’t even consider it would happen.
In December 2020, I was at a local park along the lakefront looking for wildlife. December is usually fairly quiet so I wasn’t having much luck until I looked up in a tree and saw a large bird sitting high on a branch. As I zoomed in with my camera, I realized it was a Peregrine Falcon. Still high, but I took a few documentary shots anyway and continued my walk.
When I noticed a few people gathering on the path close to the beach, I went over to see what was happening. Sitting on the branch of a large dead tree, was a big raptor. A few people with cellphones and a couple with cameras were no more than thirty feet away and I recognized one who called me over to introduce me to D’Arcy.
There she was, the mother of the young falcons that I watched for a couple of weeks. Indifferent to the crowd that gathered in admiration, she began to preen. She was just out of the lake, after having a bath, I was told. Fascinated, I watched and clicked away, my hands shaking at the sight of her.
The woman who called me over, a local resident named Mary explained the routine. D’Arcy and Lucky regularly showed up on winter afternoons for baths and preening on the beach. Lucky often stayed high in the tree while D’Arcy preferred the lower perches along the edge of the water.
After her grooming was complete, D’Arcy would fly up to the tree to join Lucky, and soon after the two would leave the park together. At that point, I made a mental note to go back another afternoon.
Much of wildlife photography is about timing. So I started doing some research. I found posts on social media with photos of D’Arcy having a bath in the lake. I checked dates and pulled the information together. Based on this evidence I determined a time and a plan. 2 pm the first Wednesday of the month. I put the date in my calendar.
When the day arrived in January, I signed out of work at 1:30 pm for an afternoon break. The park was a short car ride from my home, so I arrived just before 2 pm on a gloomy afternoon. I checked the big tree but Lucky wasn’t there. I waited on the beach for nearly an hour. No sign of the Peregrines.
Heading home, I wondered, for a second if I was delusional. Wildlife have no clocks or calendars. But as the month progressed, the thought of seeing D’Arcy again persisted. So the first Wednesday of the next month, I tried again.
As I made my way across the park toward the beach, camera in hand, I looked up to see Lucky high up in the usual tree. I stopped on the sand and waited.
“Looking for ducks?” a man lifting weights asked.
“No,” I smiled.
I looked at my phone. It was 1:59. I moved closer to a large dead tree that Mary had pointed out as another one of D’Arcy’s favorite perches. When the movement caught my eye I was supposed to raise my camera. But I was motionless as the large raptor landed on the branch. I gasped for breath. There she was, 2 pm on the nose. D’Arcy.
I finally lifted the camera and started clicking, conscious of my trembling hands. I positioned myself so yellow trees far behind her gave a lovely bokeh.
It must have been ten minutes or more…I wasn’t sure, but then she lifted her wings and flew a circle around the lake and landed at the water’s edge. I moved closer as she skipped across the sand and entered the water. I lay down on the sand and continued to shoot as D’Arcy splashed around the icy waters, throwing me a glance every now and again. A couple of other photographers appeared and we continued to shoot until she flew out of the water and landed on the perch, fluffed her feathers and then took off into the sky.
That was the last time I saw her.
When the park was closed due to construction last year, I wondered where D’Arcy would bathe. I often wanted to sneak past the ‘no trespassing’ signs to check the dead tree on the beach. I asked locals about her whereabouts but no one had seen her in a long time.
As a wildlife photographer, my objective is to capture the essence of wildlife in photos. Connections are an important part of these captures, and yet such an encounter is rare. When it does happen, there’s no way to describe the euphoria that comes with sharing a moment in time with a wild bird or animal, feeling as if your souls have touched.
RIP D’Arcy. 2016-2023.