Dan's Feathursday Feature: Merlin

I think of the Merlin as the middle child of the falcon family.

There are three falcons that can be seen regularly in the Chicago area. The Peregrine Falcon, largest and most powerful of the three, is the de facto lord of the castle. It bears itself with a pride and a dignity that shows it knows that we know it’s numero uno. The most photographed of our falcons, all it has to do is raise a talon, or stretch a wing, and everyone reaches for a camera to record the momentous event. Family photo albums overflow with this bird’s first flight, its first kill. Mom and Dad probably still keep some feathers from its first molt.

The American Kestrel is the cute third child. Colorful and vivacious, it acts like it needs our affirmation, and we oblige. If by chance we’re not paying attention, it will hover overhead, begging us to watch as it eventually dives for dinner. “Oh look, you caught a big grasshopper!” fawn all the older cousins.

The Merlin doesn’t have time for that #@&%. It’s used to being ignored, as the elder and younger siblings get all the attention. And it’s perfectly fine with that, thank you ma’am. The only one the Merlin wants to impress is itself. Picture all three siblings standing on the edge of a thinly frozen creek in January. “Betcha can’t make it across,” eggs the eldest. “Watch this!” says the Merlin, as it bounds across without a moment’s thought for the possible consequences, leaving its elder with no choice but to follow, to salvage its pride.

Like all falcons, the Merlin is fast and furious—ounce for ounce, maybe more fearsome than the Peregrine Falcon. It attacks birds on the fly, often from below—attesting to its speed and agility. When the author of one field guide (Sibley) searched his thesaurus for the word to describe the Merlin, he chose the word “pugnacious.” Watch a Merlin in action, and you will see that there is probably not a better word to describe how this raptor stands out among the others.

Picture this: At the local park I frequent, a group of seven crows are lined up atop a street lamp, doing what crows do, fluffing their feathers to look cool and making a terrible racket. About a hundred feet above them, a lone Merlin is flying lazily past. I’m sure the crows know the Merlin is there, but they pay no attention to this small raptor roughly half their size. Suddenly, with a dip of its left wing, the Merlin makes a bullet-fast dive that passes right over the crows’ heads. Feathers fly as the crows take to the air, scrambling frantically, not knowing whether to be afraid or angry. The Merlin has already returned to its previous cruising altitude, no doubt with a mischievous smirk on its face.

Just last week, I watched as a Merlin was being pestered by a band of five Blue Jays. Roughly the same size as the Merlin, the noisy jays were forcing it back and forth across two treetops, as it tried to avoid their dives. Finally, the Merlin had had enough, and off it flew along the lake and out of sight. The Blue Jays calmed down, until thirty seconds later that Merlin returned, made a furious pass right through the middle of the jays, and then flew off for good. As the jays smoothed their feathers, there was no doubt who got the last word in that encounter.

I’ve got a lot of respect for the Merlin, but you know what? It doesn’t give a damn.

Dan's Feathursday Feature is a weekly contribution to the COS blog featuring the thoughts, insights and pictures of Chicago birder, Dan Lory on birds of the Chicago region.