A focused mind and eyes of fire

I once spent three consecutive days flying a goshawk after mountain hares in the Lammermuir Hills, almost within sight of Edinburgh. It was in the days after the grouse season had finished and snow lay in the heather like sodden lavatory paper. The Lammermuirs have nothing to offer shelter nor break the bitter easterly wind that rides over the sea from Bergen, and it takes a stern, stolid constitution to find fun there on a winter’s day.

The hawk was unloaded from its travel box and decked out with telemetry equipment. Soon we were out on the hill with a couple of dogs and a clear view