Background

I grew up in Cleigh a small village a few miles south of Oban in Scotland. My father was a game keeper, and give him all the credit he deserves, raised me on his own since my birth. You may guess from this that I never knew my mother. I’m told she was a remarkable woman and her death in a car accident very nearly resulted in my own, and severely affected my father.

In a lot of ways he withdrew from the world, although his job as a gamekeeper meant that he spent a lot of time in the hills and on the moors, and when possible he would take me with him. As a result I learnt to fish, and hunt, how to shoot (mainly to control the Red Deer Herds), and how to ride. There are lots of places you can only go on foot but riding a horse is considerably less tiring and less intrusive than a quad bike. A side effect of all this was that I learnt how to survive in the mountains where in the space of an hour it can go from 20oC and fine sunshine, to 5oC, a force 5 gale, and torrential rain mixed with sleet, or where you can become fog bound and lose all sense of direction and potentially fall to your death or slip, break a limb, and die of exposure. The community here is tight knit and everyone knows everyone else, and my father as part of his job was part of the Mountain rescue team, so as I reached an age where I could assist I likewise joined the team, although not at the expense of my love of books and my birds of prey.

How we came to run Oban Falconry is a bit of a story in itself and to understand the why and how we have to return to April 1993.

My parents at that time kept 3 horses, primarily to support my father’s job, but occasionally would hire out the two mares to experienced local riders who wanted to spend the day riding. The problem was, that the occasionally had started to become more frequent, and not only from experienced riders. In January 1993, a chance conversation had led to my parents applying for a Scottish Tourist board grant to setup a bigger “Trekking” center, with the ability to take out 6 riders at a time. In April 1993 the grant was approved, and by early July 1993 the stables had been expanded, 7 ponies acquired, and bookings taken for the summer holiday season. 1994 went even better, with the exception of my conception which meant taking on Margaret McAllister as center manager. After the accident, and my birth, Rodri Morgan was added to the staff roster to help with the general running of things.

Despite the increasing requests for bookings, nothing happened till 1999, with the expanded center opening for business for the Y2000 Easter Weekend. With 14 ponies and 8 horses, including a breeding Stallion and 2 brood mares, and 2 additional staff members, Elizabeth Sutherland and Sarah Murray, the center could cope with either a single party of 12 or 2 parties of 6, although 8 was the most common trekking booking.

It was whilst out riding with my father in 2003 that we found the injured White Tailed Eagle. My father thought initially that it just had a broken wing, but on closer examination it appeared to have been shot, and the wing was shredded. It would never be able to fly again. If my father had had his way it would have been put down, but he didn’t and we jumped through hoops and adopted it, nursing it back to some semblance of health.

Then in early June 2004 Kasamir arrived. I thought I was imagining things at first. Falcons couldn’t talk to you, except Kasamir could, well not quite; I hear his voice inside my head, as do those he chooses to talk to. He told me a whole load more hogwash at the time, none of which I believed then, although as time has worn on, most of what he has said has proven correct, so I must assume that his belief that one of my parents was an Amberite, a being much more than human, is also correct. My father has recently admitted that my mother was pregnant when they married. He’d had a crush on her in school, but she hadn’t been interested in him. When she became pregnant, and sort of became disowned, he stepped up and stood by her, but he never knew who my real father was.

After Kasamir’s arrival things sort of snowballed, with the arrival of a Short Eared Owl and a Buzzard in a 2 week period in September, and then a Kestrel in early November, and a second Short Eared Owl just before Christmas. Over the next 2 years numerous injured birds arrived, were treated and for the most part released, the exceptions being a Common Buzzard, who we called Fitch, and a Tawny owl, who we called Shira.

Then in spring 2008 out lives were upended when we were asked if we could take on two 2 week old Sea Eagle chicks after the parents abandoned the nest due to disturbance. The first 6weeks were really hard going, especially for my father, and Sarah MacDonald the local vet who’d been working with us since 2005. Both were surprised at how I managed to get by with so little sleep without any of my school work suffering and without me becoming exhausted. It was the first real inkling that my parentage was anything but normal. At 20 weeks the chicks were both flying and we got a visit from Scottish TV to film a piece on their rescue, which resulted in a flurry of visitors over the next 3 weeks until interest waned. It did have one upside, although it would be Easter 2010 before the Accommodation block and Sea Eagle Café were open for business. The Accommodation block is nothing fancy, modelled after the Slate Creek Inn at Cold Foot Camp in Alaska. It has 12 rooms with twin beds, 4 rooms with double beds, and 4 single bed rooms.

It was also at this point that I got my first breeding pair of falcons, a pair of Merlins, which just added to our permanent and slowly growing guest list of old or disabled birds of prey which now numbered 11, although we’d lost Fitch by this point.