10 February 12 - 18, 2026 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents [game wardens] get tired of dealing with us from an enforcement standpoint, falconry can just go away,” Melody says. “We are not making the state money. We don’t have a large enough interest group to force the state’s hand. We’ve got to police ourselves, and then we’ve got to work cooperatively with the state of Texas.” But even if there wasn’t a constant im- pending fear of the end of falconry, just like a rifle hunter still oils the barrel, a falconer takes care of their weapon. “The better I take care of this bird, the bet- ter it’s going to perform,” Melody says. “It is not beneficial to us to mistreat these birds.” Since 1970, Texas has had an official asso- ciation for falconers, the Texas Hawking As- sociation (THA). The self-described “conservation-oriented association” is the premier organization for falconers, and it weaves together the small community, hold- ing them to high standards. “We try to be very careful and speak to our people about honoring the sport,” said THA President Kyle Irlbeck. “Let’s honor the birds. Let’s honor our prey. Our prey is everything. … We’re conservationists; we want to take care of our prey base more than anything, because we can’t fly without something to chase.” Membership in the THA is crucial to fit in the small and tight-knit community of Texas falconers, and they have few who mis- behave, likely because Texas has some of the strictest falconry laws in the country. The THA, ardent about self-policing, stands as a robust barrier to the unqualified. Getting Your Wings I rlbeck rejects the notion that there are gatekeepers in falconry, but there’s a rea- son you probably had no idea North Tex- ans are hunting with birds of prey. The THA and the falconry community aren’t generally recruiting, relying more on the stumble-uponers, and leaving discovery to the ultra-determined. “The dedication and what [falconry re- quires] takes people out one by one,” Irlbeck says. “When they finally realize that it is so much commitment … it weeds them out, purely due to how hard it is. It’s not to say that you won’t do it again. You can try again.” Tony Thompson discovered falconry in a hunting magazine when he was 12 years old. For years, he dreamed of doing it, trying once around 2007, but abandoning the sport because he didn’t have the time. That hap- pens a lot in falconry. Never do they under- sell the incredible dedication the sport takes, and it’s not an exaggeration. To be a falconer in Texas, you must first find a sponsor, a master falconer, who has been legally hunting with a bird of prey for at least seven years. The THA assists in matching prospective falconers with spon- sors. There are 426 licensed falconers in Texas; Melody estimates that 200 are active. She organizes an annual statewide falconry competition, produced by the THA. Their January meeting had 176 participants and roughly 85 raptors. Finding a sponsor is the easy part. Earning their trust is hard. Falconers know they have critics, and with hundreds of avian laws already on the books, they will not risk losing their sport because of one bad apple. A good sponsor won’t vouch for just anyone, and Texas Parks and Wildlife, the department that dis- tributes falconry licenses, requires a signed “statement of sponsor” form before you can even begin your apprenticeship. In the first year, attending annual meets, accompanying masters on their hunts as a spectator and learning all there is to know about birds of prey is the usual audition pro- cess. Then maybe a master will write a wor- thy raptor fanatic a letter of recommendation. If your application is ap- proved, prospects are invited to take the state falconry exam, which lasts 2.5 hours and is held only four times a year. Assuming you pass, a game warden will then inspect your mew, the custom-built en- closure where you’ll keep your falcon when it’s not hunting. There are several require- ments regarding weather and predator pro- tection, cleanliness, warmth and bird stimulation. By this point, apprenticeship is achieved, and you are permitted to catch a bird. Apprentices are limited to two species: the small American kestrel and the red-tailed hawk, and can only own one bird at a time. All falconers, no matter the level, are permitted to capture only two wild birds each year. The apprenticeship takes two years before graduating to general falconer. At this stage, hunters can capture a wider range of bird species and are permitted to own captive- bred birds, though most still capture them in the wild. Master falconers are permitted to train eagles and can own more birds at one time. Each bird requires separate documen- tation. And the fines for violating the Migra- tory Bird Treaty Act can reach $250,000. Hunters and Conservationists B efore bird enthusiasts, falconers list themselves as hunters. “The Texas Hawking Association is a hunting club,” Irlbeck says. “We are hunters, first and foremost. Basically, we just swap our guns for falcons and hawks. We employ all the same techniques. We follow all the same rules and guidelines.” He says a lack of hunting experience is usually a red flag for someone who wants to become a falconer, worried they’re just fix- ated on legally owning a bird of prey. “It’s getting to have blood meals,” Melody says. “I don’t shy away from that. I think that’s an important aspect because I don’t ever want people to get into falconry think- ing, ‘I get to have a pet bird of prey.’ No, you get to hunt with a bird of prey. And that is an important distinction.” Beyond the usual ethical dilemmas asso- ciated with hunting and generally keeping animals in captivity, modern falconers do their best to keep their lifestyle as ethical as possible, highlighting that raptors are natu- ral-born killers. “It’s really just cruel for a bird to sit there and not be able to fly, to not be able to hunt. It’s just, in my opinion, cruel,” Melody says. Irlbeck says he has never had issues with members mistreating their birds, in large part because of the dedication it takes to be- come a falconer and the constant supervi- sion from sponsors. Concerns have been raised about the long-term effects of capturing wild birds and then releasing specially trained raptors back into the wild. But realistically, there are millions of raptors, and even more millions of ducks and pheasants. There are fewer than 5,000 falconers in the country, and they have limited hunting bag sizes. They’re le- gally allowed to take home half as many ducks as rifle hunters can; three per day, if they can catch them. In the past, falconers did not prepare their birds for release. Instead, they eutha- nized them or kept them as pets until the end of their lives. This isn’t the status quo anymore, but there are rare instances of un- releasable birds, and captive-bred birds can- not be released into the wild, per state law. Cheryl Circo is the raptor ambassador manager at the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center, a federally and state-licensed reha- bilitation center. She considers herself as close to a falconer as you can possibly get, training and flying the birds, but she doesn’t hunt with them. The raptor rehabilitation center, which treats roughly 600 birds a year, has a stable- like collection of enclosures for birds that cannot be released for various reasons. One of them, Genesis, is a 16-year-old peregrine falcon who was surrendered to the center after her aging falconer could no longer pro- vide proper care. Genesis was captive-bred and cannot live in the wild. Circo is a firm supporter of falconry when it’s done right. “Falconry is great,” she says. “They take in that young juvenile bird, and they give them the chance to keep hunting and feed them if [the birds] are not able to. Then send out a fully grown adult back into the wild, one who can hunt and start a family. It’s a great sport.” Wild Things in Wild Places T he vision of a beautiful bird, cutting through the air with a wonderful caw before landing on the outstretched arm of its owner, is straight from a medieval-set movie. But the reality of modern raptor ownership is much more involved. Birds of prey are not pets; they’re athletes, or, as the case may be, weapons. Irlbeck, who would be happy to watch the sport grow, calls them wild animals. “We do wild things in wild places,” he says. For falconers, the sacrifices, the time, the scars from thick talons ripping through thick cow-hide gloves, are all worth it for just a few moments of mid-air magic in the wild. “I want to keep my bird as close to wild conditions as possible because that’s when you see the most amazing stuff you’ve ever seen,” Irlbeck says. “We don’t make these birds slaves.” Culture from p8 Mike Brooks Circo holds a black vulture at the rehab.
