People said I was mad to start such an impossible project as on Grey Falcons. No use denying the madness. Impossible!, oh no, by no means, far from it. It's more that progress in such a project comes in small steps – very, very small steps, one at a time, and a lot of time in between steps, sometimes years.

The lucky day when I captured a Grey Falcon was the culmination of five years of endeavour in the project, or five years of failures you might say. Same thing. Six days prior to that lucky day I had arrived at the site. Since 2003 that site was known to me as the regular roost of a pair of Grey Falcons. This year, 2009, I was back.

Day 1. Early morning. All was quiet. Eventually I became aware of a single adult Grey Falcon, a female by size, dozing on what turned out to be her favourite perch. My first catching attempt: - a classic Bal-Chatri with a dead Budgerigar inside. Not the ideal set-up, but the Budgie was suspended on fine thread from the ceiling of the Bal-Chatri cage and moved by the wind. On that day the wind was just perfect. Budgies are a favourite prey of Grey Falcons. The female didn't even acknowledge its presence. At 8:30 am, a Hobby flew low over my low-cost pet, one brief glance was all it earned. At 9 am, 'my' female flew off, to not return before 5 pm. 9 to 5, makes sense. Plenty of time for me to come up with a different trick: the Budgie dangling in the wind underneath a mist-net, 6 x 2.6 m, 100 mm mesh, 210 denier, a modified Dho Ghazi. 

A light breeze, temperature below 30˚C, simply perfect. Same reaction as in the morning. Must be beer-o-clock.

Day 2. The Bal-Chatri with a stuffed Crested Pigeon (thanks to Helen Macarthur), plus mist-net behind it, i.e. down-wind of the Bal-Chatri. Sit and wait. A flock of Cockatiel flew past, their calling made the female turn her head. Well, if she reacts to calls, I was prepared for that. However, by the time I had set up the speakers etc. it was 9 am and she was off. Maybe I would have more luck that afternoon. No. She worked overtime at the office today. It was almost dark when she settled on her favourite perch with a full crop and blood on the tip of the bill.

Day 3. Mist-net with a dangling Ringneck, playback of excited Yellow-throated Miners that I had recorded the evening before (using a mounted Barking Owl to get the miners going). The female turned her head, looked in the right direction but into the very far distance. Soon it was 9 am. What next? Wind. The afternoon saw me picking leaves, twigs, prickles and debris from the net that had blown over. The Ringneck had lost its head, again.

Day 4. Dust-storm, and 42˚C. Sydney airport closed. So what? Grey Falcon catching on hold.

I finished reading Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. I didn't like it; it's the title I guess. No beer-o-clock tonight, the fridge had flattened one of the two vehicle batteries last night.

Day 5. Clouds. The station manager had warned me “10 mls (of rain) and you bog a duck.” “Then”, I said, “I would simply stay put for a couple of days”. He laughed: “You would be there for weeks. We'll fly you out”. Luck for once was on my side as the rain held off.

Catching time again. My latest idea - that female would be looking for a mate. So I got out a plastic Grey Falcon. Well, when I bought it it was a Peregrine, advertised as garden ornament. Weird. I had re-painted it to be an adult Grey Falcon, what else. That decoy, plus play-back of Grey Falcon calls that I had recorded a couple of years ago in Queensland, and with no wind. Plus two mist-nets, in a dog-leg around the decoy. Down she came, low and slow, almost touching the plastic companion. Only the length of the speaker cable away from me, standing there in full view. Incredibly she managed to pull up just in front of the net, turned around, came back from the other side, up and over the net. Saw the net, learned the trick. Any ideas?

In the afternoon it was above 35˚C. Of all the conditions of the two dozen permits for the project, that's a sensible one - no catching when the temperature reaches 35˚C. The last book I had with me is by Dostoevsky, The Idiot. I feel better.

Day 6. The weather was cooperative again, a light breeze, high twenties, hardly any flies. Alas I had run out of ideas. Live bait sure would work, I have no doubt, but animal ethics committees consider 'birding' to be essentially different from 'fishing'. Even driving around in that sort of temperature with a cage full of budgies in the back of the car would be hazardous.

Then I saw her, flying low right towards me, prey in her talons. Without knowing what I did and why, I jumped up and ran after her. She dropped the prey, a Peaceful Dove. Very peaceful it was indeed, but complete with head and wings and tail, only a little blood on the neck. I picked it up, ran back to the car. Out came the cage trap with the flap door, in with the dove, door release mechanism activated. Soon the falcon returned to her prey, landed near the trap, walked around, in she went. Door closing. Got her!!. I ran, but just before I reached the trap she had forced herself through a tiny gap, breaking a joint in the metal mesh of the door. Gone. It doesn't help to repeat my comment.

I took the dove out, ready to declare defeat. Then another brilliant idea. The top of the trap was fitted with nooses, the result of an early lesson I had to learn years ago in Broome. On that occasion I had tried to catch a Great Bowerbird. I had pinched an item from its bower and had put it inside the trap, door open. The bowerbird however didn't go into the trap but jumped onto the roof, causing the door to shut and the Bowerbird to fly away. It was then that I came up with the nooses on the top of the trap.

Back to the female Grey Falcon. I tied the dove onto the top of the trap. Down she came, onto the trap, feeding. My breathing stopped. Only after she had finished eating did she and I realize that she was caught by one toe in one noose. 

The rest was a piece of cake.