While exploring the edge of the highest forested plateau in North America—in Utah, by the way—I had paused to capture a scenic photo when I noticed some just-born wild turkeys scurrying under some brush. There appeared to be about nine or ten chicks. Camera in hand, I followed closely, hoping to capture photos of these minuscule turkeylings, only to be cut off by their mama.

Certainly fearing for her own safety, she ignored her own well-being and rushed straight at me, stopping within four feet of my feet. She proceeded to scold me with a gobbling description of what she would do to me if I took one more step in the direction of her children. That day, I was reminded of the risks a mother is willing to take to protect her young.

In February, the migrating bald eagles from Alaska and Canada are at their highest numbers in Utah. I’ve found a couple of large trees where the eagles like to congregate, and sometimes I’ll spot mamas and their children together. Bald eagles don’t obtain their white head and tail feathers until they are approximately five years old. In the neighboring photo, it looks as if Junior is going to be as big as his mama. Also shown is a photo of a Great Horned Owl family.

Last spring, while walking through a marshy area in central Utah, I came across a young Swainson’s Hawk that had seemingly fallen from its nest. There was no nest or adult hawks in sight. Concerned that this youngling would become fox food, I spent a couple of hours with the bird, talking to it gently, and made a phone call to a wildlife specialist to see what could be done. The specialist seemed overwhelmed with other similar situations, so we found a place to release the youngster. After gathering its bearings, it managed to spread its wings and flit awkwardly to a low branch on a nearby tree.

Shortly afterward, I saw what appeared to be Mom and Dad arrive on the scene, and I thought to myself that there was hope for survival. The rest of the summer, I frequently saw Mom, Dad, and this hawklet together, and each time they allowed me to come much closer than normal.

I was back out in this same area this spring when I again spotted a Swainson’s Hawk on the top branches of a twenty-foot tree. It began to squawk a bit, as if it were talking to me, and as I approached, I had the distinct impression that this was either the fledgling or one of its parents. For about forty yards of my approach, I asked out loud if it remembered me. The sound of my voice seemed to keep it in place.

Finally, it launched directly at me and then veered away, vocally expressing itself loudly as it bent to the east and soared to another not-too-distant tree.

Could it be that it was saying, “I remember”?