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By Chris Lord
Where else in the world do shoppers carry a falcon around the mall? Chris Lord finds out more about the desert’s oldest sport.
‘When the Bedouin would trap a wild falcon, the first thing they’d do is wrestle it to the ground, wrap it in cotton towelling so it couldn’t go anywhere and then stitch the bird’s eyelids closed.’ As Peter Bergh tells me this, he hands me a stiff leather gauntlet. On it stands Mojo. He’s about shin height and panting. This bird has windblown eyes that – if I wanted to get wistful – have a semi-wild, semi-anxious look about them. Genuine desert eyes, you could say. But there’s no time for that sort of talk.
‘They would stay with that bird for 24 hours a day, seven days a week until the stitches eased open,’ Bergh continues. ‘Slowly they’d get used to seeing the falconer and wouldn’t feel distressed. Eighty per cent of a falcon’s bodily sense is sight, once they associate safety and feeding with darkness, the falconer can use a hood to relax the bird.’
Peter Bergh knows falcons. An expat who got acquainted with hunting-birds on the sugarcane farms of his native South Africa, he started out on tourist desert safaris, incorporating falconry demonstrations to offset the usual carnival of shisha and belly dancers that struggle for a semblance of authenticity on these trips.
Then he became the birdman of the Burj Al Arab. Hired to ward off pigeons from the grand hotel, Bergh was expected to raise, train and prepare an elite team of falcons that could keep away any birds who’d dare to come within a certain range of the hotel. After that he went solo – taking groups of tourists deep into the UAE’s back and beyond with a stack of carpets and a van full of birds, offering demonstrations in the rapidly changing desert landscape.
Bergh has now spent months crafting a sizeable stretch of sand in the emerging Al Sahra Desert Resort, just off Al Ain Road, into his vision of a falconry camp. We meet up with him in this patch of almost untouched desert, which could have been plucked straight from the Empty Quarter. Just a few kilometres over the dunes is Tiger Woods’ golf course and the fringe of Dubailand, yet this section of ‘real desert’ will remain, the falconer determines, closer to his vision of authenticity.
On our way into the tented camp – all of which has been built from scratch – we pass the fort-like chalets and temporary cabins of the expanding hotel resort along with a huge camel enclosure. ‘My idea is to get people on to camels and lead them out to the camp that way,’ he explains. Only a few dunes away, Jumana Secret Of The Desert blasts fireworks into the sky nightly, but Bergh’s vision is a more rustic idea of what makes up a desert experience, even if some of the tents in his enclosure come with thoroughly modern air-con.
As I stand with Mojo on arm, Bergh explains the continued relevance of falconry in the UAE. ‘The Bedouin used falcons as a way of life. With little or no access to guns, this was really one of the few ways to catch game in this environment. It was the perfect hunting ground,’ he notes, ‘just vast open space.’ Despite the end of legal hunting with birds (the decline and near demise of the prized houbara bustard has put an end to that), a fundamental love of a feathered companion has never abated within the local community. Even now, it’s not out of the question to see an Emirati family wander through Madinat Jumeirah with a priceless peregrine in tow, or a business meeting being presided over by a regally hooded falcon. Bergh himself tells me that there are more hospitals for falcons than humans in the UAE. ‘It was such a way of life to them,’ he shrugs.
Mojo (an African Black Shaheen hybrid) flaps disconcertingly. She stares at me with analysing eyes. We’re so used to dealing with animals that have sight as a secondary sense that to be assessed intently by this fierce, staunch gaze is an unsettling experience. But, as Peter shows, relax with the birds and they relax, feel conscious of them and it becomes harder. After a while, I forget she’s on there and we happily wander around Bergh’s camp. I could get used to this, except for her sharp-looking talons which edge ever closer to my exposed arm. Bergh reaches in and tilts my arm slightly. Naturally, Mojo shimmies back up my wrist.
‘The point of the camp is to try and spread some education in a fun way’ he says. ‘I don’t pretend to be the best falconer, but I have some knowledge to pass on.’ Indeed, Bergh has also picked up a ranger’s knowledge of the flora and fauna of the desert, and names every insect and parched plant as we walk. ‘Many falcons are kept like a dog or cat in the city’ he bemoans. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’ Many of those birds don’t get the right amount of exercise and are sometimes overfed. But birds can, he explains, be successfully domesticated. ‘I’ve ‘imprinted’ one of my birds, which means the bird comes to see you as a parent. These sorts of birds are very approachable and good for demonstrations but at the same time they’re noisy and can become lazy – it’s like spoilt children,’ he laughs. The whole process of training a bird relies on keeping them disciplined by hunger. ‘When they’re completely well fed, they won’t listen to me. They’re very independent so you’ve got to condition them for food to keep them interested.’
It’s fascinating listening to Bergh talk, but what of the camp he’s building? What’s the attraction for the casual visitor of watching a demonstration like this? ‘When you see one of these birds dive, it’s an incredible sight,’ he replies simply. Using a kite lure, Bergh can tease his birds to a great height before bringing the kite swooping down and the bird along with it in the traditional hunting pose. It’s the closest you’ll get to watching the full drama of a falcon hunting.
We head back through the outskirts of the camp, past two equally intense desert owls, and into an air-conditioned cabin. Faced by two lines of birds with piercing eyes, who fluff themselves up at the sight of a stranger, we’re told it’s necessary to keep the birds in air conditioning during the summer. ‘There are no natural Arabian falcons,’ he explains. ‘The Bedouin would catch the birds on their migratory path at the start of winter. They’d train them, use them to hunt for a season and then set them free again for their migration as summer approached. Now we have to keep them in here to protect them during the heat.’
Bergh is not a bird conservationist in the typical sense. His role is more to continue a tradition. But it doesn’t matter how distant from UAE deserts that tradition has travelled. In the same way that falconers form a relationship with an independent, fleeting animal, to bring the birds back into this landscape is to re-enact something of an equally fleeting past. To see these birds in this environment is to understand that little bit more about the desert, as it once was.
Fancy a flutter?
Peter Bergh runs morning lessons in falconry from his Shaheen Xtreme camp in Al Sahra Desert Resort. Pick-up is at sunrise from wherever you are in Dubai. An intensive hands-on lesson, which gives you all the basic knowledge about the art of falconry, and follow-up lessons and advice are available if you are considering buying a bird. The cost is Dhs1,000 per person, two people max per lesson. Breakfast and refreshments are included.
Group sessions are held in the afternoon with an introduction to birds and the art of falconry along with full barbecue and refreshments from their licensed bar. Pick-up is at 2pm from anywhere in Dubai.
Dhs750 per person for afternoon session with food, Dhs500 without. Ten per cent discount on tickets to Jumana, Secret Of The Desert included in afternoon packages. Call 050 8745725 or see www.shaheenxtreme.com.
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