Feathers and Ice: The Gyrfalcon Road

A few months ago, a subtle Russian diplomatic maneuver was documented in detail: President Vladimir Putin presented a large, white-feathered falcon to the King of Saudi Arabia. If the sight of a Russian monarch gifting a white bird to an Islamic ruler strikes you as nothing more than a quaint curiosity, you haven't been paying enough attention in your Eurasian history classes.

Vladimir Putin continues the tradition of falcon diplomacy, October 2019.

The Gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolus) is a magnificent raptor whose population spans northern Eurasia and North America. It nests in the rocky cliffs of the Arctic Circle, between the tundra and the ice floes.

As the largest of its genus, the Gyrfalcon is an opportunistic predator with virtually no natural enemies; it has even been known to attack bears that venture too close to its chicks. Yet, to the misfortune of this striking bird, its fame was not earned through its graceful flight or the audacity of its attacks on snow lemmings, but through its travels to the ends of the earth in the service of man. It remains one of the most expensive and least understood travelers on the ancient trade routes.

Falconry is an ancient pursuit. While it is unclear exactly when or where humans first launched a bird of prey toward the sky and secured its return, sources point to Babylonian Mesopotamia, if not earlier. From there, the practice likely spread to the Persian courts. Although falconry was never as popular among the Iranian nobility as other forms of hunting, their Arab heirs became devoted enthusiasts, doing more than perhaps anyone else to institutionalize the science of falconry across the Middle East.

Despite the complex, multi-layered history of its adoption, falconry’s immense appeal may stem from more than just the utility of a swift-taloned companion. It touches the roots of the human desire for the high, the fast, and the sublime—the possibility of reaching a world beyond our own.

“Rare falcon, peace be with you! How long will you remain so fiercely jealous of your freedom? Love is your lure, and since your leg is tethered, submit, before you find eternal satisfaction.”

(Farid al-Din Attar, “The Conference of the Birds,” 12th century)

Whether earthly or celestial, the doctrine of falconry spread from Iran and Central Asia to China. By the fifth century CE, it had planted a taloned foot on European soil, a move later reinforced by the Crusades and the eastern winds that blew in their wake. While the art of falconry served since time immemorial as an efficient way to secure a meal, nowhere did the practice receive the adoration it enjoyed in the elite courts of the Islamic world, China, and the Steppe.

We derive a wealth of information from the extensive literature left behind by our predecessors. The Persians, Arabs, and Mamluk Turks deserve special mention for the rich manuscripts they bequeathed to us. These works detail not only raptor medicine (camel urine ointment and aged vinegar for skin infections? Yes!), but also invaluable information regarding the temperament and training of various birds. While identifying specific species prized by medieval falconers can be difficult, we know the most common were the Peregrine, the Saker, the Merlin, and—as is still the custom among the Kyrgyz and Kazakhs—the Golden Eagle.

Falcon merchant, Northeast China, early 20th century.

However, no eagle or hawk ever achieved the prestige and burning desire accorded to the Gyrfalcon. As the largest of its kind, the female—larger than the male, as is common among raptors—can reach a length of 65 cm with a wingspan of up to a meter and a half.

The Gyrfalcon's massive dimensions and pure color (which ranges from dark to silver-light to white) made it the most coveted of birds. Sultans, emirs, and khans from East to West were willing to pay its weight in gold for the privilege of keeping one in their royal menageries and hunting camps at the desert's edge.

Hunting with Gyrfalcons appears to have begun among the people of the northern steppe. The Khitans, a nomadic people from what is now Mongolia, established trade with the Siberian taiga for a steady supply of white falcons. Their passion for the bird, and their reverence for the auspicious color white, was inherited by their Mongol descendants. The Mongols even established a specialized transport system with 24 stations equipped with fresh horses and fodder to ensure the safe arrival of falcons from the northern border to the capitals of the Great Khan in Karakorum and Khanbaliq—the predecessor of Beijing.

Even if reports of a Great Khan possessing 150,000 falcons are exaggerated, Marco Polo’s account of Kublai Khan holding five hundred sounds entirely plausible. Another traveler describes a Khan roaming the northern preserves in a chariot drawn by four elephants, upon which stood perches for a dozen Gyrfalcons. His Highness would launch them at any pheasant or partridge unlucky enough to cross the path of this high-bling procession.

The white falcon network was not limited to the north-south axis of China. The Mongols of China sent Gyrfalcons to their relatives in Iran and Central Asia, who in turn gifted them to other monarchs or received supplies from Western kings who gathered them in Scandinavia. The northwestern route was no less active. Once these expensive birds reached the Mediterranean or the Crimea, they were collected by shrewd Venetian and Genoese merchants and shipped to Cairo, where they fetched a price equivalent to a high-quality horse. Per unit.

Kublai Khan hunting with a Gyrfalcon (a cheetah or another cat is depicted inaccurately behind one of the saddles), Yuan Dynasty.

The Bahri Mamluks—Turkish slave-soldiers from the Kipchak Steppe—inherited a fierce love for falconry from their Arab masters and their own steppe culture. They brought the art to its historical peak. So great was the Mamluk passion for white falcons that Sultan ibn Qalawun once purchased 419 Gyrfalcons from a Venetian merchant for the staggering sum of 300,000 dirhams.

Royal affection for northern falcons did not stem only from their beauty. The bird's sensitivity to transport, its strict nutritional needs, and the massive cost of importing it meant the Gyrfalcon was the Ferrari or private jet of its time. It was a premier status symbol for an Emperor or Tsar. Unlike other birds, it was rare for anyone of modest rank or wealth to acquire one.

The expansion of the Russian Empire eventually brought the vast majority of the Gyrfalcon's habitat under the control of the Tsars. Beyond gaining an empire, this meant direct control over a political resource that was as much diplomatic as it was economic.

During the early Romanov period, the Gyrfalcon trade was a tight government monopoly; transport or export without permission carried heavy punishments. Diplomatic missions to the Mughal, Ming, Ottoman, and Safavid courts often included white falcons as a lubricant for economic interests. If this sounds familiar, we can return to Putin and the falcon diplomacy he employed last October.

Breeding falcons is today a massive, wealthy business, largely hidden from view due to the nature of its clientele. While legitimate farms in the UK, Spain, and the US export thousands of birds annually, tens of thousands more are smuggled into the Gulf States from Central Asia, China, and Mongolia. These birds are mostly poached from the wild, and many do not survive the stress of captivity or the heat of their new homes.

Gyrfalcon attacking a swan, Chinese painting, Ming Dynasty.

Recently, Russia announced a new breeding facility in Kamchatka, a region famous for a white morph of the falcon highly sought after in the Gulf. Russia’s long border and systemic corruption make it a primary source for the illegal market. While the population is currently sustainable, hunting and the depletion of prey have taken a toll over the last two centuries. While the Kamchatka facility is ostensibly positive, conservationists fear that poor genetic management and structural corruption may ultimately harm the wild population.

The story of the white falcon is a feathered tale of diplomacy, greed, and ostentation—an early, bloody trade in wildlife across vastly different ecological zones.

Yet it is also an expression of a beautiful human phenomenon: a fascinating bond between bird and man. This connection created a global network and a rich, multi-generational literature, connecting Arctic shores to Central Asian deserts, and earthly desires to a sincere love for the sublime—a love that touches the height of the heavens, like the flight of a bird.