The Fleet-Winged Ghosts of Greenland

Article body copy On a brisk August morning in Tasermiut Fjord, southern Greenland, I poke my head from the hatch of my family’s 13-meter sailboat to find frost on the deck and a cloudless sky. It’s weather that demands exploring. After my husband and I haul our eight- and 10-year-old sons from bed and row the dinghy to the beach, we begin our trek up Klosterdalen, also known as Monastery Valley, where lichen-covered stone ruins of Viking-era structures rest among a jumble of talus. Sacrificing dry feet to a tapestry of muddy sloughs and clear pools, we watch Arctic char flash their gunmetal backs while water beetles skim the surfaces. As we hike, I mark our route by the birds we see: rock ptarmigan sitting sentry on the tundra; snow buntings flashing distinctive white wing patches; flocks of redpolls thick with downy-headed juveniles. It’s the season of abundance in the North, the pregnant pause before autumn edges toward winter. The author and her eight-year-old son lock arms to cross a creek in Tasermiut Fjord, Greenland. Photo by Patrick Farrell After lunch, my older son points out two mallard ducklings pressed against the shore, all but disappearing into the overhanging mud bank. A moment later, another bird swoops overhead, its shadow passing so close I can almost touch it with my outstretched hiking pole. “Look!” my younger son whisper-shouts. “It’s a peregrine!” For a split second, beating wings blot out the sun. And there it is: a Greenlandic peregrine falcon, a bird I’d sailed thousands of ocean kilometers to find. Against the crisp sky and crimson-tinged heather, lit by the low-angle afternoon light, the falcon’s sleek silhouette glows. Topping out at speeds of more than 320 kilometers an hour, peregrine falcons are the fastest species on the planet. Photo by Knud Falk Unlike many of my other ventures as a field biologist searching for birds in far-flung locations, this isn’t a scientific assignment. Over the previous year, I’ve been sailing with my family from the Mediterranean to the Arctic, slowly connecting the dots between Greece and Greenland. Somewhere along the way, sparked by a passing comment from a colleague, I’d learned about a population of peregrines that call Greenland home. My initial curiosity soon evolved into a minor obsession, revealing as it did a tale of recovery, resilience, and change that transcends this small polar population. Peregrine falcons hold near-mythical appeal in our collective imagination, and for good reason. Topping out at speeds of more than 320 kilometers an hour, they’re the fastest species on Earth, plummeting from the sky like amber-eyed missiles. They hit their prey at such staggeringly high velocities that they’ve prompted studies on the physics of momentum and the aerodynamics of flight. Their nest sites, or aeries—selected for their inaccessibility to predators and view of the world below—often require biologists to include technical climbing gear as part of their standard kit. As falconr