Peregrine stoopingPeregrine falcon photographed by Jim Zipp. ©  Since childhood, I have admired the prowess of the peregrine falcon, Falco *peregrinus (*Latin 'wanderer'). The first time I witnessed a peregrine kill—from my vantage point on the banks of the Macintyre River behind Inverell's town library—I was simply awestruck: speed, audacity, strength, acuity and elan. It was a signature strike, the falcon stooping (diving) from altitude at withering speed to close the gap before thrusting talons forward to snatch its prey and then delivering the coup-de-grâce midflight—a dislocating bite to the feral pigeon's neck vertebrae with the falcon's characteristically toothed beak. "Wow!, one less pigeon shitting on the courthouse."
In my eyes, the peregrine is the Porsche 911 Turbo of the bird world—a classic and the most impressive and iconic bird on the planet. Little wonder that I have adopted it as my totem and featured it in logos for my photography (the art of seeing).
The peregrine is a cosmopolitan species found on every continent except Antarctica. The female, called the falcon, is larger and stronger than the male, called the tiercel. It's the archetypal raptor of traditional falconry (practised since 2000 BC), a species so revered that only noblemen were permitted to own one and fly it from the hand to hunt gamebirds. It's the fastest moving animal on the planet, capable of more than 350kph in a gravity-assisted stoop. Watch this National Geographic video and be impressed! If you're a bird and a peregrine locks you in its sights from above, feathers will fly.
Peregrine in pursuitPhotograph by Will Sooter. © 
Peregrine in pursuit used with permission of the photographer, Will Sooter USA ()
As a boy, I read books on falconry and fantasized about owning a peregrine and hunting with it.
I also read books by the famous big game hunter-turned-conservationist, Jim Corbett. In this enlightened age, some might be shocked that an avowed nature lover like me, with an honours degree in zoology, could be so fascinated by hunting and predation. Quite simply, I cannot deny my human roots, my human condition as a descendant of hunters and gatherers. It's innate, even for a civilised person, to be a hunter. My animal protein food is mostly harvested by other humans, whether by net, hook, blade or bullet.
Yes, I experience a thrill when I see a predator like the peregrine falcon doing what it was designed to do. These days I still love to hunt, with a camera or a fishing rod. Hunting is an honest, legitimate human activity when practised with humane respect for the quarry and the environment.
The smartest peregrine I ever witnessed
It was the NRL grand final day in 1984. Instead of watching the game on TV, I preferred to be out hunting with a fishing rod and a few home-made lures in a tinny at Lake Copeton. A transistor radio kept me up to date with the footy score while I was fixed on Murray cod and golden perch, drifting in the vicinity of a collection of granite boulders; an island exposed by the falling level of the irrigation impoundment.
From its vantage point atop the masthead of a black cypress pine skeleton, the female falcon scanned 360 degrees, not alarmed by the presence of a man on the water near its islet refuge. Its sharp eyes followed the repeated arcs of a small object flung from a stick the man wielded, and the rippling rings generated when the object landed on the water and dived below.
At a range of perhaps 1,000 metres, the falcon detected the forms of a pair of grey teal approaching from the east, flying over open water on a bearing westward that would bring them to within 100 metres south of the islet at an altitude of 30 metres. The falcon dropped silently from its perch on a faking course northward, its shadow passing over the man as he released a five kilo Murray cod. He looked up to follow the bird's progress with his eyes shielded from the high sun by a downturned palm.
The man was spellbound at the spectacle of the falcon's tactic and speed. He watched the wing-blurred shape of the falcon beating 20 metres above the lake in the ducks' blind spot. Within seconds they were within reach. The falcon swooped up and raked the trailing duck with talons in a passing strike that failed to grip. Feathers flew from the injured duck and it plummeted to the water with wings folded.
The falcon circled and swooped to intimidate the duck but it would not or could not take to the wing again. Thwarted, the falcon returned to its perch—aware that it was not designed to pluck such heavy prey from the water—and waited.
"Wow...bad luck," said the man, "but what a crafty hunter you are! Awesome."
"Whirrrr...splash". The man cast his lure into the shade of a granite boulder, clicked the reel into gear, and began the retrieve, feeling the throb of the lure through the line and rod tip.
A Murray cod left the cover of an overhanging boulder and closed on the source of vibrations beating towards the man in the boat.
that about sums you up.