The ancient practice of falconry remains a living, breathing tradition across the American West, far removed from the sanitized experience of the modern supermarket.
In a recent feature for Deseret Magazine titled “Into thin air,” photographer Stefan Wachs documents a small, dedicated community of falconers in New Mexico whose lives are inextricably linked to the raptors they train and the landscapes they inhabit.
For these practitioners, falconry is a demanding discipline requiring an intimate understanding of biology and ecology. Wachs observed that the falconer is often “more at the mercy of the raptor” than the other way around. This relationship is defined by a precarious balance; the birds must be kept at exactly the right weight, yet they retain the autonomy to fly away at any moment, never to return.
The falconers documented by Wachs are frequently biologists or conservationists who possess a deep, practical knowledge of their local environment. To successfully fly a bird, they must know where the quail gather and where ducks and teal pass, tracking terrain increasingly altered by drought, pesticides, and development. These environmental pressures make hunting more difficult for the predators, and most hunts end with nothing.
This reality stands in stark contrast to how most Americans interact with their food. As noted in the Deseret Magazine report, modern society is largely shielded from the mechanics of predator and prey.
By engaging in this ancient craft, practitioners are forced to confront the visceral nature of the food chain. As Wachs captures through his lens, the practice is a reminder that “blood is part of our story, as is death.”
The photographs provide a glimpse into a world that feels both timeless and fragile. Wachs’ work features images such as a peregrine in mid-flap against a dusk sky and an old falconer’s face bent toward his bird. These images show the endurance of a practice that stays relevant for those who seek a direct connection to the natural world.
The community is not limited to long-time experts; the photos also highlight the intergenerational nature of the craft. One image depicts a young falconry apprentice named Thomas at a falconer’s meet in Lubbock, Texas, suggesting that the tradition continues to find new participants willing to undertake the rigorous training required.
The birds themselves—often supported by the use of pigeons for training and trapping—remain the focal point of a life lived in partnership with the wild.

While the aesthetic beauty of the hunt is clear, the practical stakes for the raptors and their keepers are high. Nature is inherently unforgiving, and the act of falconry brings participants into direct contact with that volatility. The visibility of these birds in the open plains of New Mexico serves as an indicator of environmental health.
Despite the challenges posed by a changing climate and shifting land use, the community persists. The bond between the falconer and the raptor remains a unique intersection of human history and wild instinct, demanding patience, skill, and an acceptance of the inherent unpredictability of the natural world.
As the November 2026 issue of Deseret Magazine highlights, the craft continues to teach its practitioners the most fundamental lesson of all: how to watch.