Donors

Minnesota Falconers Association

Robert A. Widmeier 1923 -1979

An old friend of American falconry is gone — Bob

Widmeier. At least in part we all owe Bob a

“Thank You.” He was one of the older falconers

here in the U.S.A., one of us that struggled to

learn falconry from books, because there was no

one to observe rst hand. And believe me that’s

the hard way. Many of the old books may have

been written by master falconers, but few, if any,

could express themselves well. It took a lot of

trial and error to work things out.

Can you imagine as a young falconer being able

to visit Mohamed Din’s hawk market and take

your pick from rows of hawks and falcons! Bob

did just that. He was lucky enough to be sta-

tioned in India during part of World War II. And to

put the frosting on the cake he was assigned to

public relations, so he chose to relate by ying

hawks and falcons with the Maharajahs.

Erich, Tom and I used to listen eagerly to his

tales; he may have thrown in a little B.S., but who

hasn’t? Here’s a small sample: “Saheeb, your

shaheen is on the temple tower.” Bob says, “I’m

nished with the hawk, you can have it.” Later

the Indian returns with Bob’s jesses and bells.

The Indian, only a casual acquaintance, had

trapped the falcon, taken the hardware off and

released it. This story suggests to me how life

was in India before over-population made many

people stoop to devious means to survive.

As far as I know, Bob was the rst American to

perfect the Dutch method of trapping falcons.

I can remember very vividly when Erich and I

stopped by Bob’s house on the way back from

hawking in Canada and there were three nice

passage peregrines in his backyard. One was

very dark and red. I have never seen a prettier

falcon.

Then there was the time we were all in

Saskatchewan hawking (Tom Ennenga, Erich

Awender, Bob and myself). Those were good

days — lots of Chinese re drills, but our few

successes made it all worthwhile. After a hard

day of hunting Erich and I would hit the sack, but

not Tom and Bob! They were off to the local pub.

After one of those nightly outings, they returned

to wake me up and say that my favorite falcon

had been stolen. I ran downstairs and there in

the station wagon was a turkey. It turns out that

Bob had won it in a rafe!

This wouldn’t be complete without mentioning

Bob’s work. He was an artist and a good one.

Many falconers have his paintings to prove it. I

have one, of my Peale’s tiercel knocking down

a sharp-tail. Bob was in Saskatchewan with us

when the kill was made.

In his later years he had given up falconry and

had become a student of the Old West. For many

years now, most of his art work has depicted au-

thentic old Western scenes as Bob thought they

might have happened.

He died quickly of a heart attack, you and I

should be so lucky!

— Dan Cover

As one of three survivors of our foursome

(Widmeier, Ennenga, Cover and Awender) I feel

this is the right place to say “Good Bye” to one

of my best friends. To me, Bob was rst and

foremost a falconer. He was a very gifted art-

ist, indeed, but I think that many of his very best

paintings only conrm his love and fascination

with falconry. He was a complete falconer, too;

he made his own falconry furniture to perfection,

and carried on the tradition of hood making from

the old French master, Ondet. He trapped Dutch-

style or beach-style. He trained his own birds

and hunted them; he painted them and spoiled

them with kindness; he did the same with his

dogs and horses. He walked tall among people

and seemed to be reserved in his manners,

but those who knew him around campres and

blinds never ceased to enjoy his company and

hospitality. He was generous to a fault; my rst

hawk in this country came from Bob, a marvel-

lous male Goshawk. In his search for happiness

he travelled wide and far, and was married four

times. His son, Kent, presented him with a grand-

daughter last year. I have seldom seen Bob more

cheerful and pleased than when he came back

from a shopping trip loaded with presents for little

Janelle.

He was born in Minnesota and died in New

Mexico. I know he loved the North country, and I

believe that had he lived a little longer, he would

have returned. He used to say it is a hard coun-

try and a hard life up North, but he was a hardy

man, and he could take it. He is buried at the

Fort Snelling National Cemetery. I’ll miss you

Bob, Happy Hawking in the Wild Blue Yonder,

and as we used to say to each other at the end

of our hawking trips “A la Vol.”

— Erich Awender

He was a romanticist who could thrill to the dash-

ing ight of a falcon or the unruly power of a wild

horse. And, as an artist, he could depict these

on canvas. Bob loved the mystery and romance

of the primitive world the way God made it, even

the smell of it. And he could impart this through

paint on canvas.

Bob was an excellent falconer, a student of the

art. He ew many good ones. He was always a

free spirit, perhaps “manned” but never tamed by

our structured society. He always found a place

for himself where he could y in his own way.

Now he’s departed on that last great ight and

our world is poorer for it.

And so, friend Bob, until we meet again — “A la

Vol.”

— Thomas Ennenga

NAFA Journal, 1978

Bob with passage female Coopers

Bob with North African Barbary

falcons (male left, female right)

at Falkenhof Farm. Photo by

Clee Sealing. July 1965.

Widmeier, Snitzel and stud hoss!

On the “Lazy W Ranch”