In his acclaimed 1967 book, The Peregrine, thought by many to be a classic of modern nature writing, British author John Baker distilled a decade’s worth of observing peregrine falcons into a diary-styled account spanning a single winter. The period during which he observed the birds happened to be the most critical time for the survival of the species worldwide, including here in Atlantic Canada. The species came very close to extinction, largely because of the effect of severe eggshell thinning caused by organochloride insecticides like DDT. The fastest animal on Earth, capable of almost 300 kilometres an hour in a dive, was at risk of vanishing forever.

The peregrine completely disappeared as a breeding species in our region for nearly 40 years. Fortunately, DDT use was banned in the 1970s, largely owing to Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s ground-breaking book on the dangers of pesticides in the environment, published in 1962. In 1982 an intensive multiyear re-introduction program began at various sites along the Bay of Fundy coast. An unqualified success, the effort resulted in breeding peregrines returning first to New Brunswick in 1989 and to Nova Scotia in 1995.

Today, the species has rebounded to healthy numbers in North America, and the Bay of Fundy is now an eastern stronghold of the iconic aerial hunter. Perhaps 20 or more nesting sites exist around the Fundy, on both sides of the bay. The population is quite strong, possibly equalling or even exceeding historic breeding numbers. There’s even a perennially active nest located on the Assumption Place high-rise in downtown Moncton.

I first noticed the peregrines at Gulliver’s Cove, N.S., while hiking a short trail to the spectacular overlook just below the Gulliver’s Head promontory. Located about 15 kilometres west of Digby Gut, this rocky projection, 40 metres above the water at its highest, thrusts like a huge thumb into the Bay of Fundy. It’s the only large projecting headland between Brier Island at the western end of the Digby Neck peninsula and Cape Blomidon 140 kilometres to the east.

My visit was in late March. Some patches of snow still lay on the ground, and a chilly northwest wind blew onshore. I was there to watch for gannets, ubiquitous in the bay at this time of year, and other late winter seabirds. 

A few minutes after arriving at the point I saw two peregrines harassing a bald eagle that had flown near the massive east-facing cliff of the headland. Bald eagles are one of the few species that actually prey on young peregrines in the nest, and although the young were still several weeks in the future, the falcons sent a powerful message: stay away! They worked as team and badgered the eagle, which was three times as big as they were, forcing it to leave the area.

Were the peregrines a pair? Size often distinguishes the sexes: females are about one third larger than the males, and this appeared to be the case. For two hours I watched them flying near the headland, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Returning again and again to perch on a particular ledge beneath the highest part of the cliff, they had chosen the site of their future nest. They were indeed a pair.    

Peregrines generally mate for life and return separately from wintering in the south to re-ignite an enduring flame. However, as of January 2024, it appears they’ve never left: on several occasions up until now, I’ve seen two peregrines in the vicinity of the cliff.

I visited many times from March 22 until the end of the breeding season to photograph the birds. Once the young were in the nest and growing rapidly I was on-site several times a week to capture the fleeting and rapid progression of the chicks. A fantastic view of the birds was afforded from a little clearing on a wooded slope about 120 metres from the cliffside nest site. Using a very long telephoto lens, I could capture intimate images of the peregrines creating yet another generation of young birds to carry on the legacy of this magnificent species.