One time I went hang gliding on the ridge out at Randolf, Utah. This
ridge is perhaps 5-10 miles long and a big rookery for buzzards. I
flew lazily that evening for a couple hours enjoying the avian company
and then landed at the bottom with the zillion mosquitos, because I
feared that if I top-landed and hurt myself it might be a long time
before someone found me.

Anyway, that meant I had to walk back up to get my truck. A fer
piece.

So I was walking this dirt road close to twilight, and I was thinking
about the nice flight and how when it's good it's really good, when I
spotted a jack rabbit sitting up ahead maybe 20 yards. And BAM!

A Red Tail hawk slammed into the rabbit and crashed in a rolling dusty
heap of wings and fur. But he didn't let go! And in a second he
righted himself on top of the stunned or dead bunny and flapped like
there was no tomorrow until he'd cleared the sage and the stupid human
walking his way. I lost sight of him as he cleared the mouth of the
canyon.

Incredible. I had this notion that they could just pick 'em off like
the proverbial surgical strike. But hell no. I walked away
thinking... undignified.