Two Sundays ago I went hiking with some friends of mine, who had gone hiking the week before that without me. So they proceeded to regale me with the incredible views they had of peregrine falcons on their trip.

While hiking up Champlain Mountain in Acadia National Park, two peregrines had repeatedly circled above them. The birds were so low the hikers could see details of underbelly and plumage. My friends wondered if there was a nest nearby.

At this point I was turning green with envy, and did not think to ask them for details of the birds’ description. After all, peregrines have been nesting on the Precipice Trail of Champlain for 13 years. Although Precipice itself is closed to hikers every year for this reason, the back trail up Champlain, as far as I’m aware, is still open. So peregrines in that vicinity made sense. Besides, everybody knows what a peregrine falcon looks like, right? Even my hiking friends, who are non-birders, knew about the peregrines nesting in Acadia. I was pleased that they had become increasingly aware of birds in general since we’ve known each other.

The behavior they described worried me, however. It sounded as if they birds were disturbed by their presence and were engaging in territorial/nest defense. Had the raptors nested elsewhere without the park rangers’ knowing? I began considering trying to contact the park naturalists once we got down from the mountain.

We caught a section of the Carriage Road from Sargent Mountain and decided to follow it back to our vehicles. Looking west, we could see Norumbega Mountain; below nestled Upper and Lower Hadlock Ponds. It was a warm day with bright sunshine, although quite breezy at times. Suddenly a large bird came soaring around the mountain, catching the wind deflected off the cliff face. Another and another followed in its wake, as if riding on an invisible conveyor belt.

After finding out what they were, my friends sheepishly admitted that’s what they had seen the week before. But they weren’t peregrine falcons.

They were turkey vultures.

Here I’ll pause to say that I would not have written one word about this if I thought it would hurt my friends’ feelings. They endured some good-natured teasing but we were all able to laugh about it. And now they know what a turkey vulture looks like.

While not as rare or exciting as peregrine falcons, turkey vultures are spectacular in their own right. Although their bare, red heads make them appear quite ugly when viewed up close, in flight they are very graceful and their wingspan impressive to behold. They perform a useful function as scavengers of carrion, which they can find by scent; turkey vultures have a well-developed sense of smell – unusual among birds.

In the East, these large, dark-brown birds spend the winter south of Maine, perhaps as far south as Florida. They return to their breeding ranges early in the season, heralding the coming of spring. Mated pairs are thought to remain together for life, and will produce from one to three offspring each year.

Turkey vultures will nest in a variety of places, but the choice locale seems to be on rocky ledges or among heaps of boulders. This led me to ponder what they were doing around Champlain Mountain. Had they just been passing through, catching thermals (rising columns of warm, circulating air) that would give them a flight boost? Interestingly enough, published research states mated birds have often been observed flying over or near their nest sites. Could they have a nest in the area, as my friends had wondered?

Currently there are no records of turkey vultures nesting in Acadia National Park; the park’s Web site lists them as “uncommon – widespread in very small numbers or common only within very restricted habitat.”

But there is always a first time….

Chris Corio, a volunteer at Fields Pond Audubon Center in Holden, can be reached at fieldspond@juno.com