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October 19, 2006  Great Encounter Any Owl encounter always seems special and mysterious. Perhaps because Owls are mainly creatures of the night; a time when our own vision essentially fails. Owls also take great pains to remain invisible during the day so as to avoid being discovered by daytime tormenters, such as the Corvid clan. During one of the last few days of my recent housesit, while out walking the dogs, I stopped beneath a lodge-pole pine and investigated a number of small branches settled on the ground. I thought that perhaps a porcupine nipped off the branches, so I stepped back and stared into the treetops in the hope of discovering the bulky shape of a porcupine somewhere above. I didn’t have the feeling of being watched, but I guess that my erratic movements and dallying finally unnerved a large bird that otherwise would have let me pass by without showing itself. There was a sudden unfolding of large wings and quickly as it showed itself, the mystery bird was gone. I caught only a glimpse and guessed that it was a Red-tailed Hawk. In hindsight though a Red-tailed Hawk would most likely not have been in so dense a cover. I hoped the mystery bird was one of the large Owls, and also hoped that it landed somewhere nearby. I walked in the same direction as the bird had flown and peered intently. As I moved forward I heard Chickadees and Nuthatches begin to scold. This chorus of moderately serious alarm calls, by itself, should have alerted me that the small birds’ wrath was being directed at an Owl. (Chickadees modify their vocal responses to an individual species of raptor according to the raptor’s ability to pursue and catch small birds.) A Red-tailed Hawk, or a Raven, hardly rates a minor ‘eyes up’ alarm call, whereas the sudden appearance of a Sharp-shinned Hawk receives the highest form of alert call. These Chickadees, though earnest enough in their alarm calls, were not absolutely terrified. They continued their moderate tirade and this told me that the threat was still nearby. I stepped into a small clearing and caught sight of some movement. There, thirty feet up on a dead tree, partly obscured by the trunk, sat a large Great Horned Owl. Female Owls are noticeably larger than males so, judging by its impressive size, I guessed that I was staring at a female of the species. The Owl was uncharacteristically leaning forward when I spotted it, either to better watch my approach, or because it was preparing to launch itself from its perch. I guessed the latter and quickly drew my binoculars up to my eyes in time to get a two-second look at the bird before it flew off. I pursued the Owl no further. Not because I was satisfied with the length of time I was able to look at the owl, rather because I confirmed what it was and if it moved about too much, Crows in the nearby field would take notice and gather to mob the reticent Owl. But as reticent as they are by day, Great Horned Owls are radically transformed by nightfall. The nickname of this species of Owl, tiger of the night, is well deserved. I have seen an emaciated Great Horned Owl, soaking wet, still clinging to a dead Mallard it had subdued in a shallow creek. There are also documented accounts of Great Horned Owls taking prey as diverse as Skunks and Great Blue herons. Unlike the similarly sized Great Gray Owl, which mostly eats mice, the Great Horned Owl is a serious threat to a wide variety of larger birds and mammals. My encounter with the Great Horned Owl this day was as it often is with these birds - satisfying, but brief. Just knowing that this specialized and capable hunting bird sat silently hidden in a grove of trees, transformed the forest. And turned a simple walk in the fall landscape into something almost supernatural. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
