In pursuit of the illusive owl
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I was going through my old files when I found this article about owl trekking with my partner who happens to be an extraordinary nature photographer. (No bias here.) I originally wrote it for Bird Watcher’s Digest, but the story was killed at the last moment. (Not uncommon in the freelance world.) I wrote it years ago, but it’s a timeless piece. Hoping you might enjoy some light reading this week about our owl adventures—my absolute favorite birds. I’ve included links to images of all the owls I mention in the Givenphoto.com Owl gallery. You’ll find a lot of other cool owl images in the gallery, as well. They are outstanding! Happy reading.
by REBECCA BAILEY
Photographs by GIVEN PHOTOGRAPHY © 2020
Out of nowhere a bird dove across our path, missing us by inches. Peering through tangled branches and leaves, we could see that it was a northern pygmy owl. Seconds later this sparrow-sized predator emerged with a winter wren clutched in its talons. Our excitement grew while we watched and photographed this hard-to-find tiny owl for more than an hour. It was hunting in the bushes that bordered a trail that led down to the Pacific ocean. To say that it was thrilling is an understatement. We both new this very well could be a once-in-a-lifetime event.
This owl encounter is one of many that I have logged over the years with my partner Curt Given who is a nature and wildlife photographer. We have spotted nearly every North American owl species in the wild—many right here in the Pacific Northwest. Some came by chance, others by search, but whatever the case, these mysterious birds have provided us hours of great outdoor adventures.
By far daybreak is the ideal time to owl search. This is when most large owls hunt, their forms easy to spot in the mellow light. So, with this in mind, around 5 am, in late September we scrambled out of our tent in Yellowstone National Park. Still dark, and a frigid 25 degrees, we hurried toward the warmth of our car. Our destination—a picnic area in the park about 20 miles down the road. This was where, heard though the photographer’s grapevine, a pair of great grey owls were spotted.
As we drove into the picnic area, luck was with us. A large low-flying bird patrolled the open field that paralleled the road. We identified it as a great gray and watched it land in a tree at the edge of the coniferous forest situated on the opposite side of the field—typical habitat for great gray owls. The largest North American owl stood a little more than two feet tall. Scurrying to grab cameras, binoculars, hats and gloves, we headed across the field, our boots sinking into the bog. Wearily the owl eyed us. Despite its large size, it blended well with the gray and brown hues of the tree bark. Standing still as a royal guard, a passerby could easily miss it. Once we were within 20 feet, it flew off. We searched deeper into the forest that day, but in vain.
The next morning, again, in the cold pink dawn we searched for the owl feeling like we were on a treasure hunt. Since the great gray is diurnal, we hoped for another glimpse. This time we split up, circling opposite directions along the edge of the woods that bordered the big marshy field. The bog was thick, even treacherous in some areas. I stepped carefully. Two hours later Curt spotted one. Exhilarated, we watched as it perched on a low branch in the shade, tilting its head, listening for prey. Silently it swooped near Curt ignoring him, talons shooting out. It pounced. Up again, it landed a few feet away and devoured a mouse. For the next hour we watched it hunt as the golden sun slowly warmed the glittering, frosty landscape.
When nocturnal owls are roosting in trees, they can be difficult to spot, but once found, most are easily approached because they are so sleepy. We have experienced this with northern saw-whet, common barn, screech, and flammulated owls. Of these four, the flammulated owl was the hardest for us to find. Although it is common during the summer months in northwest ponderosa pine woodlands, this sparrow-sized owl tends to roost in the top of tall trees. Luck and a zillion hours spent traipsing about wildlife refuges gave us our one and only look to-date of this tiny migrant owl.
Early one May, I was bird watching in the Malheur National Wildlife headquarter grounds when I heard a man yell he had a “flam.” We all rushed toward him. The owl was spectacular. About four feet up, tucked among the pink blossoms of a Hawthorn tree, a tiny flammulated owl slept, opening one eye occasionally, but basically oblivious to the 20 or so humans below gawking at it. Even knowing it was in the tree, it took a few minutes to find. A glance in its direction showed just another piece of the reddish-gray bark. Its sleepiness enabled Curt to photograph it for several hours, while I had the delightful pleasure of observing him.
Unfortunately, one will probably hear flammulated owls before one sees them. Try the campgrounds located in eastern Oregon, near John Day. On a moonlit night, around the campfire, if you hear a series of hollow, low-pitched hoots, it very well could be a “flam” serenade.
The common barn owl is another diurnal rooster. Distinctive by it heart-shaped face, this owl is normally found in open habitats, especially farmlands. I’ve seen these roosting all over the Northwest in trees, crevices and once in a blackberry bush. An excellent place to view barn owls is near Tule Lake National Wildlife refuge in northern California. They nest in the tall rimrocks around the area. Even through the crevices are several hundred feet above the ground, a strong pair of binoculars will give one a good look at these owls. Some crevices hold up to three or four owls, especially in the spring when owlets are present.
Although I have not seen them in barns, as their name indicates, I’ve seen evidence of them around barns by the number of owl pellets on the grounds. These pellets are the regurgitated remains of the small vertebrates or insects that owls swallow nearly whole. The dark grey, felted pellet is an excellent sign that an owl is roosting near by. (Also, they are great to collect for an elementary school science project. My daughter enthusiastically dissected one, inspecting the tiny bones and feathers.)
Unlike barn owls, burrowing owls hunt anytime during the day or night. They prefer open areas such as grasslands, prairie, or deserts. Here in the northwest, we’ve found these owls in Washington’s arid Columbia basin and Oregon’s Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. We’ve seen as many as seven or eight families along a two-mile stretch road in the Columbia basin. Their antics are often comical. Young burrowing owls seem naturally curious, scurrying into the burrow if alarmed, but eventually peeking out, watching, tilting their heads at an angle, as if to decipher what they see. An adult is usually nearby, perched on a low fence or sagebrush, guarding against intruders, calling out warnings. They nest in burrows that can easily be seen from the road. Some are man-made, others are abandoned mammal burrows. Burrowing owls winter as far south as El Salvador and Guatemala.
Another daytime hunter, particularly at dawn, is the short-eared owl. It winters in flat areas around the Northwest. I’ve observed many of theses hunting in fields, marshes, tideflats—just about any place open and weedy. Their flights barely skim the ground, back and forth, hovering, swooping, then pouncing for prey, and back and forth again, for long periods of time. When resting, they perch on the ground or low fences. These owls nest on the ground, so in early spring you have a good chance of seeing short-eared owlets. If prey is abundant, observers have a good chance of viewing several hunting in the same area. A good place to see these are the tideflats near the Skagit State Wildlife area just north of Seattle or the tideflats located in southern British Columbia. In both areas I’ve seen eight to ten hunting simultaneously.
Snowy owls also winter in flat, open areas of the Northwest. They, too, are easily spotted during daylight hours due to their large size. Mostly, they sit on the ground, low stumps, or driftwood. I still remember my first look—big white fluffy owls, thirteen of them, looking almost stuffed, as they sat motionless on broken and scattered driftwood pieces in the tideflats located in southwest British Columbia.
Once Curt spotted a snowy owl in the Skagit flats area that was perched on a house’s TV antenna. The women who lived in the house saw him with his giant camera lens pointed at her roof, came outside and spotted the owl. She went back inside and a couple of minutes later, much to Curt’s chagrin, she was turning the TV antenna to scare it off.
With good binoculars and a little luck, you might spot snowy and short-eared owls in the southwest British Columbia tidelands or Skagit flats area just west of Mount Vernon.
By far the most common and easily spotted owl is the great-horned owl. This was the first owl I saw in the wild—a silhouette of a large bulky shape with ear tufts perched on a branch in a wooded area. Their habitat is varied, nesting in caves, trees, or on the ground. I can’t count the number of nights I’ve been serenaded in my tent by a pair of great-horned owls hooting back and forth, especially in the spring and fall. They usually roost during the day, but often are fairly conspicuous. If you see a solid, dark mass in a tree, scope it out. More often than not, it could be a great-horned owl.
My most memorable owl encounter happened with the screech owl. Although this particular owl was not the western screech owl found in this area, but the related whiskered screech owl, which is found in southern Arizona. These birds are tiny, about eight inches and not easily found in the wild. I was squatting, using my binoculars to locate a hooting adult screech owl in the trees a few feet away. Responding to its mother’s call, an owlet poked its heat out of a hole in an oak tree next to where I was squatting. At that moment it fledged. Jumping, half-falling, half-flying from its nest, missing my head by inches and landing a couple of feet away. Awed, I watched this tiny gray fluff-ball with two skinny legs poking out try to hop-fly toward the call of its mother. The highlight of this little show was watching that baby owl make its way across the open dirt area into a dense stand of trees and up a tree to its mother. Definitely deserving of a standing ovation.
