Rare encounters with owl, hawk cherished
At day’s end I scribble down things I have seen. I write only of sights I might go a month before seeing again, or a year, or a lifetime perhaps.
A lifetime? Indeed.
Take the owl in the tree.
The great horned owl in broad daylight, as cool as could be, unafraid.
We were floating a river that bright afternoon, toward the end of our trip, mesmerized by the flow of the day. Then, there it was, perching 30 feet high in a dead tree at river’s edge, on a limb almost over the water.
Great horned owls do not grab your attention, they seize it. This one was gorgeous, appearing tawny in low sunlight, belly feathers finely barred, ear tufts tilted back slightly by the softest of southerly breezes.
The river here ran narrow. On one side a forested slope draped soft hemlock boughs over the surface. On the other, the owl’s side, a farm field let sunshine stream low onto crystal-clear water.
Quietly, I paddled toward the owl. It watched, unconcerned, yellow eyes like huge marbles, as my little green boat slipped ashore at the base of its tree. Then, as I looked up, 50 feet from the bird, it dropped from its perch, spread a four-foot wingspan and glided the length of a football field farther downriver. When it landed I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Again, it had chosen to perch in plain sight in a tree at the edge of the water. And again, the owl let us approach very closely before gliding silently into thick cover.
How uncommon was this five-minute encounter? Great horned owls are nocturnal. I’ve been walking the woods a long time but have never come upon one just hanging out in daylight. I have seen them in daylight a number of times: several times sitting on nests; several times driven to flight by the frantic commotion their presence has caused in a crow flock that’s discovered them trying to sleep in the darkened recess of a pine.
But never just perched in the open, no crows in the picture.
Perhaps we encountered a young great horned owl, not yet totally schooled in the lessons of owlish behavior. That’s what we’ll do: We will blame it on youth, which we frequently do when a creature does something uncommon.
Why did the sharp-shinned hawk fly from the woods, land atop a stone wall 15 feet the house and perch there for two or three minutes? Sharp-shinned hawks are furtive forest dwellers. They only appear in the open when trying to chase down a songbird for dinner.
This hawk didn’t know that. It just flew out with no birds around. What a wonderful look I enjoyed. The first thing I noted was juvenile plumage. While age teaches so many tactical lessons, ignorance is bliss summarizes life when you’re just a greenhorn.