Great Horned Owl
April 18, 1936
(Bubo virginianus) In an earlier issue I wrote about one of the two largest North American owls, the snowy owl; now I come back to the other, the great horned owl, commonly called “cat owl,” because of the long, single feathers that grow from either side of his intelligent head. These feathers are almost always included in uninformed artists’ drawings though many owls are without them. They are, however, the distinguishing marks of the horned but are not, as is commonly supposed, ears, at all. The ears are more toward the side of the head and have no feathers projecting over them. Search by Night A week ago, a number of birdmen, anxious to locate a nest of this great predatory bird, made a thorough search of the bluffs and woods at a point some 10 miles out of the city. It was considered wise to spend the nights at friendly farm houses so that at sunset we might trace the low, melancholy calls of the owls to the bluffs from which they came. Just at seven o’clock of the first night out, as the early shades of dusk were falling, we heard the sad “tu-wo-o-o h-o-o-o” of the monarch of the night and it stirred our blood as does the cry of the wild goose in Autumn. As it died away, another bird took up the refrain, signal to the mice, partridge and rabbits that they were about to become hunted fugitives. At dawn we tramped across-country in the direction from which the calls had come the night before. At last, after drawing blank several times, we came to a particularly large and well-timbered bluff. Once through the tangle of briers surrounding the woods we were dimly able to discern the faint outline of a giant nest placed full twenty five feet from the ground in the branches of a great poplar.
Without warning, something huddled on the dead limb of a nearby tree spread wings and slipped off into the woods with a single, plaintive, “Co-o-o.” that brought the horns and baleful yellow eyes of another owl peering over the rim of the nest.
Unafraid, she refused to move from the nest and all it might contain till a well-aimed stick shook the branches above her. Wearing several caps and a pair of thick gloves I climbed the tree and found, warm on their downy floor, two pure white eggs resembling hen’s eggs but more nearly oval in shape. During the inspection the female owl continually and belligerently hurled herself at my head, but always the stick with which I was armed caused her to consider discretion the better part of valour. Fierce, and afire with maternal instinct, she would not have hesitated to sink her powerful talons into my head and eyes had it not been for the threatening stick. I came down feeling shaken and nervous. If there had been young in that nest my caps and the club might not have saved me from her determined onslaught. “Worried” by Crows Later we had a chance to observe the well-known “worrying” of the male owl by a fanatical flock of crows. When first disturbed the owl had flown to a tree in another bluff; but alas for him, a high-flying crow saw the movement and his loud calls brought a dozen more of his black kind to take part in the sport. From 50 feet above the owl they would suddenly swoop, coming so close to his head as to make the big fellow duck. Crow after crow wheeled over him until finally, completely exhausted, he fled, followed by the vociferous blacks who were enjoying themselves immensely and who were now swelled in numbers to half a hundred.
At night, perhaps, the tables might be turned and one of the black robbers might furnish a sweet meal for the bothered owl. They say crows are good to eat. Well, the horned owl thinks so, anyway.