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Owl Journal


 

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I spent a couple of years working for the US Forest Service doing Spotted owl surveys. I forgot that I kept a journal of some of those days. What follows is one of them:

 This bird had been driving us crazy.  Four times we had heard this owl at night and four times we had come back the next day to try and find it, only to come up empty.  On each of the day visits we spent four hours looking.  We hooted and hooted and hooted.  On three of the visits we got a response, one answering hoot.  We would take an azimuth and hurry over to where the response had come from, only to hear silence for the rest of our visit.

 So, this was our last chance, the last day of the calling season.  This time we brought an army.  The entire layout crew came with us, five extra people, seven in all.  Monica planned the strategy, like a general designing a plan of attack.  She designated a location where each one of us would wait.  The layout crew's duty was just to listen and take an azimuth if they heard something.  Monica and I would do the hooting.  She and I were stationed on the same ridge but about a mile apart.  Some of the crew was across the creek on the other ridge, some were at the end of the canyon and one was on our ridge.  We had it surrounded!

 Monica came over the radio and gave instructions to everyone.  Then I began hooting.  I called for ten minutes without getting a response.  It was Monica's turn.  I listened intently but could not hear her; she was too far away.  Then things started happening over the radio.  I heard Monica say, "did anyone hear that?"

 Linda replied, "I heard it. Just a minute while I take an azimuth."

 Andy too had heard something.  I drove down to the end of the road where Monica was, so we could decide what to do next.  The bird was still hooting in response to Monica.  We found the location on the map where all the azimuths were pointing.  Monica decided that she should stay at the truck and try to keep the owl hooting while I took the mice and followed the azimuth to the bird.  I had to walk across a plantation to get there.  Tree plantations are usually terrible places to cross because of all the underbrush, but this one had some elk trails that made it easier.

 I could hear Monica hooting and whistling.  The owl was still responding.  I got to the top of a small ridge and could see that the owl was hooting from a grove of trees on a slight knoll about one hundred yards ahead.  I made my way to the trees but ran into a dense patch of salal bushes that were taller than me.  I first tried just plowing through them but quickly discovered this would not work.  I discovered going under the bushes was the easiest way and so I stooped all the way.  In this job you sometimes need to think like a deer.

 I finally reached the spot.  My clothes were soaked and muddy but I did not care; I had finally found this bird.  I could hear the owl but could not see him.  He was very high in the trees.  I got out a mouse in the hopes that the owl could see me.  I called Monica on the radio and told her of the situation.  She released the layout crew and started to follow me out to the owl location. 

 Unfortunately, this owl either could not see us or was not hungry.  I had been trying to get the owl to take a mouse for about an hour when Monica joined up with me.  Finally, the owl fluttered his wings and I caught a glimpse of him.  Now I knew which tree he was in.  I had tried hooting and whistling and moving the mouse.  This owl just was not interested.  Monica got another mouse out so the owl would have a choice of two.  The first mouse was on a stump. For the second mouse she set up a log between two trees so the owl could see the mouse running back and forth.  This was our hope anyway.  The owl stayed up in the tree tops, occasionally preening himself.

 We got out a third mouse and placed it on a stump.  Surely the owl would be able to see one of the mice.  We waited . . . another hour or more.  Nothing.  Monica was getting tired of this, so she decided to take a walk up the draw to see what the habitat looked like.  The area where we had found the owl was poor owl habitat (young trees, heavy underbrush, and no big dead snags) so we knew that this was not his nest.

 I continued to try various things to get the owl's attention. I gave every variety of spotted owl hoot that I knew.  I moved the mice around.  I squeaked like a mouse.  I got as far away as possible while still able to see the mice.  I sat down and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.  After a while Monica returned and I told her that nothing had happened.  We had been out there three and a half hours with no result.  She said we would try it for fifteen more minutes and then go home.  After a few minutes Monica said, "do you remember the sound the Eckman bird made when it was begging for a mouse?" I remembered it but I told her if she was thinking of trying to get me to imitate it there was no telling what it would sound like.  She said that we had nothing to lose and I had to agree with her.  I tried it. The sound was sort of a cross between a growl and a purr.  I did it about three times while she watched the owl. She said, "do it again, he's watching you."  I did it a few more times.  To my total surprise the owl stepped off the branch and floated down to us landing in a limb about ten feet above us.  I picked up a mouse and placed it on a limb in plain view of the owl and stepped back.  He swooped down and grabbed it.  "It's about time," I said. The owl flew off to a snag and ate the mouse, then looked at me, ready for another.  Obviously, Monica's crazy idea had worked beautifully.  I placed another mouse and the owl flew down to get it. This time I could see the band on his leg.  We were hoping the owl would lead us to his nest and possibly a mate but it did not happen.  He took one more mouse and then a group of Steller's Jays came over and started to harass the owl.  We tried to drive them off but they would not leave.  We decided the best thing we could do was leave so the owl would be free to fly away.

We left disappointed at not having found his mate.  The calling season was over and this was our last outing for the year.  Still there was a sense of accomplishment.  At least we had found the bird that had been driving us nuts for so long.

Star Liner

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