My last journal post got me to thinking about great gray
owls …. Such a magnificent bird! My head
nearly popped a dent in the roof of our van the first time I spotted one. We were zooming along in the central part of
Yellowstone National Park when I saw one about 100 yards off the road. Dale had the audacity to say, “Are you
sure?”
Of course I was! … and of course he knew it. He was just teasing me.
For over twenty years I always look extra carefully at that
owl’s snag when we drive by. Watching
the lodgepole snag has been a lesson in how long it takes for a snag to weather
in relatively dry mountain air – years and years. The snag was recently dead when I first
spotted the owl – lots of grey gnarly limbs.
The tree has gradually grown sparcer and sparcer as one limb after
another drops. Hardly any branches remained the last time I saw it. I wonder if it still stands.
We don’t expect to see a great gray owl when we visit the
park, but we always hope. Way back on
September 25, 1992 our hopes were more than fulfilled. We had been camping in the park, but by late
on the 24th wind and snow made town look awfully tempting. We tucked tail and headed to a motel for the
night.
The storm passed and mid morning we headed back into the
park. We had just finished a picnic
lunch when a great gray came swooping along the edge of the nearby
lodgepoles. Great grays do most of their
hunting at night, but not always. This one attracted immediate attention from a
handful of photographers, but all too soon the owl disappeared into the
forest. We hiked the area for and hour
and a half before catching a couple more quick glimpses. Soon everyone had left the area but we were
still motivated. Slowly we explored
meadows edged with lodgepoles. We
trudged and trudged. It snowed a little,
the sun teased us a little, mostly it was cool and cloudy. I even carried an umbrella so I could protect
the camera if we actually found an owl.
By 5 PM we were about done in. We been plodding about in marsh grasses for a
good four hours. We were ready to head to
camp; but then, way across the meadow we spotted a great gray owl! Two great grays! … no, three great grays!!
A soft hoot floated across the quiet meadow. Their hoot is so low I almost believe I am
making it up when I hear one.
One owl appeared to be an adult and the other two were full
sized youngsters. Adults look quite
spiffy in the cloak of soft greys and just a touch of pure white and
black. Immature’s markings aren’t quite
as crisp.
The adult was perched in a lodgepole at the edge
of the meadow. Big fluffy snowflakes
started to fall again. He tipped his
head skyward and watched with quiet interest. Fortunately the snow shower didn’t last long. Late afternoon light improved. We slowly crossed the meadow.
When we neared the far edge of the meadow, movement to our
right caught our attention. A youngster
flew towards us and landed on an upturned snag in the meadow. So close!
He watched and listened.
Suddenly the owl spread its wings, flew a few yards and
dropped into the tall grasses.
He caught a mouse.
Well, probably a vole. He
immediately flew back to the downed log and swallowed his prey.
His second vole came soon after, only this time his short
flight brought him even closer to us. He now had a problem on his hands. Dale and I stood still, but he
wasn’t too sure about our presence; but, more important, he didn’t want to give
up his prey. He tried to fly off but he was stuck to the
ground. His talons held the mouse, and
a bunch of marsh grasses. Oh dear, now
what to do?
Eventually our owl gathered his wits and bent down and
transferred the vole to his beak, thus eliminating the grass problem. Off he flew to down his dinner.
We watched the two youngsters hunt for another half hour. It’s a quiet process. Lots of watching and listening, then a silent
float down into the grasses. Its clear
to us the owls couldn’t see their prey, that they were relying of sound. We were fortunate that these two weren’t
experts yet, and that it took them a fair amount of time to catch their
dinner.
