Something a little different today.
If you follow me on social media you will know that I frequently photograph owls, which doesn't necessarily say a whole lot as I frequently photograph many things... But I do have a penchant for owls.
I have been taking photographs for a long time, but over the past year, with the pandemic and my mental health limiting what I have been able to do, I have started taking more photographs of the day-to-day wildlife around me. I do not own a car so my explorations are generally bound to where I can travel on foot or by transit. Still, there is a lot of backyard wildlife to be found on Vancouver Island, and being limited from grand adventures can offer its own opportunity to explore the "micro-expeditions" that exist in the everyday. A term I'm coming to really love, inspired by the book "A Year in the Woods: Twelve Small Journeys into Nature" by Torbjorn Ekelund.
Birds are especially common in urban environments and thus, birds are what I have started to photograph more of. The more you photograph, the more you notice, and as a naturally curious person I like to learn about the different species I see, whether it be plant, animal, or fungi. In that sense, I suppose I have accidently become an amateur bird-watcher.
Birds are really quite astounding creatures - from the Anna's hummingbird, whose heart beats 1200 times a minute to the piercing eyes of a bald eagle whose vision is 4-5 times that of a human's. Each species with its own intricacies to discover. An abundance of learning singing from the tangle of blackberry bushes in your backyard.
Owls though, are something else. They have a kind of presence that makes you stop in your tracks, aware that they have been watching you long before you may have noticed them. They are incredibly subtle creatures, quiet and observant - blending in to the surroundings despite some species being quite large and certainly powerful predators.
I have seen owls on occasion (usually from a distance) growing up. As I grew up in northern B.C., wildlife is abundant and we often have snowy owls around. There are great greys and great-horned owls and a few other species (which are rarer to glimpse) as well. While 2020 took a great deal from my life, it gifted me with a few opportunities to get closer to owls than I ever had before. Two separate encounters, a few months apart made a lasting impact.
The first, a sleepy barred owl nestled in thick, willowy brush, and just off the path of a commonly used trail in Saanich. No one else was on that part of the trail at the time and I don't know what made me happen to look a little closer in that moment (luck most likely), but the owl patiently allowed me to observe and photograph it for a few minutes. I had never before seen an owl so close.
The only other encounter that comes to mind is a somewhat frightening instance from when I first moved to Victoria and went for a run at dusk only to have an owl swoop overhead like a phantom shadow, and grab my hair before landing on a branch in front of me. It likely had young around or was just learning to hunt. I was too startled to appreciate what the species might have been, but I'm fairly certain now that it was great horned owl.
The second encounter of 2020 that made its mark (although less of a startling mark than an owl grabbing your hair...) occurred in Colwood, B.C. along another commonly used trail. This was also a barred owl and it flew along the entire length of the trail ahead of me as I walked it, pausing to hunt along a creek and allowing me to observe the process. I don't truly believe there's any hidden kind of magic behind that, but it was the first time in a while that I felt entirely enthralled with wonder again, something I really needed in the wake of how much the year had already taken. Since then, I've been scanning the trees with much more intent than I previously had.
2021 has also gifted me some incredible moments with these beautiful creatures and thankfully I have managed to capture some small essence of that magic through photography (although photographs never fully capture an experience).
I should say that I also have a penchant for anthropomorphizing animals and giving them names as I see fit. As many species of owls are quite territorial, once you know where a mature owl lives, you can often return to the site to observe them in their various activities (which often includes sleeping if it is daytime.) This is where the magic of micro-expeditions lives. Maybe you don't encounter grand new sights on your adventures, but you have the time to come back to a place and be with it through seasons of change. Patterns start to emerge, characters on a stage start to appear, and an amazing amount detailed information reveals itself to you.
By chance this year, I happened to be wandering along the same running path where that owl had grabbed my hair so many years before. It's a commonly used trail quite close to where I live and thus, easy to access. For some reason that day in high summer, when the Mediterranean climate of Vancouver Island becomes most apparent, I decided to wander off the trail; behind a duck pond into the thick of some willow trees. At first all I found were mosquitoes. Then, quite unexpectedly I glanced up and realized there was a great-horned owl sitting on a branch about 10 feet off the ground. He looked rather disheveled and grumpy, but I was delighted even if a great photograph wasn't possible.
I had never before seen a great-horned so close up. His eyes were impossible to look away from, so startling... My heart beat frantically in my chest, as though I had interrupted something I was never supposed to see. Of course, once I had found him (or her), I had to return. With many birds of prey it is difficult to differentiate the sex, the only real difference being in size - the females tending to be larger than the males. However, unless they are sitting side-by-side, the comparison is hard to make. It is thought this may allow raptors to hunt for slightly different-sized prey, thus minimizing some competition for food. Like many raptors, owls tend to be monogamous and mate for life.
To my surprise, when I returned the next day, I found not one, but two more owls for a total of three. I realized that I was likely looking at a pair of mature owls and their owlet. The next return revealed a second owlet, for a grand total of four owls living in a small patch of forest. To see four great-horned owls all at once is quite something I must say. Eight pairs of piercing yellow eyes watching your every move intently. I didn't want to disturb them so I hung back and gave them space. They were quite tolerant of my presence as long as I respected some distance and looked to their cues about what they were comfortable with. I had caught the family quite late in the season as the owlets were almost fully grown - the only real difference appearing to be their more scattered-looking, and less defined tufts of feathers in comparison to their parents relatively sleek and formidable look. I named the parents Clive and Olivia and the owlets Owen and Frog (the latter being the disheveled one I had first encountered, for no other reason than the name just fit.)
I was left wondering whether the owl that had targeted me in the past might have been one of these parents, an offspring of theirs, or a previous ancestor.
I watched them through the summer months and into the fall, until the area became too flooded to return to. I'm hopeful in spring their may be more owlets that I can observe earlier in the season.
More recently and largely because it is an accessible area right now in these wetter, winter months, I have been visiting the barred owl I likely had my first impressionable encounter with in 2020. For the past few weeks, I have returned relatively frequently to observe him (or her) and with help from friends, named him Winston Hoohill.
This past week, upon returning to visit Winston, I encountered a second barred owl in the same relatively small patch of forest. Because of their proximity, I suspect they are likely a pair. This second owl prefers other trees to rest in than Winston usually selects, but otherwise they are indistinguishable. I have named her Winnifred (or Winnie for short.) Maybe there will be owlets here too in the spring.
Here she is snoozing from a distance, cuddled up to a Douglas fir.
On this same expedition, I encountered another barred owl not very far away. This one is yet to be named.
And that is a little bit about owls and my love of them.
- S.
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