Owls teach traveler not to intrude

N.S. NOKKENTVED

Originally published May 15, 2001

About two years ago, on my way across southern Idaho, I had pulled off the lonely two-lane highway for a break.

From the truck, I saw a great horned owl, so I grabbed my binoculars for a closer look. That's when I spotted a second owl, sitting on a nest.

I wondered if any owlets were in the nest. It was more than simply wondering; I was dying to know.

When the second owl left the nest, I could see three little woolly heads jutting from the tangle of twigs that formed the nest.

I had to get a picture. But I didn't have my long lens. So I had to try to worm my way as close to the nest as possible without alarming the adults.

I should have known that I was setting myself up for an important lesson.

Not welcome

The adult owls didn't approve of my stalking the nest. I heard them make a whole new range of noises that I didn't know owls could make -- clicks and hisses and a bark that sounded like a dog.

All intended, I am sure, to drive me away.

I have often watched these great birds with fascination, but rarely had I been so close. I could have touched the nest from the ground.

I was wary of the birds, deservedly, because adults range from 18 inches to 2 feet tall, with powerful muscles and wicked talons. They make a respectable adversary for a human armed with nothing more than a 35 mm Nikon.

With distinctive ear tufts and piercing yellow eyes, the great horned owl -- Bubo virginianus -- is unmistakable.

I knew better than to disturb wildlife with young, but I couldn't suppress the urge to get a picture of the furry little nestlings.

Keeping an eye on both birds wasn't easy, and at some point I knew I'd have to stand up and reveal myself to get a good picture. I stayed close to the bole of a large cottonwood, as the two adults swooped close, hooting and barking at me.

When I could see one owl had landed in a tree ahead of me and I was sure the other was in a tree about 50 yards behind me, I stood up.

All three of the big-eyed fluff balls looked straight into the camera. Not satisfied, I stretched on tiptoe. Just a few more frames.

Wham!

Something unheard, soft and sharp at the same time hit me in the back of the head. It didn't hurt much, but it startled me and nearly bowled me over.

It took me only an instant to realize that it was one of the adults. It had swooped in without making a sound. But I got the message loud and clear.

Bloodied, but wiser

I clambered back through the brush and got in my truck. I felt the back of my head, and my fingers came away bloody. The owl's talons had pierced my scalp.

It was only a few scratches, and the bleeding soon stopped. The scratches healed quickly, but the lesson stays with me still.

It was a valuable lesson about respecting wildlife and keeping my distance -- especially when they have young.

My brush with the owl was a boneheaded move, but I was lucky. I could have been hurt worse.

Several weeks later, I checked back on the owls to find three large, healthy- looking nestlings crowding the nest.

This time I brought the long lens.

N.S. Nokkentved covers the outdoors for The Olympian. He can be reached at 754-5445.

The Olympian Copyright 2001

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