“Owls should be tempted in every way to live amongst us…That they do no
mischief is absolutely beyond all doubt; that they do an enormous amount of
good is as absolutely on proof.”
--Philip
Stewart Robinson, "Birds of the Wave and Woodland", 1894
June 23, 2016, 8:35pm
Gear-laden and ready for almost anything, I watched the sun as
it sank below the horizon. My watch read 8:35pm and the sun had just
disappeared, illuminating the clouds with golden-orange light. It looked like
rain might come in the morning, but for now, the night would be beautiful. Our
group piled into the car and began our expedition. After a few easy miles, we
parked at the end of a road along the east bank of the Little Schuylkill River
(pronounced skoo-cull), the likes of which flow into the Schuylkill River at
Port Clinton; miles along working its way past Valley Forge, where Washington
and his rebel army spent several brutal winters for the sake of us all. From
there, the water flows into the Delaware River at Philadelphia, then to the
Atlantic. History was made. Tonight, I was making history of my own, in a more
personal sense. I wasn’t going to cross a river to fight Hessians, Indians, or
chart unclaimed frontier; I didn’t bring that sort of equipment. Armed with a
camera, binoculars, and a spotlight, I was going to find a very special bird,
which to me, is adventure in itself.
For two years, soon to be more, I have been trapping
Northern Saw-whet Owls (Aegolius
acadicus) in Arkansas, a state through which their migration was unknown
before 2015. Like many states, Pennsylvania sees an increase in saw-whets
during fall migration, but here, too, is a breeding population. Knowledge of
their exact numbers in the state is limited in part due to their secretive
nature, and in part due to being understudied. During the breeding season, they
have a preference for riparian woodland with the thick cover for roosting and
cavity-riddled deciduous trees for nesting. In Pennsylvania, their cover comes
in the form of rhododendron thickets and hemlock trees. Among the smallest owls
in North America, saw-whets are easy to miss, as I would learn after attempting
to find them for the first time…and the second, the third, the fourth.
Near
the Little Schuylkill, the habitat looks perfect for saw-whet owls. Mature
hemlocks rise above the surrounding forest, a host of little ones intermingling
with deciduous trees below. Nearby, rhododendron grows thick along streams,
rivulets down the cool, north-facing slopes. It was in this perfect habitat, a
few mornings before, I decided to play back the saw-whets’ call just to see if
there would be a response. The night before brought rain. Mist and cool
temperatures carried over into morning, which to a saw-whet must have been
heaven. Enshrouded somewhere beyond visibility, a response was given. Skiiieeew, was the ascending whine from
near the river below. After two hours of heavy bushwhacking and no owl, I
designated it a win for the birds. A few days later, I decided to try again.
This time at night.
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| Habitat along the little Schuylkill River, Schuylkill County, PA |
As the evening darkened, I tried playback to pinpoint the
owl’s location. Not only was I surprised to hear a saw-whet respond from the exact
same location as a few days before, I was even more surprised by a second
response, much closer than the bird that would require bushwhacking again. I
opted for the more straightforward location, if the whereabouts of a tiny owl
can be called “straightforward”. As one might have expected at night, things
weren’t straightforward and the bird was not located. It called several more
times, even chattering angrily at something, maybe the intruders. Though
tempting, I didn’t enter its domain this night. Our small expedition instead
walked on, past a charming, early 1800s, woodland home, and into the trees.
As we listened for saw-whets and other owls, bats patrolled
up and down the narrow road cut. Several times, my heart leapt when I thought
it could be one of our target owls flying from tree to tree. They let out
high-pitched noises as they passed overhead, acrobatically consuming insects on
the wing. I didn’t watch them intently, but could almost be sure they were
feeding, in part, on the innumerable fireflies. The woods were alive with
light. Fireflies of several species danced through the darkness in such number
it felt as if dawn had arrived. It’s a regrettable life lived for those who
have never found themselves outside on a warm summer night to watch a ballet of
fireflies. Wandering through the dark forest, hindered by hemlock bulwarks on
all sides, the miniature lanterns provide comfort. It’s one of Mother Nature’s
most impressive phenomena.
Nearly
as impressive as the fireflies were the stars. Little light pollution makes it
to this remote slot. Though I’m no astronomer, I can appreciate the vast
variety of stars showing on nights like this. Based on the number of stars
showing, I knew it had to be getting late. The saw-whets would not be had, so
we decided on sleep in lieu of continuing.
 |
| A night out with fireflies across the river from the saw-whets. |
June 24, 2016, 8:41pm
The following night again found me silently wandering the
dark forest. Silent relative to humans; the owls knew I was there. With two
other biologists, from Mexico, I sat quietly in a grove of hemlocks. The forest
around us was eerily quiet, maybe waiting on the rain that was to come later in
the night. One saw-whet called from this grove, but it was nowhere to be seen;
or heard. I suspect we may have been near the bird’s day-roosting site. Now it
was dark and we were once again on the owl’s terms. Looking downslope, we could
not see the road where the fireflies danced. Few made it into our quiet cove of
hemlocks. We were at home only with flying squirrels, and probably one of the
saw-whets watching secretly.
As we walked quietly around the crest of the slope, flying
squirrels talked above us. Their voices sometimes reminiscent of a saw-whet’s chit-chit alarm call. Much like
chickadees in the daytime, there was no sneaking past these forest sentinels.
They sensed our presence and let the whole neighborhood know. Making an agitated
phishing sound, I was able to get one
close. We looked on as the edge of my flashlight beam caught it mid-glide from
one tree to another; about fifteen feet. This was something I had never
witnessed before. Landing on the side of a large poplar, the squirrel darted
around to give us a look as if to say, “Dare
you disturb our kingdom?”, and was off again into the darkness. Flying
squirrels are impressive creatures. With extra lengths of skin, attaching wrist
to ankle, they are able to glide long distances through the dark forest. The
impish mammal seeks out a variety of food from mast and insects to bird eggs.
Turning back, we heard no saw-whet owls…they had won again.
June 26, 2016, 7:35am
After two nights of unsuccessfully trying to locate these
secretive owls, it was time for a change of pace. While the cover of night
brings victory on the part of saw-whets, the exposure of daylight could provide
me easier winnings. I humbly pride myself in being proficient at finding camouflaged
creatures. My journey began on the east side of the road paralleling the Little
Schuylkill River. On the slope above, one of the saw-whet owls had been heard a
few nights earlier. Neither bird called to guide my search, as the morning was
beautifully sunny. At the top of the moist, northeast facing slope, I found an
intermittent grove of hemlock and white pine. Over the next two hours, I walked
silently through the woods, surprisingly free of understory debris. I scoured
every evergreen in sight, high and low, to no avail. Several pines and a few
hemlocks had remarkably thick crowns, but were hopelessly too tall to give a
good search, even with the aid of binoculars. As well as verdant needle-trees,
there were several homey deciduous cavities in the area, all of which left me
empty handed. Leaving the first bird to spend its day in restful peace, I moved
on.
Across the road, down an embankment to the narrow floodplain,
is where my next two hours were spent. Unlike the cool, open woods to the east,
the riparian tangle I had found myself was already hot and hard to maneuver. I
went immediately to the spot where, over a week ago, I had the first saw-whet
response. Nearby a lone hemlock stood near three potential cavities. Potential
they may have had, but none said a word about a resident owl. Checking tangles
of greenbrier and blackberry, I worked my way towards the river. Surely any
saw-whet would have vacated the area while listening to me free myself from a
tangle of thorns. My shirt was stuck, my pants were stuck, my skin was stuck,
my hat was stuck, my camera was stuck. I hung there like a marionette, strings
held by mocking owls. It was all I could do to reach the knife in my pocket.
Carefully, I cut myself free and charged the last stretch to a hemlock grove on
the banks of the Little Schuylkill. This was such a beautiful shelter!
Like the grove from earlier in the morning, this one was largely
open between trees. Still, spruce arms closed in all around, darkening the
inside and obscuring the rest of the world. A search of the hemlocks and nearby
vine tangles ensued.
This day, pride got the better of me. I was the
laughing-stock of the forest. The saw-whet owls were victors once more. I was
confident in my search at this point, or as confident as one can be when
seeking owls. The birds had either rotated roosting sites, were roosting higher
up, or were roosting in deciduous trees. The tiny saw-whet is usually known for
roosting in low evergreens or in low vine tangles. How dare a live animal
deviate from where literature says they should be!
The
owls have found sanctuary in these woods, not to be discovered until they’re
ready to divulge their most important secrets.
 |
| Unnamed creek in saw-whet territory. |
June 27, 2016, 8:30pm
Afternoon rains laid peace on the woodlands. Humidity high
and trees still dripping, I attempted to find the saw-whets yet again. They
gave no response and not a trace was found, despite my best efforts. Adorned
with soft feathers for silent flight, water and owls are not a good
combination. Their fuzzy feathers do not have the water resistance of other
birds, so it’s no wonder they remained silent and hidden. The ghost-owls seemed
impossible, almost like I’d been hearing creatures that weren’t really there. Though
unproductive in the sense of actually locating an owl, I did find two promising
white pines, both giants born in some other era. Their thick crowns looked cozy,
yet at 35’ high, getting sights on a saw-whet could prove difficult…and it
wouldn’t be happening this night. Like any good naturalist when a wet night is
still young, I turned my attention to finding salamanders.
June 30, 2016, 4:00pm
Finally dry from the on-and-off rain of the last few days,
two friends and I again decided to search the faithful saw-whet spot. We
traipsed up and down the slope east of the river without finding any birds. As
opposed to searching for the birds directly, my attention turned to searching
for signs of them: pellets, whitewash on trees, and whitewash on the forest
floor. There were several protected openings with perches that I’m sure a
saw-whet has used to hunt before, but
not recently. Two trees had a nice amount of whitewash (a feature created by an
owl pooping in the same spot day after day), but no owl. We also learned that
one had to look closely to differentiate dried sap from whitewash. Though we
found few signs, this was the spot at least one owl inhabited at some point. An
accessible tree could have gone accidentally unsearched on our “transect”, but
I’m almost certain this bird roosts high in a pine or hemlock.
The last response I heard days earlier had, in fact, sounded
higher than I was expecting. We located the two aforementioned white pines and
tried to search their boughs, but their height made efforts futile. I suspect
this is where the slope individual must be roosting at least part of the time.
The tallest white pine lives its life from a ravine that it outgrew over a
hundred years ago. Getting to it was not easy. The dry stream leading to it was
choked with rhododendron and briars…I was stuck again. Sweaty and bloody by the
time I got to the tree, I had almost given up. When the welcoming boughs proved
as I high as I thought, I searched as best I could and did give up. The trail
on the bottomland owl, too, was now growing cold.
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| A saw-whet after release at our banding station in northwest Arkansas. |
July 19, 2016, 8:24pm
After several weeks of being too busy or too tired for
saw-whets, I went out one last time before leaving Pennsylvania. Giving it a
single round with the playback, we heard nothing at first, then what sounded
like a quick skiiieeew, followed by a
rapping on a hollow tree. The tree tapping already struck me as abnormal, but we
were about to investigate anyway when a low, out-of-body sound came from the
dark woods nearby. The second sound was vaguely human, but was definitely not
normal for the middle of the woods after dark. I’m more about the tangible
things in life, which is why cryptozoology has never interested me. That said,
we decided driving back would be better than facing this creature and the
potential saw-whet that was probably too high up anyway.
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| The only saw-whet owl I would see in Pennsylvania; beautifully hand-carved and hand-painted by a local craftsman. |
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