Nature Note #124: Adventures in Pennsylvania: Night Hike
With the weekend upon me once more and a lack of an update this past weekend (Alison was visiting me so I have a good excuse), I figured I would update with a fun report from the field. On Friday night at about 8:15pm, I decided to go owling (not to be confused with the practices of "planking" or smuggling sheep in the early 12th and 13th centuries). While my goal was to find a Northern Saw-whet Owl (Aegolius acadicus), I did end up getting an unexpected lifer Barn Owl (Tyto alba) near the Pennypack Farm fence instead. Upon leaving the house and heading up the gravel road that leads to the girls cabins and eventually the back field, I felt the usual feelings of dread, fear, and anticipation at what I might find on my night hike around the Outdoor School property. My adrenalin was pumping as I had elected to walk most of the journey without a headlamp. The looming half moon overhead gave out enough light for my limited human night vision to use to gauge my surroundings. Almost immediately I heard the familiar honking of a Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) and the distant hooting of one of the resident Great Horned Owls (Bubo virginanus). Having seen and heard them before, I wondered if they were a single pair on the property or several birds considering they surely nested this year. However, I knew that unless I found some immature birds, I wouldn't be sure of it.
Walking onwards into the back forty, I came across our "treehouse" that is sometimes used for educational purposes and during option time. I chose it as the site for my calling out to the local owl population. Before ascending the partially blocked off ladder (to prevent people from climbing it if they inadvertently or deliberately stumble onto the property), I saw a small glimmer of eyeshine in the grass. I froze and my heart pumped faster. I looked harder and leaned forward. One, two, four. Eight legs and gleaming eyes. A wolf spider sitting in the grass! I got some photos, but the quality wasn't great due to having only my phone with me.
I headed up the ladder and onto the deck. Surveying the gray, static landscape below, I began to whistle the song of a Saw-whet which consists of short "doots", about 1-2 sec long. I whistled forward and back several times and listened. Nothing. The landscape below resonated with the clicks and trills of katydids as their late night chorus plied the airwaves for mates and filled every moment with sound.
Discouraged, but not defeated, I switched calls and started whinnying like an Eastern Screech-Owl (Megascops asio). One minute became five, but eventually, I got an answer. And then again and again. Call and response at its finest. I managed to capture a video (due to the blackness of the night though, you can only really hear the audio) and have it posted here. As the video goes on, the little bird, curious about a sudden visitor in its territory calls over and over, coming closer to investigate the intruder. Towards the start, the louder whistling is done by myself with the bird calling back, but eventually I let the bird call on its own a few times. I did eventually get a glimpse of the resident owl on a branch on par with the railing of the deck, but it flew off upon its discovery when shined upon with my headlamp.
After such a cool experience, I happily hiked off to other parts of the property to look for more owls. While I didn't find anymore until right at the end of the trip, I did get to walk along the property fence line behind one of the local housing developments. I've walked past here before in the daylight hours, but the fact that I could do it at night meant that I got a personal view into how a fox or skunk or raccoon might see the world. They might see strange lit boxes with large, often loud creatures that hid inside them when the sun went down, only to occasionally emerge when they put the bins out or put their cat out or were cooking outside. Shadows moving across the clear paneled openings with images of strange boxes on wheels driving up mountains and more of these large, loud bipeds running with a brown egg along a large white and green field. I can only guess what these animals think of us, but after pondering this for a while, I moved on to the pond.
Not much there, except for the ever present geese. The leaves whooshed around and over the pond and a lone crag on a dead tree revealed the silhouette of a heron roosting at the top. Its dagger-like bill resting on a curled neck and it seemed to be plotting something. Then again, I probably was anthropomorphising it, but it did look creepy up there. I decided to check one more place for the potential Saw-whets.
We have a small grove of conifers near the fence that borders Pennypack Farm and the climbing tower and that it might be worth a look. After turning my headlamp off again (I had had it on in the woods where the moon couldn't penetrate the boughs above), I looked out over the farm. suddenly a shape took off from the rows and let out a shriek. Ghostly white with moth-like flutters, it vanished into the blackness near the opposite end of the fence. I stood very still and tried to imitate its call, but it had already melted back into the night. I knew only one bird could make that noise. It had to be a Barn Owl and with that it meant it being my 353rd lifer and 206th on the year bird list. I was chuffed with that and headed off through the woods. No sign of the Saw-whets there, but I was more than pleased with my accomplishments that evening. I decided to head back and at 9:20pm, I headed inside. I hadn't been out too long, but it had been an amazing experience nonetheless. One that I'm not going to forget for quite some time.
Walking onwards into the back forty, I came across our "treehouse" that is sometimes used for educational purposes and during option time. I chose it as the site for my calling out to the local owl population. Before ascending the partially blocked off ladder (to prevent people from climbing it if they inadvertently or deliberately stumble onto the property), I saw a small glimmer of eyeshine in the grass. I froze and my heart pumped faster. I looked harder and leaned forward. One, two, four. Eight legs and gleaming eyes. A wolf spider sitting in the grass! I got some photos, but the quality wasn't great due to having only my phone with me.
I headed up the ladder and onto the deck. Surveying the gray, static landscape below, I began to whistle the song of a Saw-whet which consists of short "doots", about 1-2 sec long. I whistled forward and back several times and listened. Nothing. The landscape below resonated with the clicks and trills of katydids as their late night chorus plied the airwaves for mates and filled every moment with sound.
Discouraged, but not defeated, I switched calls and started whinnying like an Eastern Screech-Owl (Megascops asio). One minute became five, but eventually, I got an answer. And then again and again. Call and response at its finest. I managed to capture a video (due to the blackness of the night though, you can only really hear the audio) and have it posted here. As the video goes on, the little bird, curious about a sudden visitor in its territory calls over and over, coming closer to investigate the intruder. Towards the start, the louder whistling is done by myself with the bird calling back, but eventually I let the bird call on its own a few times. I did eventually get a glimpse of the resident owl on a branch on par with the railing of the deck, but it flew off upon its discovery when shined upon with my headlamp.
After such a cool experience, I happily hiked off to other parts of the property to look for more owls. While I didn't find anymore until right at the end of the trip, I did get to walk along the property fence line behind one of the local housing developments. I've walked past here before in the daylight hours, but the fact that I could do it at night meant that I got a personal view into how a fox or skunk or raccoon might see the world. They might see strange lit boxes with large, often loud creatures that hid inside them when the sun went down, only to occasionally emerge when they put the bins out or put their cat out or were cooking outside. Shadows moving across the clear paneled openings with images of strange boxes on wheels driving up mountains and more of these large, loud bipeds running with a brown egg along a large white and green field. I can only guess what these animals think of us, but after pondering this for a while, I moved on to the pond.
Not much there, except for the ever present geese. The leaves whooshed around and over the pond and a lone crag on a dead tree revealed the silhouette of a heron roosting at the top. Its dagger-like bill resting on a curled neck and it seemed to be plotting something. Then again, I probably was anthropomorphising it, but it did look creepy up there. I decided to check one more place for the potential Saw-whets.
We have a small grove of conifers near the fence that borders Pennypack Farm and the climbing tower and that it might be worth a look. After turning my headlamp off again (I had had it on in the woods where the moon couldn't penetrate the boughs above), I looked out over the farm. suddenly a shape took off from the rows and let out a shriek. Ghostly white with moth-like flutters, it vanished into the blackness near the opposite end of the fence. I stood very still and tried to imitate its call, but it had already melted back into the night. I knew only one bird could make that noise. It had to be a Barn Owl and with that it meant it being my 353rd lifer and 206th on the year bird list. I was chuffed with that and headed off through the woods. No sign of the Saw-whets there, but I was more than pleased with my accomplishments that evening. I decided to head back and at 9:20pm, I headed inside. I hadn't been out too long, but it had been an amazing experience nonetheless. One that I'm not going to forget for quite some time.
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