Owl Be Seeing You

I am lucky enough to live on a piece of property that lies nearly adjacent to a 700-plus acre county park.  If I so choose--and I do fairly often--I can walk through the woods on my property straight through to the park. Takes about five minutes, at most.

What this means is that the inhabitants of this forest oasis will sometimes visit, or get close enough for me to connect with--and it's always special when that happens.

An Owl Flies Overhead
One night, in the fall of 2004, a few weeks after we moved into our house, my family gathered on our deck to witness a lunar eclipse. As we were out there in the cold, looking skyward, the silent silhouette of an owl flew just above us. It was an awesome moment, solidifying my love for this place, nature lover that I am.

We've seen fox and coyotes, deer and flying squirrels. We've seen evidence of raccoons, and had close--and smelly!--encounters with skunks. Birds of all kinds come to our feeders: woodpeckers, finches, sparrows, cardinals and hummingbirds. And of course, the hawks come to feed in turn on the birds.

Whoos in the Distance
But we've never seen owls. Over the years, every once in a while, we hear them.  We've heard the eerie and indescribable calls of screech owls; those are the prototypical sounds encountered in the movies when the characters are lost and alone in dark scary forests. You can listen to an example or two on the Cornell Ornithology Lab's website; hearing them in person on a dark and lonely night has actually given me goosebumps.

More often, however, on a cool starry night, we'll be treated to the calls and responses of Great Horned Owls. When I hear them, I am reminded of one of my favorite children's books, Owl Moon by Jane Yolen. The story, which reads more like a poem, is about a father taking his young daughter out owling on a cold winter night. He calls out like an owl, and is rewarded with a response; eventually, they see the owl himself. I read this book to my kids so many times, I could just about recite it by heart--and I've given it as gifts to many a child because I love the story so.

And when I hear the sound of Great Horned Owls in my woods, I call out to them, like the father in the book. And nearly always, they respond. Call and response. Call and response. Sometimes my son will join me and he'll call out, too.

Am I am thrilled every single time. I feel like I've been given a very special gift--the ability to connect with another creature, even if all I'm doing is repeating its call.

But I've never seen one of these awesome creatures. I know they're there. I've heard them. I've communicated with them. But not a single sighting.

Until last week.

The Forest Calls to Me
On any given day, I'm likely to take a quick walk through our woods--a five or ten minute walk around our path, camera in hand. Sometimes I'm inspired by the lighting, or by a bird call, or a heard of deer. Sometimes I just need to plug in; the forest rejuvenates me in ways nothing else can.

Last Sunday, a wren was calling and I followed it with my camera and telephoto lens, hoping to get a decent picture of the sweet tiny bird in a more natural setting than feasting at my feeders.

Wren, calling me to follow it into the woods.

At first, I couldn't find the wren, and as I was looking, a large bird-shaped shadow passed over the snow-covered ground. I looked up in time to see a sizable creature flying through the trees. When it landed on a branch a few hundred yards from where I stood, I took that as an invitation to a portrait session, and followed, camera in hand.

Within a minute or so, another large bird flew overhead, settling near the first. I couldn't tell what they were: hawks? vultures? I stared into the tangled limbs high above and ahead of me, and soon made out the silhouette of a bird.

I started snapping pictures, trying to focus between the branches.

There he is, but what is he?

I'd take a few pictures, walk a couple dozen steps forward, snap a few more.

Still can't figure out who it is, the the short tail is a hint.

I walked to the right, in a different direction, hoping to find a better perspective.

Too many branches in the way. But look at those ear tufts.

Owl Take You For A Hike
When I had a clear view, I began to suspect I was looking at owls--specifically Great Horned. This was a huge thrill for me, so I just kept taking pictures. I tried to get closer, but first one, then the other would fly away--not too far, though. I was wondering if there was a nest nearby, but didn't see one. But it did seem to me that the birds were very deliberate in their flights.

They led, I followed.

This silent chase lasted about twenty minutes. I didn't feel the cold. It was me, my camera and the birds; was aware of very little else as I watched them fly and tried to follow them with the camera, clicking away.

And then they were too far for me to follow, and I walked back to the house, hoping that when I downloaded my shots, they would show me my owls.

I walked into the house a bit breathless, stopping long enough to remove coat, hat, gloves in a flurry. I removed the disk, from my camera, inserted it into my MacBook, and waited.

I clicked Download New Photos, and the magic began. Many of the pictures were blurry, with perfectly focused branches and smudgy suggestions of owls behind.

Some were too far away.

You can see the ear tufts quite clearly here.

And in some, my subject wasn't cooperating; owls can rotate their heads as much as 270 degrees, so it's easy enough for one to remain motionless in body, but turn away in an slow arrogant huff.

Looking toward me.

Turning away

And facing the opposite direction,

This is better; but there are way too many branches in the way.

The pictures I took of the birds in flight were, for the most part, blurry sweeps of somewhat recognizable forest. Or a bit of a wing barely in the frame.

The back half of an owl.

But when all was said and downloaded, and when I zoomed in on a few of the better shots, I wound up with two pictures I love, each featuring a gorgeous, recognizable Great Horned Owl.

Here's lookin' at you, human.

And my favorite...pure serendipity. I have no idea how I managed to capture this phenomenal creature in full flight. 

Simply. Gorgeous.

I love this place. And I love the gifts nature gives me.

It's the Little Things

Many years ago, when I was a student at Cook College, Rutgers University, I volunteered to take children on tours of the working farm on campus and sometimes Helyar Woods, a forest on the property of the school. For the most part, the kids came from inner-city schools, with little exposure to either farm or forest. I was trained on the farm part of the tour--calling the pigs over to the fence so the children can feel their soft noses or bristley backs, playing the "Guess the weight of the entire class" game and then weighing them on the truck scale, and petting the calves while I explained how cows have multiple stomachs.

I wasn't given much guidance on what to do if the tour groups had chosen to do the hike in the woods, though. My brother suggested I might find some ideas in a book called Sharing Nature with Children by Joseph Cornell. Filled with suggestions on how to get kids interested in and excited about being outside, the book inspired me as well.  There was the Web of Life game, which uses a simple roll of twine to teach the interconnectedness of all living things, and the Know a Tree exercise, where one child in a pair is blindfolded, and learns about a single tree just through touching it--and has to try to find it later once she can see.

More than three decades later, I still find myself using some of the techniques in that book. For example, the other day, I took a micro-hike. Now, the way the book describes it--and the best way to do it with a bunch of unruly children--is to take a hula hoop and put it on the ground and have the kids look really closely at what they could see, just within the confines of the hoop. If you've never taken the time to explore a small section of the earth (and by small I mean one or two square feet), I highly recommend it--particularly in the spring and summer.

I used to do this exercise before we went into Helyar Woods, because it taught the kids to be observant--and to be excited about discovering things, even things that might seem boring. They would notice bugs, and ants, and sticks. They'd realize that all grass doesn't look the same, and there might be clover and dandelions and thistle mixed in. Someone would invariable find bird poop, but it was ever so much more exciting when we talked about what bird it might have been, and how you can tell things about a living creature from examining what it eliminates.

The other day, I was inspired to do a version of the micro hike in the woods behind my house. The hike was along a fallen tree--one that had come down a few years ago. Since I brought my  camera--and a macro lens--you can come with me.

The micro hike takes place here.

At first glance, even from a distance and in the dead of winter, you can see that the trunk is covered with moss of some kind.  It's when you take a few steps closer that you realize there's a lot more than moss growing here.

There's moss and fungus and lichen!

And here's where I wish I had a resident expert to help me a bit. I think most of us can recognize moss.

Moss

And probably we would know what a fungus looks like, particularly when we remember that a mushroom is a fungus.

But lichen?

Lichen! (and moss)

Actually, now that I realize it, what the heck is a lichen exactly? A little bit of research has helped me learn a little about these fascinating organisms.  For one thing they are true symbionts. A lichen is a composite of a fungus and a photosynthetic organism--usually an alga. Fungus get food from the algae's photosynthesis, and the algae get moisture from the fungus.

Lichens live in the most inhospitable environments--on rocks, logs, walls--and in harsh climates. They occupy a niche that other organisms can't survive. Though they also apparently are very sensitive to pollutants, and are indicators of poor air quality; no lichens = possible air pollution. I guess they're the plant versions of the canary in a coal mine.

On most of my other posts I can identify some of the plants and animals and insects in the photographs I feature. But in this case, I can just barely do that with lichens. But here's the thing, they sure are pretty.  And quite fascinating. And make great subjects for a micro hike with a camera.

To sit back, relax, and enjoy the hike. I'll identify where I can.

The bottom of the log, where it meets the ground, shows grass, lichens and moss.

Moss on the top of the log shows tiny stalks that have captured water droplets.

I believe this is called turkey tail lichen.

This is really young turkey tail lichen. Each of these little fruiting bodies are no more than a quarter inch tall,

These turkey tails are a little bigger. You can also see some moss--that's the dark green--and the lighter green is a common greenshield lichen, I think.

Here is a combination of all the mosses and lichens, young and old.

A close up of turkey tail lichen.

Seems like the turkey tail lichen can feature several colors...though I'm not sure.

The naturalist in me always wants to know, to identify, to understand what I'm looking at. In the case of this particular micro hike, I don't know. Instead, since I don't have a lichenologist or a mycologist on staff, I must sit back and enjoy canvas painted by capital N Nature.

And sometimes, that's enough.

Winging It

Each year, I set goals for my photographer self.

In 2011, my goal was to get some pictures of hummingbirds. You can see the results in the post Hum Along with Me from that fall.

In 2012, I set two goals. The first was to stretch my hummingbird goal--and get some photos of them flying; most specifically, I was trying to get a hummingbird, in flight, but not at a feeder. And the second goal was to photograph a butterfly in the air.

I did manage to get some great hummer photos; I'll share them in a future post. In the end, they were rather easy--at least compared to trying to capture butterflies in flight.

Below are my attempts--and I don't feel I actually achieved my goal. Of course there's always next year. But on a cold grey winter day, even less than perfect pictures of butterflies and flowers and green, green grass sure do look purty. (And if you'd like to look at some of the butterflies-at-rest pictures I've taken in the last two summers, you can find them in the 2012 post Flying Flowers or the 2011 post Great Spangled Fritillary!)

In attempting to perform this elusive feat, I learned a little bit about butterfly photography. First of all, the little buggers are skittish, particularly when large shadowy things move nearby. That's easy to understand; large shadowy things (think birds) eat butterflies. And from a butterfly's perspective, if you're a human, you are a large shadowy thing--and you might as well be a predator. They're not going to stop and ponder the situation. So you have to move slowly around them, or they flitter away.

Of course, if you're trying to catch a butterfly on the wing, flittering away ain't such a bad thing. Except butterflies are also quite small, and therefore hard to see through the camera viewfinder.

So you need a telephoto lens.

But if you ever watch how a butterfly actually flies, you'll epitomize the word "erratic." No straight lines here. Nothing like the cooperative hummingbirds who sometimes hover in place and allow you to focus for a half second. Butterfly flight is more like...well, you know when you play pinball and your ball gets into that magical part of the machine where it pings around and back and forth and up and down, bouncing on bands and walls and lights and bars? And you rack up all kinds of crazy points? That's kind of like it, except that butterflies do it in three dimensions. And you don't get any points.

This explains why my first attempts resulted in blurry blobs of unrecognizable butterfly.  Either I couldn't focus fast enough, or the spot auto focus was in the wrong place, or I was trying to move the camera to follow the butterfly--and failed completely.

An out-of-focus Cabbage Butterfly.

Two Monarchs, too far away.

Well, at least some of the flowers were in focus.

Autofocus thought I was taking pictures of Lilah. The butterfly is that yellow blur on the lower right part of the picture.

Pretty flowers, blurry Swallowtail.

Trying to follow the erratic flight path of a butterfly isn't easy.

I eventually figured out that the best way to attempt to capture a flying butterfly on (virtual) film, was not to try and follow it as it flew, but instead to focus on an imaginary plane where I thought a butterfly would fly, set the lens at a wider angle, and when one of those flittery creatures flew in the general direction, just start snapping away.

My pictures improved a bit, but my subjects were still often slightly out of focus. Or they didn't cooperate by staying in the frame.

Missed it! (It's an Orange Sulfur.)

But then, as I started getting better photos, I began to really see how butterfly wings work. And they don't just flap nicely, in concert. There are four parts to their wings, and they move differently. So I might have a butterfly in focus, but the moment I captured shows some really awkward wing positions.

This Eastern Swallowtail was heading toward the flower, with its wings flapping forward.

Another one caught on the down flap.

Awkward wings.

 

And more awkward wings.

And sometimes I would capture the creatures at odd angles, such as flying straight toward me.

Comin' at ya...

Flying away from me, this swallowtail makes a lovely V shape, but it doesn't make a great picture.

Coming? Going?

Two Swallowtails could have been really cool, but they're at a very strange angle.

Stealth bomber?

 

This Monarch looks like it was poorly photoshopped into the picture.

I also realized that a picture of a butterfly out of context, that is, away from it's food source of pretty flowers, looks kind of lonely.

Lonely butterfly

This Monarch is just a little too far from the butterfly bush, but if I cropped out the butterfly bush flowers, the picture would be boring.

And I discovered that a picture of a butterfly flying away from flowers didn't tell the right story.

Don't like what's on the menu?

The nectar must be better at another establishment.

And then I realized that when you try to take a picture of a butterfly near flowers, you can't really tell that it's flying. Many of the pictures of butterflies flying that are in focus look like they aren't flying, but have landed on a flower.

Two butterflies: awesome! But you can't really tell that the guy on the left is flying, and hadn't landed yet.

The Firey Skipper on the bottom is flying upwards, but because there is a second skipper, it's hard to tell what's happening here.

And sometimes, flowers, leaves or branches get in the way at the wrong time.

The blur over the top right part of the picture is from a blossom that was in the way, but very close to me.

And of course, as in any photo, sometimes the composition is off, or the lighting isn't quite right.

In the end, I came close, but didn't really get that perfect shot. I know I took hundreds of pictures, probably more like thousands. There are a few that I like, but I never took one that made me say, "Ah, that's what I was looking for."

A tiny fraction of the photos downloaded to my laptop.

There's always next summer. Until then, these will have to do.

This is pretty, but the Monarch is just a little too far away from the flowers.

This American Lady is just a little out of focus.

This is one of my favorites, although the butterfly isn't really in focus. It looks like one of the lilies escaped.

The silhouette makes an interesting picture, but I want a photo with more color.

Another one of my favorites; my Facebook friends will recognize this from my page. Even though the butterfly is out of focus, it captures a nice moment.