How I Became an Owler

It’s been a great privilege of my life to have been given the opportunity to observe these mysterious creatures so closely

In 2015, when walking through the woods at my mother’s ranch, I would often startle a great horned owl who often sat in a tree on the farthest edge of her property. It thrilled me every time it happened — hearing the rustling of the startled bird, watching its wings unfurl, seeing it fly without a sound so quickly back into the trees ahead, where it was once again hidden from my eyes.

One day, about a year later, it occurred to me that this owl tended to visit the same few places over and over, and I wondered…would I be able to watch it with a pair of binoculars if I carefully, quietly made my way to these same haunts?

So I took the binoculars, and — just in case — my camera, and ever so gingerly walked through the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious creature. Of course, I knew my task was likely futile. An owl’s hearing, after all, is far sharper than ours. I knew the owl could probably hear me long before I even made my way into the clearing.

I also thought it was a long shot that the bird would even be there, to begin with. Yes, it often sat in the tree I was heading toward. But what were the chances that it would be there that evening?

Imagine my surprise when I lifted the binoculars to my face and immediately found myself staring directly into the bright yellow eyes of the owl. I was so stunned, I almost dropped the binoculars. I still look back on that day and wonder how it was possible that I would find her that easily on the very first evening I decided to try owl watching — or owling, as some call it.

But there she was. And sure enough, she had known I was there for quite some time. She was watching me as intently as I was watching her.

I can’t describe how exciting it was to be face-to-face (well, face-to-binoculars) with that owl. These birds are so beautiful and so mysterious. Having that moment of connection was so magical to me. I was even able to capture pictures of her.

After that, I was hooked on owling. Though it was, for a while, just a passing hobby that I’d practice a few times a year.

In March 2017, however, my hobby became a bit of an obsession. One day that spring, my mother texted me a picture of a hilariously fluffy little bird who was short and round. Her white feathers and smooth head stumped me for a moment. What was this bird? I wondered. Then I texted back, Oh my gosh, is that a baby owl?!

That’s exactly what it was.

A few days later, I spotted the mother owl on a fence near my mom’s house and carefully made my way toward her, trying to snap a photo. But she was scared away as soon as she saw me. I turned and noticed a plastic owl on the fence near where she had been and laughed a little — those owls are supposed to scare away the real ones to protect the chickens at the ranch. Apparently, they weren’t working.

That’s when I realized this owl had feathers that were stirring in the wind. It wasn’t plastic. It was the baby great horned owl.

I was so excited, I could hardly contain my emotion. I began snapping pictures, and the baby just sat there, totally still, only her head occasionally swiveling around to look at me. She looked so cuddly and adorable, I longed to pick her up and give her a squeeze, but of course, I knew that would be dangerous for me and potentially detrimental to her well-being. A few minutes later, both her parents returned to sit on the fence near her, so I left.

I went out to look for her every weekend after that and snapped as many pictures as I could. I didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

One weekend, to my astonishment, I found her in a tree with another owlet. She had a sibling! I started jumping up and down, whisper-yelling, “We’ve got twins!”

It was a challenge trying to tell them apart. They looked different to me every time I saw them as they quickly grew out of their juvenile feathers. I began to know them by attitude, by behavior, and by their size. One of them was clearly a bit bigger — obviously the firstborn.

As I observed them, I decided to name them. I couldn’t tell if they were male or female but I decided that the eldest seemed to have a female energy and the other, I sensed was male. I realize how absurd it is to try to identify an animal’s gender just by instinct — but I figured it wouldn’t matter. My observations weren’t going into a scientific journal, after all.

So the eldest, I named Lyra, after the constellation. And the boy I called Sirius, also after the constellation (and as a nod to the character from the Harry Potter novels). I wanted names that would reflect these creatures’ connection to night.

Not long after this, I saw the owlets playing on a pile of discarded hay just beyond the pasture. My mother and I were standing at the window and noticed their movement. I grabbed my camera and ran out to capture some photos.

As I was recording a video, one flew in, landing on the hay, then the other…and then another. I almost squealed as I was recording. Triplets! Not twins, triplets!

It was one of the most magical evenings I’ve ever experienced, watching those three owls fly back and forth over the hay, gripping large chunks of it, releasing it, testing their power and dexterity, and even nudging each other and squawking at one another from time to time, like any siblings might do. The sun was setting in golden shafts on this scene, the sage bushes turning almost blue in the shadows behind the owlets. I couldn’t tear myself away until the sun went down.

The third owlet was very tiny — a bit of a runt. Admittedly, she became my favorite over time, as I watched the three of them. She preferred her own company, often sitting 10 or 20 feet away from her siblings, who always sat side-by-side. She seemed slower and less coordinated, but in her defense, she was obviously quite a bit younger than Lyra and Sirius — perhaps days or even weeks younger.

I named her Vesper because she was my “evening star.”

I worried about her all that summer, small as she was, isolated as she tended to be. But as the season wore on, she and her siblings explored the territory, far and wide, sometimes disappearing for weeks at a time, leaving no evidence of their existence except for the occasional juvenile feather caught in the rabbitbrush, or a pile of tiny rodent bones that they had regurgitated in one of their pellets.

And then, one day, they were gone. All three of them. Off to find their own territory.

But luckily for me, that summer was just the beginning of my experiences with owls…

© Yael Wolfe 2019