May 14, 2009
Listen to the crows. They will almost always tell you something interesting.
I hear them almost immediately on entering the forest. A single "caw" and then a chorus from the flock, voices rising in intensity and pitch and more. They have something in their sights, near the area of the roost tree.
As we get close they fall almost silent. Just single voices,
"Caw."
"Caw".
"Caw".
The roost is empty. Now is the time to stand. To wait.
I lean up against a cedar snag by the roost, scan the canopy for a sign. Nothing. A Winter Wren breaks into an operatic trill below me. Robin answers. A motorboat works its way up the western bay, accelerates as it reaches the northern tip of the peninsula. Its sound fades as it plows into the open water of the lake.
Now just leaves rustling, Bill panting by my side.
The crows speak. One harsh "Caw" and then the rest joining in, each voice more harsh, almost desperate. I look up. A quick shadow breaks from the canopy, pale and wide winged, a half dozen crows in screaming pursuit. An adult Barred Owl, just a glimpse as it finds cover in the branches of another fir. The crows surround it, above, below. Bow toward it as they yell,
"Caw!" "Caw!" "Caw!"
The owl hisses back.
And silence, again.
We wait.
A Brown Creeper flutters down to the base of a cedar just 15 feet from me, works its way back up the trunk, pecking for insects, "Tik. Tik. Tik." A Spotted Towhee works the duff behind me. Creeper flutters down again, a brown leaf falling in my peripheral vision, works its way back up again, "Tik. Tik. Tik." A Song Sparrow sings. Down by the lake children laugh. Bill whines, bored with all of the waiting.
The crows lose interest in this game, fly off one by one to find something more enticing deeper in the forest.
"Tik. Tik. Tik." Creeper continues its quest for bugs in the crevices of the cedar. Winter Wren breaks into another aria. The canopy rustles. Towhee works the duff.
And above these sounds, another. A high hissy whine, rising in pitch, "Hsseet?" Hsssseeeeet?" Then an answer, deeper and more resonant. The adult breaks cover, flies into the canopy and perches in the branches of a Douglas Fir. Leans over to a fuzzy, bean shaped youngster, who reaches back and takes something with a long skinny tail from its parent's beak.
I hear them almost immediately on entering the forest. A single "caw" and then a chorus from the flock, voices rising in intensity and pitch and more. They have something in their sights, near the area of the roost tree.
As we get close they fall almost silent. Just single voices,
"Caw."
"Caw".
"Caw".
The roost is empty. Now is the time to stand. To wait.
I lean up against a cedar snag by the roost, scan the canopy for a sign. Nothing. A Winter Wren breaks into an operatic trill below me. Robin answers. A motorboat works its way up the western bay, accelerates as it reaches the northern tip of the peninsula. Its sound fades as it plows into the open water of the lake.
Now just leaves rustling, Bill panting by my side.
The crows speak. One harsh "Caw" and then the rest joining in, each voice more harsh, almost desperate. I look up. A quick shadow breaks from the canopy, pale and wide winged, a half dozen crows in screaming pursuit. An adult Barred Owl, just a glimpse as it finds cover in the branches of another fir. The crows surround it, above, below. Bow toward it as they yell,
"Caw!" "Caw!" "Caw!"
The owl hisses back.
And silence, again.
We wait.
A Brown Creeper flutters down to the base of a cedar just 15 feet from me, works its way back up the trunk, pecking for insects, "Tik. Tik. Tik." A Spotted Towhee works the duff behind me. Creeper flutters down again, a brown leaf falling in my peripheral vision, works its way back up again, "Tik. Tik. Tik." A Song Sparrow sings. Down by the lake children laugh. Bill whines, bored with all of the waiting.
The crows lose interest in this game, fly off one by one to find something more enticing deeper in the forest.
"Tik. Tik. Tik." Creeper continues its quest for bugs in the crevices of the cedar. Winter Wren breaks into another aria. The canopy rustles. Towhee works the duff.
And above these sounds, another. A high hissy whine, rising in pitch, "Hsseet?" Hsssseeeeet?" Then an answer, deeper and more resonant. The adult breaks cover, flies into the canopy and perches in the branches of a Douglas Fir. Leans over to a fuzzy, bean shaped youngster, who reaches back and takes something with a long skinny tail from its parent's beak.
Photo: Barred Owl Branchlet. Copyright 2009. C. M. Alexander
posted by C. M. Alexander at 8:35 PM
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