Hoo dat? A Saw-whet Owl...four actually

An owl says "hoo dat?" as he is caught in the mist net hanging in the dark. "Damn," the owl thinks as he is put in the cloth sack. The owl doesn't know what to think as he is placed upside down in a plastic jar to be weighed. At the end of the ordeal is freedom...and a cool new ID bracelet to show his friends and impress the ladies.

get me outta here

 I first heard about the Cape May, NJ owl banding project in the fall of 2014. I knew that many other types of birds were banded. Song birds are caught in mist nets hung low across clearings. The nets are very fine and almost invisible. Birds are caught randomly as they commute to and from work. No doubt they simply blamed it on "the man" (which is pretty much dead on).

Back in September, my wife told be about a birding feature on Vermont Public Radio that she heard. I missed it live, but was able to find it online. What really caught my attention was the mention of a Saw-whet Owl banding project at the North Branch Nature Center outside of Montpelier, Vermont.

Saw-whet Owls are one of the few (if not only) owls that can be called in so close during their fall migration as to be caught in mist nets. While I have no experience in banding birds, I was hoping I could attend an evening session and watch.

I found information about the North Branch Nature Center online and sent an e-mail to Chip Darmstadt, Executive Director for the Nature Center. Chip was great at getting back to me. Unfortunately, I wasn't available for any of the October banding dates.

a Saw-whet accepts its fate

I contacted Chip on November 2 to see if there would be any more attempts at banding this year. He said that they might have one or two nights left and that night looked pretty good for banding. He told me to arrive at the Nature Center about 5:45 and we'd check the nets at 6. Chip was very clear that it was late in the season and we might not see anything. I was excited to have the opportunity to go, even though there was no guarantee of seeing an owl. Clearly, based on the attached pictures, I was able to see some owls. It was a life bird for me, meaning a bird I had never seen.

I arrived at the Nature Center before 6 PM and found where the banders were located. There were about 3 banders and several parents with their kids. The plan was to check the nets about every half hour, beginning at 6.

I have seen song bird banding before and found it interesting at how calm the birds are. After they are caught, the birds are placed in paper lunch bags and left on the ground until it is time for the bagged-bird to be banded. The birds settled down when placed in the dark bags. It is the same principle as covering a bird cage or putting a hood on birds of prey used in falconry...or placing a pillow over a snoring husband's face. So I'm told.

The whole owl banding project was fascinating, from catching the birds in the net; to getting the birds out of the net; to bagging and unbagging the birds; and to banding, measuring, weighing, sexing (not sexting), and aging the birds. Even releasing the birds was interesting. (I've tried to capture some of the activities in the embedded video to the left.)

After the birds were tagged and its vitals recorded, the bander would place the owl on a lucky child's outstretched arm. Interestingly, the little Saw-whet Owls didn't fly off right away. They would sit for a half minute or so, then fly off - looking like a large moth flying off in the beams of the flashlights. Sadly, they only picked the cute little kids to release the owls. I have found that people never pick the cute middle-aged men for the really cool things. Maybe they hope these small opportunities will spark something in the children that could alter the course of their lives and maybe they won't grow up to become attorneys or accountants. Just the same, it may limit the hope of these same attorneys and accountants of becoming kids again. Just saying.

Along with banding, sexing, and weighing the owls, the banders needed to determine the age of the birds. This they do by stretching out the birds wing and shining a black light on the underside of the wing. New feathers glow bright pink. The last owl caught was a first-year bird. You could tell because all the feathers glowed pink. Other birds only had a couple pink feathers. These were determined to be second or third year birds (I can't recall which).

It was really a great night. We caught four owls - one owl the second net check at 6:30, two owls just after 7:00, and one owl around 8:00. I thank Chip Darmstadt for always replying so promptly to my inquiries and for being so welcoming to everyone who showed up to watch the banding. He is an enthusiastic steward of nature. What a wonderful treat it is for a desk-bound professional to get out, even for one night, to witness the wonders of the wild things.

Magna Anno, a Big Year by any other name, or hunting without a gun

Barred Owl from Huntley Meadows Park in VA

Step one, watch The Big Year movie with Steve Martin, Owen Wilson, and Jack Black.
Step two, get a couple of your friends together to hold your own (very little) Big Year birding competition.
Step three, have at it for bragging rights...and it is a pretty healthy diversion.

First, we should define a Big Year. A Big Year, according to Wikipedia (which contains the sum total of all human knowledge), "is an informal competition among birders to see who can see or hear the largest number of species of birds within a single calendar year and within a specific geographical area. A big year may be done within a single US state, a Canadian province, within the lower 48 continental U.S. states, or within the official American Birding Association Area (defined as the 49 continental U.S. states, Canada, and the French islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon, plus adjacent waters to a distance of 200 miles from land or half the distance to a neighboring country, whichever distance is less. Excluded by these boundaries are Bermuda, The Bahamas, Hawaii, and Greenland)."

Great Blue Heron

Now, granted that Canada isn't too far from Vermont, but do we want to have to contest with an overly competitive birder jetting off to Alaska to add some unique bird species? Hint - no we do not. The same goes for the "French islands." Another issue with the original rules - to "see or hear the largest number of species of birds...." Most of my guy friends can't hear his own wife in the next room. I'm supposed to let him vouch for the fact he heard a Gray Catbird and not a Northern Mockingbird? I don't think so.

LBB or LBJ (little brown bird or little brown job)

Our rules are that you must see and identify the bird in the lower 48 states and surrounding waters. Zoos and pet birds don't count. All bird sightings to be counted need to be entered on Cornell University's eBird site. (Registration is free and the information is used by scientists in tracking bird species distributions and migration information.)

The eBird site has an unbelievable amount of information. For example, I'm interested in seeing a Snowy Owl, a bird I have never seen. I can go to eBird, look under explore data tab, then species maps. I enter the species I'm interested in and the location (in this case a ZIP code). The result is a map with sighting locations identified. Note that on this map (below) there was a sighting near Lang Farm in Essex, Vermont on December 16th, yesterday. Just imagine if they had the eBird equivalent for 8-point bucks?! Right, there'd be no 8-point bucks left.

On the off chance you spot some interesting bird, you can add it to the eBird sightings (after setting up a free account). Then when someone hovers the cursor over your map pin they will see your name and sighting.

eBird screen shot of Snowy Owl sightings near Jericho, Vermont

eBird is a great aid to help locate birds. However, it is no guarantee that the bird will be there when you arrive. That is where the hunting comes in to play. You will usually need to spend some time in the field or woods to spot the particular bird you are stalking. It is a great excuse to get outside and observe.  You may even find that 8-point buck, just don't mark it on eBird.

Interested in joining our little big year? Just send me a response to this post and I will add you to the currently very short list. You can follow our progress on Twitter at @sportingafield. I will post progress a couple times a month, along with links to any interesting pictures we take.

Bearly Thanksgiving

My family and I spent a lovely Thanksgiving at my brother Jim's house in Woodbury, Connecticut. We were outside setting up for our annual archery tournament and the kids and I discovered some interesting tracks in the backyard. Being trained scouts, they started following the tracks by carefully walking directly in the tracks. I managed to take this picture with my iPhone before it was stomped out.

My nephew, Jack, was the lead tracker. He followed the tracks under the porch. That made me a bit nervous since we couldn't see that there were exit tracks and under the porch would be a great place to sleep for the winter.

The bear just checked out the garbage can and moved on around the house and into the next yard.  It was something we didn't expect to see in suburban Connecticut.

The trophy held hostage in New Hampshire

It was an underwhelming second annual Boushie archery tournament. The champion from last year, niece Jessica, was unable to defend her crown due to bad weather. As for the competition this year, let's just say that very few of the arrows found the actual target, never mind the bulls eye. Arrows had to be retrieved from everywhere. (Good thing there wasn't a bear around and we had to defend ourselves. It is possible that the bear could have stepped on an arrow.

This year we were joined by Pat, my daughter Maddie's boyfriend (third from the right in the dinner picture below). What we didn't know was that Pat was a ringer. He taught kids archery in summer camp. OK, he wasn't much of a ringer. Truth was the competition was rather lacking. As I said, few arrows found the target. Besides we just wanted to make Pat feel welcome. Personally, I think he would have felt just as welcome in second place.

Indian princess aiming

bird-frying chef takes aim

I was able to defend my runner-up crown and there was no trophy to be given to Pat. Not because he didn't win, but because there literally was no trophy to give him. It was still in New Hampshire. That took care of the dilemma of what to do when a non-Boushie wins the Boushie archery trophy.

I think Jim and Pam were very happy to get their house back. The jury is still out on where the 2015 third annual Boushie archery tournament will take place. The first thing we have to do is get the trophy back from New Hampshire. The second thing we have to do is practice! I haven't shot a bow since the tournament last year. It was a sad showing. Perhaps I will make a trophy for second place - I would have won it two years in a row.

the crew, from left to right, front row, then back, daughter Katie, nephew Jack, niece Emma, me (Uncle Donut - my indian name), wife Karen, pa-in-law Norm, mom Althea, dad Sherdan, sister-in-law Pam, bro Jim, former archery teacher Pat, and indian-princess-daughter Maddie

“Every dog must have his day”

(as published in the Mountain Gazette, July 18, 2013, p. 1)

(Quote by Jonathan Swift) Every once and a while a story comes along that just warms your heart. You see the good in the world and forget, at least for a time, all that is so troublesome. I heard such a story the other day from my wife, which led me to call the people involved, and to put “pen to paper” as it is.

Back in mid-June, Priscilla Emerling and John Hanf looked out their window in Waterville and saw a man walking down Route 109 carrying a fly rod in one hand and a deer fawn in the other. This seemed a bit curious, even for Vermont, so they went outside to investigate.

The man carrying the fawn was Dalton Harben, a co-owner of Vermont’s own Worth Skis (www.worthskis.com). Dalton and his dog, Bo, were fly fishing the north branch of the Lamoille River when Bo started running around in a circle and barking, like Dalton said he does when he’s playing with another dog. Bo found a fawn. The fawn wasn’t sure what was going on and jumped into the rain-swollen river at a section of water with some small rapids. Bo went in the water right after the fawn. Dog and fawn were swept a couple hundred feet down the river. Dalton said that Bo, who is a strong swimmer, caught up to the fawn and was pushing his shoulder into the fawn to steer it towards land. Dalton said you could tell the fawn was frightened and was trying to keep its head above water. Bo then started pulling the fawn from the nape of its neck towards shore. On shore, Bo sniffed the fawn, licked it a few times, best friends forever.

Even a little fawn can recognize a good dog! Bo, a Plott Hound, with fawn
(D. Harben photo)

After picking up the fawn, Dalton started to look around and found a doe, most likely the fawn’s mother, that had been hit and killed by a car.

While Priscilla stayed outside talking with Dalton about the rescue, John went inside to call the State Police to see what they should do with the fawn. The State Police contacted the game warden and the final verdict was – set the fawn somewhere outside and “let nature take its course.”  That sounds good and fine, except that nature’s course isn’t something you’d always like to think about when it comes to God’s youngest critters.

John decided to bring the fawn up to a field where he knew there to be a fair number of doe with the hope that the fawn would be adopted. So he, Dalton, and, of course, Bo drove the fawn up to the field. John and Dalton set the fawn in the field and walked away…followed by the fawn. John set the fawn down again, lightly touching its head. He said as soon as he pressed on the fawn’s head it lay down and stayed in place.

John came back the next day to check on the fawn. He located it about 40 yards away from where he first lay it down. He saw several does in the woods near the field and there were fresh deer paths through the meadow. When John tried to touch the fawn to check its health, it bleated and ran about 20 yards and lay down. The does watched from the woods.

The third day John went to check on the fawn it was not to be found in the field. There were lots of deer tracks and no signs of predation. So, since I am the storyteller, we will assume that the fawn was adopted and everyone lived happily ever after. In fact, several weeks after the fawn was released by John and Dalton, Priscilla saw a doe with two fawns that were clearly of a different age. Happy ending, I say yes.

Nature’s course isn’t always the straightest or most gentle path(D. Harben photo)

Special thanks to Dalton, John, and Priscilla for sharing this story with me. Unfortunately, Bo still has not returned my phone calls, so I’ll have to take Dalton’s word for his side of the story. I leave you with another quote; this one from Gene Hill – one of my favorite outdoor writers. “Whoever said you can’t buy happiness forgot about little puppies.” I’m not sure how it is relevant, but it makes me smile.

Send me your stories and I’m still hoping to receive some photos, game or regular camera. Send me your best photos with some background information – general area the picture taken (unless it is a trophy animal), time of year, etc. I’ll include the best ones in to the Mountain Gazette over the next several issues. E-mail me at kristopher@sportingafield.net.

Please visit www.sportingafield.blogspot.com for more news, musings, and interviews or to leave questions or comments.