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Tonight's target was the Northern Saw-whet
Owl. I've scouted for the proper habitat and concluded
the montane open pine forest around Powder Mountain Ski Area at the
northern tip of the Ogden Valley was the best bet. My companion and I
arrived at the top of the mountain at the Hidden Lake condo area in time to
see the day pass through the sunset spectrum into night. We
watched the yellow sky turn orange, then pink, then red, then purple. That
spectacle would have been enough to conclude the trip up the mountain was worth
it. But we had an additional sight in mind.
I played the Northern Saw-whet CD at several
stops as we descended down the dirt road to the terminus of Highway 158 at
the Powder Mountain parking lot. No luck. But intrepid, we
were! That winding gray ribbon-road through the canyon is
fringed with firs as it nears the ski area. The first stop below mile
marker 11 did not produce any Saw-whet response. As I pulled up
again, I heard something unexpected..."Poor-will! Poor-will!
Poor-will! Poor-will!" The call was incessant and came from the
trees. A shoestring of hope inspired me to flash the spotlight down
the road and I saw.....absolutely nothing. We listened to the Common
Poorwill for a while if only to enjoy a sound of the night. Then we
continued down the road, eyes riveted on the ribbon, hopeful yet again to
see poorwills sitting on the pavement. I stopped a couple tenths down
to listen and stuck my head out the window. The Northern Saw-whet
called without any coaxing. You've never seen such a flurry of
activity as we two birders piled, tripped, and spilled out of the truck.
Grab the binocs! Grab the spotlight! Grab the CD
player, just in case! A second Saw-whet answered across the road
and we listened to their tooting. A third one might have chipped in,
too.
Now the work began. We moved along the
road to pinpoint the tree where the closest bird was calling. A
little knot of tall trees across a stream harbored the sprite. The foliage
was too thick and the trees too far away for me to pick out the little
blunt-headed shape I sought. Hmmph! Impossible task! We
moved down the road again. The second owl began to call in a towering fir
tree close to the road. It sometimes needed the inspiration the CD
provided to continue tooting. I played the song a few times as we
searched for the owl with the spotlight. I'm sure that tree has never
had such an inspection. Up, down, under branches, around the north
side, swing to the south side--at every angle we could muster from the
road. Traipsing around the tree was not an option since the
embankment descending to the road bed was quite steep. My companion
gave the spotlight a try and earned the same disappointing results.
The owl continued to call to us:
"Tooooot--Can't--toooot--see--toooot--me--toooot--Ha!--Toooot!"
Meanwhile, other winged ones had found the
spotlight. A legion of moths were determined to commit hari-kari in the
beam, except their aim wasn't so good. They thudded against it, ricocheted
off the light and into my head, back to the light, thudded off my shoulder and
ricocheted into my hand, arm, face, hair, while flapping, fluttering and
buzzing. Their flapping and fluttering was so strong I sometimes fancied
they were bats...or Japanese Zeros dive-bombing my ears! We heard one
buzzing on the ground and aimed the spotlight down. A big hummingbird
moth was breakdancing in the gravel, spinning on its back with eyes glowing
green. Eerie.
I prided myself on my steely grip and determination
while I sustained the moth assault. And then one bounced off my
light and ricocheted right down into my V-neck shirt. Curious
feeling--that flapping, fluttering, and ricocheting was fairly close to
home. The moth must have found its way out, because I have no recollection
of showing it the door. I was back to owling. No amount of peering,
squinting, or surveying produced the little owl bugger. We sure did try
hard.
Finally, I heard another night sound...a small
sound, but one that I could not ignore..."Mom, can we go home now? I'm
getting really tired." It was time to go.
The evening was not without its rewards. I've
mentioned the sounds of the Common Poorwill and the Northern Saw-whet Owls, but
we also saw moose, deer, mice, and of course, that lovely sunset. My
10-year old companion appreciated all of them and proved herself pretty
resilient under the moth attack, too. Looks like we'll have to save
the saw-whet for another night.
Kris
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