|
The Peregrine I saw on Antelope Island Causeway last week whetted my appetite for more birds of might and muscle. I wanted to see raptors today--birds that can snatch their prey out of the sky in a shower of feathers; birds that can sever a spine with a snap of a notched beak; birds that can hear a rustle of a vole's paw against straw under the snow; and birds that can sail away to the horizon; silent, powerful, graceful--making us wish we could sail away with them. I hoped Box Elder County would hold these raptors in store for me. The county did not disappoint. UT 83 (west of I-15 Exit 368) is a productive place for raptors. The first bird I saw was a Bald Eagle and that was a good omen. I was also blessed with many buteos just west of Corinne. A double line of tall power poles parallels the road on the south side. The poles provide many perches overlooking the wide-open marshes that stretch south to Bear River MBR. Most of the hawks I saw on the way out were Rough-legged. The first was a young bird; it was very, very light brown on the back and wings and highly variegated. I saw several others and noticed that despite my distance, all the Rough-legs were restive when I stopped along the side of the road. They flew to the next pole away. They all showed beautiful light under wings, strong dark bellies and wrist patches, and dark tails. Twice, the angles of the hawks' departures were such that I could study the characteristic crook--the wings jutted up from the body to the wrist, and flattened out to the hand. The other buteos, Red-tails, didn't mind my looking at them. They possessively maintained their poles, looking silent, mildly curious, even bored. American Kestrels made use of the wires, but alas, the diminutive falcons didn't hold my attention for long today. There were other birds ahead--individual birds I was to watch for 20 minutes or more. About halfway between Thiokol's north border and the interstate things started getting birdy. A long telescope shot across field and sage picked up a Northern Harrier sitting on a low fence post and a large, slim falcon rising off the ground to top a low pole. The falcon turned into a Prairie when I drove much closer. I believe this bird was a first-year. The mustaches were strong and dark and the cere an undefinable color--not yellow--maybe gray. The brown back and wings were uniformly dark brown. I've seen adults that were much paler. The falcon eventually flew and the wingtips appeared blunt and the axillaries very dark. I watched the bird circle in wide sweeps and begin to soar almost higher in the sky than I could see. I could no longer tell it was a falcon, or even a bird of prey. At about mile 27.9 I studied Horned Larks in a sloppy field full of mud-covered cows chewing their cuds and contemplating me. A rooster Ring-necked Pheasant hunted and pecked through water-filled hoof prints, not at all concerned that Golden Eagles might be about. Far past the larks and at the end of a feed trough, I picked up movement--round gray shapes cautiously stepping through snow and finding a safe haven under a coil of wire fencing. It was a covey of 10 Gray Partridge. Orange faces poked through a gap in a fence and sometimes the bright rufous zebra stripes along their sides were visible. The partridge must have felt mighty safe at this spot; they were still there 2 hours later. I turned west on a side road to investigate what the trees around houses in the distance might harbor. The discovery I made at 18315W 14400N isn't quite as shocking as I think back on it now, but I was shocked at the time. I approached a house with tall trees and two moving, light-colored birds at least 40 feet up. Nope! Couldn't be. Must be hen pheasants. Couldn't be Sharp-tailed Grouse, 40 feet up in a tree and dancing nimbly across the branches while picking buds like mad. But of course it was. My previous experiences with Sharp-tailed Grouse have been in warmer months and I've always seen them on the ground. But in the winter, they transition to groves of trees and live primarily on plant matter. I sat under the trees and watched them for at least 20 minutes. This pair had strong light eye-rings, darkish spectacles as if they were wearing oval black Clark Kent eyeglasses, and comical pale feather-furry leggings right down to their toes. Their breasts were heavily marked with white feathers edged in black that looked like miniature arrowheads pointing down toward their feet. But my favorite feathers were their neatly folded chocolate brown primaries, perfectly spotted in white. I continued on the snowy, rural road and then in an instant, shoved the brake to the floor, skittered a bit, caught my breath, and backed up. I consider all these reactions perfectly normal for a birder who just spotted the silhouette of a Long-eared Owl in a row of trees. It was a male who chose his roost far enough away from the trunk that I could see him. His tree was about 70 feet from the road and within easy scope range. I repositioned to a new angle at the same distance, and found it remarkable how the owl became part of the tree. Between scope views the owl had adopted the camouflage posture. He was very slim. His most remarkable features were the light-colored tufts of feathers that projected up in a 'V' along his beak and between his eyes. The inside of the "ear" tufts was exactly the same color and together, the two sets of feathers made the owl look as if it had stacked white 'V' shaped feathers on and above his face. As with the Sharp-tails, I studied this bird for at least 20 minutes. If the residents of the house looked outside, they must have thought the woman peering into their yard with a telescope was incredibly nosy. There was one more good'un on this road. As I passed the house where I saw the Prairie Falcon I went through the same reaction sequence as with the Long-eared Owl. This time, the silhouette was the Sherman Tank of owls--the Great Horned. It's remarkable how huge this owl looked in comparison to the skinny-mini I just left while the skinny-mini was trying to be a branch. The Great Horned was only about 30 feet away and riveted those black and yellow piercing orbs on me. Gee willikers! That stare is intense. The bird had found the perfect daytime hideout, with the exception of the fact that I detected him or her. It perched on the long-ago trimmed central trunk of a tree whose other branches grew up around the trunk and formed a bower. The owl could almost pass for an extension of the trunk. I bet this spot is a favorite perch, and I resolved to check it each time I bird in the area. Let me sum up the results on this side road--14400N. At the first house one mile west of UT 83 I saw a Prairie Falcon and a Great Horned Owl. At the second house 1.4 miles west of UT 83 I saw two Sharp-tailed Grouse foraging on buds 40 feet up in a row of trees. At the third house 1.5 miles west of UT 83 I saw a Long-eared Owl. Those four sightings took up about an hour and a half, and were worth every minute. Back on UT 83, just north of mm 28 I saw a Merlin on a fence post, and Shoot! Shucks! Sugar! I stopped too fast, too close, and the bird zipped away. Not only did I miss a chance to study the slim and beautiful falcon, but I regretted the unnecessary energy the falcon had to expend to fly away when it was uneasy due to my proximity. UT 83 intersects I-15 at exit 26 and I planned to take the interstate home. And then, just before the point of no return, I realized how foolish that idea was. There was still daylight! What birding was I going to be able to do from the interstate? I turned around and retraced my route. In retrospect, I'm mighty thankful for the impulsive change of plans. Passing between miles 21 and 20 I came upon six Chukars...then three more...then 10 more...picking up grit in the gray late afternoon light while very big and bright white snowflakes fell. The Chukars seemed full of joy and trotted or walked energetically along the road. Much farther south near the intersection of UT 83 and UT 102, that line of tall telephone poles produced a Golden Eagle; a Red-tailed Hawk matched with another Prairie Falcon, and a startling, contrasting dark morph Rough-legged Hawk. It was a fine day for raptors, indeed. But it was only 5:40, I still had daylight, and the last bird was still ahead. I saw her flying toward me along the side of the highway as I approached Public Shooting Grounds WMA. She was a Barn Owl. You'll be happy to know my reaction sequence to seeing this bird was safe and sane. By the time I turned around and headed west after the owl she was at least 1/8 mile farther on and maintaining her position relative to the road. She was about 10 feet off the road and 3-4 feet in the air. She flew just 25 feet or so away and was completely oblivious to anything but hunting. I pulled up adjacent to the owl and noted my odometer--3.9. Now she and I were both headed west--she flying steadily above the embankment of the eastbound lane, and I driving slowly in the westbound lane. We moved west together at about 20 miles per hour. Her broad wings paddled the air and she surged gently up and down, buoyant. At times she tipped that entire white facial disk toward the road, down, or to the other side. Never did she vary her course. And then, she flipped...skittered...dove the 3 or 4 feet to the ground. My odometer said 4.0. I had "flown" with a Barn Owl for a tenth of a mile. I turned around again and pointed my truck east along the shoulder. I couldn't see what the owl had caught, but she struggled with it, wings outstretched on the snow. It may have been a vole. Whatever the prey's identity, the owl made quick work of it and was off again. She tracked east over the same route she had just flown. I pulled up alongside again and hunted with her for another tenth of a mile. I finally left her behind with a much greater understanding of why this species of owl suffers a high mortality rate near roads. She flew low--at vehicle height, and focused totally on hunting. The only disappointment today, and I offer this reflection tongue-in-cheek, is that my old reliable law of averages method of finding Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs failed me. I claimed in another post that to find either of those species one simply has to look through plenty of Horned Larks and SBs or LLs would appear. I looked through hundreds--no, thousands--no, hundreds of thousands--of Horned Larks today, and all I found was...Horned Larks. At least they're cute little guys--black-masked white- or yellow-faced bird badgers flinging up showers of mud or errr--cow bi-products--in their quest for seeds. Despite the fact that I've spent an untold number of words on just a few birds, I saw even more: Canada Geese, Northern Shovelers, Gadwalls, Common Goldeneyes, Killdeer, Common Ravens, American Magpies, Red-winged Blackbirds, Western Meadowlarks, a Northern Flicker, and an American Robin. But you know the hunters were the best. Kris |