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Add the Bullock’s Oriole to the list of bird-birds--you know, a bird that leads you to other birds just like a bird-dog would? I visited Fort Buenaventura in Ogden this afternoon to scout for owl habitat. A pair of Bullock’s Orioles led me right to the baddest dude in the 'hood--a Great Horned Owl. The sound of the orioles’ scolding finally registered on my consciousness and I followed the sound to see what all the fuss was about. The owl was perched on an arching, leafy Cottonwood branch while sustaining the verbal assault from his fellow avians. I watched the owl for a little while until he (I’d like to think it was a "he") took flight to a higher, thicker branch with better cover. I’m sure that owl hoped to escape the orioles’ attention. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t be put off so easily, and did the only thing I could do—ran back to my truck for my scope and a chair. I set up my birding shop about 80 feet away from his tree and watched the owl for about an hour. The owl was definitely an adult, but very pale and washed-out looking. His plumage showed pale tawny tones almost everywhere. I believe the owl was a male because I think an adult female would still be roosting near owlets. I did a cursory search of nearby trees and didn’t find a family, but who-who-who-whoooo-whoooo knows? Perhaps a family was nearby. Those Cottonwoods are pretty thick. After I settled in my chair, the owl settled on his. I watched him preen for awhile. That down-turned bill is pretty efficient at selecting just one feather amongst all the other fluffy ones, and stripping it along the feather’s length. While the owl worked individual feathers in his beak, his eyes were closed and his face had a kind of ecstatic, dreamy appearance. All that preening must have felt good. I also watched the owl’s feet. He stood on the branch with only one foot at a time. I watched as he stretched out the other foot and curled up his taloned toes in a tight fist. The foot disappeared beneath the long contour feathers on his belly. Once while he was preening, he pointed all the toes on one foot toward me, ballerina-like and delicate. It was definitely not a motion that reminded me that he's the baddest dude in the ‘hood! Twice, the owl scratched the right side of his face with his deadly-looking foot just like Fido scratches. Wow. I don’t know how he manages those things. Finally, he yawned so wide that the width of the gape made me laugh. Did you know that a Great-Horned Owl’s mouth is pale pink inside? He stretched that cavernous, ribbed mouth wide, exposed his little, pale pink tongue, and snapped his mouth shut. He looked around as if to say, "Whaddya looking at me for?" And then, he slowly, lazily allowed boredom to overcome him. His lower eyelids rose and met his upper eyelids on the way down. Good night, owl. Fort Buenaventura sits within a mature Cottonwood Forest and is bordered by the Weber River. Although I haven’t birded this place thoroughly yet, I have seen other species: Canada Goose, Snowy Egret, Belted Kingfisher, Western Screech-owl, Hairy Woodpecker, House Wren, Black-headed Grosbeak, Black-capped Chickadee, Western Wood-pewee, Bank Swallow, Northern Rough-winged Swallow, Yellow Warbler, Warbling Vireo and American Robin. To reach Fort Buenaventura, take I-15 to exit 345, 24th Street. Turn east and drive almost a mile to A Street. Watch for the brown signs directing you to Fort Buenaventura Park. Turn right (south) on A Street, and left at the Raptors Field/Fort Buenaventura entrance. Follow the road around the ball field and continue south into the park entrance. Kris |