On the hunt for the great white owl.
Huffing and puffing, we rounded a corner, climbed a rise and saw them:
25 photographers poised at the helms of their 2-foot-long lenses, watching and waiting.
We'd just slogged through a half mile of deep sand through the dunes at the westerly end of Jones Beach. We easily followed the footprints and tripod trails of those that came before us: the tireless wildlife photographers who'd arrived in the morning and waited patiently for the owl to do... anything.
And there, perched on a tiny hill of sand and scrub, 50 feet from the gaggle of cameras, sat the great white owl. Sleeping, blinking, and every so often turning his (or her) head to glance lazily at the ever-forward-creeping band of tripods.
25 photographers poised at the helms of their 2-foot-long lenses, watching and waiting.
We'd just slogged through a half mile of deep sand through the dunes at the westerly end of Jones Beach. We easily followed the footprints and tripod trails of those that came before us: the tireless wildlife photographers who'd arrived in the morning and waited patiently for the owl to do... anything.
And there, perched on a tiny hill of sand and scrub, 50 feet from the gaggle of cameras, sat the great white owl. Sleeping, blinking, and every so often turning his (or her) head to glance lazily at the ever-forward-creeping band of tripods.
Our mission was simple: find one of the snowy owls that have graced the shores of Long Island and Jamaica Bay near New York City over the past few months. With the digital era making life easier for us, I checked eBird's tracking of the owl invasion daily and noted where the owls were being spotted. Built for life on the tundra, snowy owls are most at home in open expanses; which means in the lower 48 they are most often seen on beaches, in fields, and at airports (which has caused a bit of a stir in New York). The beaches along the South shore of Long Island proved to be a lucrative owl-spotting ground in recent weeks.
Snowy owls are one of the largest owl species in North America, standing upright about 2 feet tall. They spend their summers in the arctic circle, and head south for a relatively warmer winter spent in Canada and the Northern parts of the Midwest. A few individuals venture down to the Northeast each year and New York is at the southern end of their normal winter range. This year though, snowy owls are crowding not just New York, but have been spotted as far south as Florida and one sun-seeking owl even ventured all the way to Bermuda. Snowy owls are being spotted so often this year that the birding community is calling it an invasion.
My fellow twitchers for the day were Mom and Dad. None of us had ever seen a snowy owl before, and none of us had ever gone out of our way to try and spot a particular bird in New York before (I use the term twitcher very loosely). It was a balmy winter's day in New York, with clear-skies and temperatures in the 50's: perfect for a (visual) hunt for the great white owl.
Snowy owls are one of the largest owl species in North America, standing upright about 2 feet tall. They spend their summers in the arctic circle, and head south for a relatively warmer winter spent in Canada and the Northern parts of the Midwest. A few individuals venture down to the Northeast each year and New York is at the southern end of their normal winter range. This year though, snowy owls are crowding not just New York, but have been spotted as far south as Florida and one sun-seeking owl even ventured all the way to Bermuda. Snowy owls are being spotted so often this year that the birding community is calling it an invasion.
My fellow twitchers for the day were Mom and Dad. None of us had ever seen a snowy owl before, and none of us had ever gone out of our way to try and spot a particular bird in New York before (I use the term twitcher very loosely). It was a balmy winter's day in New York, with clear-skies and temperatures in the 50's: perfect for a (visual) hunt for the great white owl.
Our first stop on the mission was Captree State Park, at the very eastern tip of Ocean Parkway. Excitedly, we trudged through the sand down to the beach and carefully searched the dunes for signs of white plumage; raising our binos a number of times to only realize we were looking at a plastic bag or piece of white cloth. I spotted a line of Brant geese and long-tailed ducks bobbing along near the pier about 500 meters away from us. On closer inspection though, we realized that they were two lines of decoys, set by a trio of camouflaged hunters toting camouflaged rifles and sitting in a small camouflaged boat that was tied up under the pier.
"You fooled us pretty well with those! I was excited to see all of those species together at once!"
The trio looked at me in confusion and annoyance.
"They're not real", one grumbled.
"Yes, I know... ummm, what are you going for?"
"Sea-ducks"
Dad asked; "We're out here looking for snowy owls- have you seen any?"
"Yeah, sure- over by that bridge there"
We retreated from the pier, wondering if they'd just said that to get rid of us (which they had). As we walked back along the top of the dunes a flock of Brants came flying in right over the hunters. Five loud bangs and three of the geese fell into the water. Mom and I stood, waiting, to see if the hunters would go retrieve them- which they didn't. We can't be sure that the geese didn't all float back to the boat, but from our viewpoint on the shore, it seemed like they were just left in the water. What a waste.
[Disclaimer: I have nothing against hunting, especially for species that are well-managed. But I do think that animals that are killed should be used for something. Just killing a brant for the sake of it seems like an incredible waste to me.]
"You fooled us pretty well with those! I was excited to see all of those species together at once!"
The trio looked at me in confusion and annoyance.
"They're not real", one grumbled.
"Yes, I know... ummm, what are you going for?"
"Sea-ducks"
Dad asked; "We're out here looking for snowy owls- have you seen any?"
"Yeah, sure- over by that bridge there"
We retreated from the pier, wondering if they'd just said that to get rid of us (which they had). As we walked back along the top of the dunes a flock of Brants came flying in right over the hunters. Five loud bangs and three of the geese fell into the water. Mom and I stood, waiting, to see if the hunters would go retrieve them- which they didn't. We can't be sure that the geese didn't all float back to the boat, but from our viewpoint on the shore, it seemed like they were just left in the water. What a waste.
[Disclaimer: I have nothing against hunting, especially for species that are well-managed. But I do think that animals that are killed should be used for something. Just killing a brant for the sake of it seems like an incredible waste to me.]
After walking around the base of the bridge with no owl sightings, we decided there was too much vegetation there and to try another spot. On the way back to the car we spotted about 6 red-breasted mergansers and 2 long-tailed ducks (both are new species for me). I liked the long-tailed ducks: from afar the dark patches on their cheeks make them look as if they're blushing.
In the parking lot, a woman with a telephoto lens was just getting into her car, and Dad asked if she'd seen any owls.
"Not here, but if you go to Jones Beach you're virtually guaranteed to see one." She proceeded to give us very detailed directions to where she'd seen an owl the previous day. I love friendly birders.
In the parking lot, a woman with a telephoto lens was just getting into her car, and Dad asked if she'd seen any owls.
"Not here, but if you go to Jones Beach you're virtually guaranteed to see one." She proceeded to give us very detailed directions to where she'd seen an owl the previous day. I love friendly birders.
So we drove to the western end of Ocean Parkway, enjoying the view across the sparkling South Oyster Bay. I squirmed in the back seat trying to train my binoculars on birds in the marshes as we whizzed past (a hard thing to do in a moving vehicle).
The gathering of vehicles at the western end of the vast, empty parking lot gave away the best spot to venture from. And it wasn't too long before we found the owl- and its admirers. With the sunset turning the sky behind them orange, the group looked like a scene from some military movie.
The gathering of vehicles at the western end of the vast, empty parking lot gave away the best spot to venture from. And it wasn't too long before we found the owl- and its admirers. With the sunset turning the sky behind them orange, the group looked like a scene from some military movie.
The grey barring on the owl's breast and back meant that we were looking at either a juvenile male or a female owl. Males have much less barring and can appear a pristine white. All snowy owls have bright amber catlike eyes and huge, fluffy feathered feet disguising their large talons.
In the arctic summer, snowy owls hunt throughout the constant daylight, which may explain why they are one of the most diurnal (active during the day) owls. Snowy owls hunt voraciously when prey is available, with the natural boom and bust of the arctic lemming cycles dictating how well breeding pairs will do in a year. In a good lemming year, pairs of owls have been known to raise as many as 12 chicks, and a single individual can to eat up to 1,600 lemmings in a year. The exact reasons for what causes large influxes of snowy owls as far south as New York some years has not been pinpointed yet- but it is probably tied to the lemming cycles. The main theories are that either low lemming years drive adults south in search of more food in the scarce winter months, or that high lemming years result in a large increase in the population of snowy owls and that many of the southward adventurers are juveniles: snowy owls on spring break.
In the arctic summer, snowy owls hunt throughout the constant daylight, which may explain why they are one of the most diurnal (active during the day) owls. Snowy owls hunt voraciously when prey is available, with the natural boom and bust of the arctic lemming cycles dictating how well breeding pairs will do in a year. In a good lemming year, pairs of owls have been known to raise as many as 12 chicks, and a single individual can to eat up to 1,600 lemmings in a year. The exact reasons for what causes large influxes of snowy owls as far south as New York some years has not been pinpointed yet- but it is probably tied to the lemming cycles. The main theories are that either low lemming years drive adults south in search of more food in the scarce winter months, or that high lemming years result in a large increase in the population of snowy owls and that many of the southward adventurers are juveniles: snowy owls on spring break.
Snowy owls don't just eat lemmings though, they also eat birds and other types of rodents. In winter they eat plenty of ducks- so the odd patterns we're seeing could also be tied to migrating waterfowl, which in turn is linked with weather and sea-surface temperatures.
Once we'd had a look at the owl through our own binoculars, we got to talking to some of the photographers standing around us. Few had looked up to smile as we approached, which I found odd considering how friendly most bird-watchers have been in my previous birding adventures. I asked one man, who had a huge telephoto lens, if he'd gotten any good pictures, and he replied in a thick Russian accent that he hadn't taken a single shot yet.
"Oh wow- did you just get here then?" I asked.
"No, I've been here for four hours."
"And you haven't taken a single picture?"
"No, I'm waiting for the owl to do something."
"You've been here for four hours, with a huge telephoto lens, an owl sitting 50 feet away, and a digital camera... and you haven't taken a single picture? Seriously?"
"Seriously".
I gave up and asked another guy nearby; he also told me he'd been around for a few hours and hadn't taken any shots. He said it was because the owl had perched amongst some scrub and he didn't like the way it looked.
Pretty sure that these guys thought I was somehow going to steal their shots, I gave up on trying to chat with them and happily rejoined Mom and Dad to watch the owl some more and enjoy the views as the sun set. A man walked by on his way back to the parking lot with a huge tripod and massive lens slung over his shoulder and wished us luck with our watching. "Thanks", I said, and meekly asked if he'd gotten any good pictures.
"Yeah, I got some great ones. Better ones last week. He's a beautiful bird though isn't he? Do you know about these owls? I can tell you a little about them."
"Oh wow- did you just get here then?" I asked.
"No, I've been here for four hours."
"And you haven't taken a single picture?"
"No, I'm waiting for the owl to do something."
"You've been here for four hours, with a huge telephoto lens, an owl sitting 50 feet away, and a digital camera... and you haven't taken a single picture? Seriously?"
"Seriously".
I gave up and asked another guy nearby; he also told me he'd been around for a few hours and hadn't taken any shots. He said it was because the owl had perched amongst some scrub and he didn't like the way it looked.
Pretty sure that these guys thought I was somehow going to steal their shots, I gave up on trying to chat with them and happily rejoined Mom and Dad to watch the owl some more and enjoy the views as the sun set. A man walked by on his way back to the parking lot with a huge tripod and massive lens slung over his shoulder and wished us luck with our watching. "Thanks", I said, and meekly asked if he'd gotten any good pictures.
"Yeah, I got some great ones. Better ones last week. He's a beautiful bird though isn't he? Do you know about these owls? I can tell you a little about them."
Finally! Someone who was friendly. His name was Jeffrey Kollbrunner and it turned out he was a photographer who had done work for Audubon and other major birding groups in the past. He stood with us as we watched the photographers creep slowly toward the owl over the next 15 minutes, and explained a bit about the owl migration, told stories about his previous experiences with owls, and about some of the precarious positions he's gotten into while doing wildlife photography (most notably hanging upside down off of the side of a Manhattan skyscraper to take pictures of a nesting red-tailed hawk).
As we talked, the two photographers who apparently don't take pictures took their tripods and walked around behind the owl, setting up about 50 feet away on the other side of the bird. The owl immediately began to fidget: turning his head back and forth (owls can turn their heads almost completely around), bobbing his head (which is something raptors often do to judge distances), and then lazily stretching out one wing. The photographers crept ever closer, and eventually the owl had enough (it's disappointing that people can't just respect the bird and let it do its thing, but these guys wanted their magic shot).
The owl bobbed his head, beat his silent wings, soared in an arc out across the dunes and (literally) flew off into the sunset.
For the past week I've heard both parents recount our adventure to plenty of jealous non-birders, who were excited and intrigued by the idea of spotting an owl in New York City's backyard. Mom told her students at the inner-city high school she teaches at, and all they wanted to talk about for the rest of the class was owls. It's amazing how just having a rare visitor come to the city can get people excited about nature. I'll look forward to the next family trek out to spot a bird!
As we talked, the two photographers who apparently don't take pictures took their tripods and walked around behind the owl, setting up about 50 feet away on the other side of the bird. The owl immediately began to fidget: turning his head back and forth (owls can turn their heads almost completely around), bobbing his head (which is something raptors often do to judge distances), and then lazily stretching out one wing. The photographers crept ever closer, and eventually the owl had enough (it's disappointing that people can't just respect the bird and let it do its thing, but these guys wanted their magic shot).
The owl bobbed his head, beat his silent wings, soared in an arc out across the dunes and (literally) flew off into the sunset.
For the past week I've heard both parents recount our adventure to plenty of jealous non-birders, who were excited and intrigued by the idea of spotting an owl in New York City's backyard. Mom told her students at the inner-city high school she teaches at, and all they wanted to talk about for the rest of the class was owls. It's amazing how just having a rare visitor come to the city can get people excited about nature. I'll look forward to the next family trek out to spot a bird!