Date: 2/4/26 11:24 am From: Don Morrow <donaldcmorrow...> Subject: [NFLbirds] Owl Talk
I got down to St. Marks NWR early and walked along Lighthouse Road at the
Double Bridges under a bright half-moon. The East River crosses under the
road here. Barred Owls nest in the hammock along the river and I was hoping
to hear one. Just after first light, when day birds began to call, I
realized that I would be disappointed.
I can do a reasonable Barred Owl call and when I was younger, I often used
it to attract owls. Hooting up owls can be done to survey them or be used
as an environmental education tool, but owl calling is a minor form of owl
harassment. You’re not really talking to the owl. What you are doing is
challenging them by apparently being another owl in their territory. This
causes an owl to stop feeding while it investigates the intruder. As I have
gotten older, I have become content to walk in the dark and let the owls
pick their moment.
One night, though, I did have a conversation with an owl. It was forty-five
years ago, during my second year of graduate school. Memory can morph over
time, sharpening and elaborating some details, blurring, and eliminating
others. As best I can remember, this is how it happened.
I lived on Old Chesterfield Road on the outskirts of Winchester, New
Hampshire, a small town down near the Massachusetts border. A few hundred
yards beyond our house, the pavement ended and the road continued into a
thirteen- thousand-acre undeveloped state park. I would sometimes stay up
late writing papers and drinking coffee. Wide awake at two or three in the
morning, I would go walking in the park until sunrise.
Snowfall had been light that year and there was only about a half foot of
new snow on the ground as I set out down the road in the moonless dark. New
Hampshire winters are very cold – sub-freezing to sub-zero, but I was
dressed for it with heavy boots, wool pants and sweater, a down vest under
a heavy parka, a wool hat, mittens, and scarf.
I had no plan that night, nor on any other. Starlight reflecting off the
snow had turned the landscape black-and-white. As my eyes quickly adjusted
to the night, it was easy to see my way. The park had a welter of twisting,
unmarked dirt roads, and trails. I followed Old Chesterfield Road as it
shifted from snow-covered pavement to snow-covered dirt, Then, based solely
on whim, I turned onto a connecting trail and wandered out into the night.
When my path led me into thick evergreens the surrounding forest edge was
black and I walked down a white pathway roofed with stars. When I passed
through leafless deciduous forest, the night opened up and the trunks of
the maples and oaks stood in ranks of black silhouettes against the lighter
snow.
Some nights the wind howled through the trees, sending snow down on me from
the branches above. That night was still and quiet. No sounds intruded from
the surrounding rural countryside. I walked making random decisions when I
came to intersections until I found myself on the edge of a pond. It was
not big –maybe an acre across. Its frozen surface was a white expanse of
snow-covered ice. The sky above was black and spotted with stars. As I
stood there quietly, listening to the silence, a Barred Owl called from the
far side of the pond with its standard eight-part call. Who-cooks-for-you,
who-cooks-for-y'all.
That night there was no need to hoot up the owl, it was there and had
already announced its presence. But, when it called again, on impulse I
pulled the scarf covering my face down, inhaled a lungful of freezing air
and hooted my Barred Owl call out into the night. I waited a few seconds
and then the owl responded. I was enthralled and began to duet with the
owl. The owl would call; I would call back and then the owl would answer
me. After a few minutes I began to wonder if we were really talking or was
the owl simply calling rhythmically and I just happened to call in the gaps
between its calls?
Barred Owls have a number of calls. The eight-part *Who-cooks-for-you, who
cooks for y’all *is the most common, but they sometimes do a variant
five-part call, sort of *Who, who, who, whoo wah. * The pattern is
reminiscent of a Great Horned Owl call, but louder and more exuberant. I
switched to the variant Barred Owl call and from the far side of the pond,
the owl switched its call to match mine.
We continued hooting to each other for a few minutes until the owl switched
back to the eight-part call, which I matched. We continued duetting and I
was beginning to wonder if the owl had just been humoring me. Then it
switched back to the five-part call. I matched it and we continued hooting
to each other across the frozen pond. Sometimes I switched the cadence of
the call and sometimes the owl switched, but regardless, the other changed
to match the new cadence.
We continued until my face and lips were frozen and I was chilled from
standing in the snow. I stopped hooting. The unseen owl continued,
switching between the five-part and eight-part calls. Then it fell silent.
I had duetted with Barred Owls before and have done so since, but this was
different, more intimate. The owl and I had had a conversation. I was aware
that there was an intelligence on the other side of the pond and hoped that
the owl felt the same way. I’m still not entirely sure what we were talking
about. Sort of, “Can you do this?” but it was enough.
The sky was beginning to lighten in the East. It was time to head home. I
had a general sense of where I was and I always managed to find my way. I
adjusted the scarf to cover my face and began the long walk back home
through the snow.
