>>> A Quest for the Great Gray Owl <<<

Preface:

Sorry this is so long again, but it's a way of sharing with you a very
special experience in a part of our State which I truely can never seem to
get enough of, and at the same time recording my notes in some manner where
they are not just simply recorded and put away on a dusty shelf. This will
probably be my last posting on tweeters for awhile -- quite awhile, as the
spring-summer-fall field season commences for me next week, as I will be
migrating SOUTH, like a bird that has it all wrong, exiting Washington on the
16th, via the Yakima Sage Grouse lek (a neglected 'lifer' at stake here), and
perhaps not returning until November (maybe briefly in June -- not sure yet).

I've really enjoyed the discussions, banter, and humor posted on Tweeters.
I've read *everything* and I have learned a lot. Withdrawal will come
slowly, then fade away altogether I suppose, although I may still try to poke
my nose in once in awhile. You have all been great and I hope that some of
you still aren't thinking of me as being 'inherently selfish'. That publicly
posted 'flame' really hurt and maybe I took it too personal, after naively
posting a query and suggestion intended with all sincerity and innocence. It
nearly drove me off tweeters at the outset when I had only been signed on for
two weeks.

Having never been a member of this mythical(?) 'inner circle' that some
tweets often refer to in some posts, I've always felt like an outsider here
(Seattle), birding and otherwise. Genuine friends are hard to come by (read:
non-existent) given my far flung wayward ways I suppose, and even finding
birding companions is next to impossible so it seems. Tweeters has been for
me a new venue from which to try and reach out and find friends, albeit,
mostly still just faceless electronic entities. Perhaps it's my death
defying tireless birding marathons at times not to mention impulsive spur of
the moment birding expeditions any day of the week. In any case, there were
a few moments on this Okanogan trip where the thrills were dampened slightly
with bittersweet feelings of having to savor the moment alone and yet baring
a burden of wishes that I could have shared those moments with others.
-----------------

Now for the good stuff :-)

It was still 99% winter way up north in the Okanogan Highlands east of
Tonasket last week. Lots of snow, still powdery in the forests, sparkling in
the moonlight, and cold. REAL COLD at Moses Meadow with temperatures down to
-15:F, as wooden rail fence lines and trees in the forest snapped, crackled,
and popped, like shots in the night while coyotes howled and barred owls
hooted to a bright 2/3 waxing moon from the wooded slopes to the south.

The only glimmers of Spring were only apparent by day with the higher sun
angle and resultant sense of warmth and the presence of songbirds normally
non-existent there in deep winter and certainly not this past January. Most
notable were new arrivals including significant numbers of Red-winged
Blackbirds, Pine Siskins, and Dark-eyed Juncos, all inserting new sounds of
song and life, and setting up territories among the usual resident and common
Mountain Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatchs, and Red Crossbills. Along
Beaver Creek, normally shaded in deep winter by the steep southern ridge,
American Dippers sang their 'mimid'-like territorial song, and plunged into
the few open holes in the icy stream.

Bluebirds and snow buntings -- what an interesting perspective, if not just
an ironic coincidence, in a changing of the guard. A single hardy Mountain
Bluebird had set up shop on a fence post overlooking the white frozen
rangeland and a drifting twittering flock of 155 snow buntings at Wauconda
(29Feb), and a pair of Western Bluebirds were at Havillah (02Mar) on a
telephone wire overlooking a snowy field with another drifting twittering
flock of 280 snow buntings.

Crystal clear days and crystal clear nights, and hard birding by both.
Car-camping with the windows down at target owl sites. Driving a lot by day
and walking a lot at night with only the moon for light and never carried a
flashlight or even pulled my 1 million candle power spotlight out of the box.
It was those long moonlit walks over the sparkling unplowed forest and
logging roads that were most invigorating and memorable, watching some
spectacular meteors and listening for owls in a winter wonderland of
deafening silence. Owls were the objective with special interest more in
*hearing* Great Gray calling rather than just seeing one, though I wouldn't
turn that down either of course.

I visited several sites where I've either seen Great Gray Owl before, sites
I've heard about from others, and sites where they are known to have nested.
A friend/colleague who did his Masters Thesis on Great Gray Owls had told me
that January was the month to hear the owls calling and when they commence
nesting in eastern Oregon. The mid-late January 1996 trip covering much of
the same territory as this one, but was a bust for owls. I did hear and see
a Great Gray at Wauconda in late January 1994, giving the long deep
diminishing 'hoooo hoooo hooo hooo hooo hoo' out in the relative open in
broad daylight one bright sunny morning.

I resisted the temptation to lure owls with a tape. I preferred to just walk
and listen and hope to hear owls calling on their own accord. I did use the
tape sparingly for Great Gray, but more for Saw-whet and Boreals. Saw-whets
were calling all over the place in late January 1994, and I even lured in a
Boreal Owl along Beaver Creek on that trip, when clear, calm, cold, weather
conditions, and near full moon and snow conditions were virtually identical
as this trip. Total zilch this time! Nothing worked, ever. My voiced
Barred Owl, which I do very well I might add, worked fine for those and even
roused a few Great Horneds. I can carry on some amazing, intense, and
exciting chats with barred and even spotted owls sometimes.

Moses Meadows the first night (28-29Feb96). -- Great Gray is nesting there
somewhere so I'm told, but I heard not a peep, ...err um, 'hoot'. Long walks
in the evening up to midnight and again before dawn. Only Barred and Great
Horned up on the ridge and around the meadow edge. This was a place still
frozen tight by winter, and even the above mentioned passerines were
non-existent here.

Mt. Anne Road at Wauconda the second night (29Feb-01Mar96). -- It was here
where I saw and heard the Great Gray Owl in January 1994, and Andy
Stepniewski and 'Ike' Eisenhart found the bird in the woods nearby in early
March that same year. I thought this one would be in the bag. Wrong!
Deadly quiet again, with nothing uttering a sound other than a few Great
Horneds. The road was closed just inside the forest, and a good spot for
car-camping. In the moonlight, I walked south for about 3 miles, then back.
Two good things I can say for snow mobiles. They pack down a path for easy
walking and secondly, there weren't any running around to be seen or heard
during all 3 days and 4 nights up there.

But not a total loss. No target owls, but there was a Moose. A female had
taken up company with a small group of cattle (bulls) for about 3 weeks at
the Mt. Anne Road / rt.20 intersection. I was tipped off about it by a
local, but can hardly image having missed it anyway since, ...well, it was
like really obvious! :) The 6 mile walk in the moonlight was wonderful even
if there were no owls to be seen or heard, and I witnessed one of the most
spectacular meteors (fireball) that I've ever seen.

Third night (01Mar96) started with a walk to Lost Lake, south of Chesaw.
Again, the road was closed at the entrance to the Okanogan N.F. and another
6 mile round trip hike to the south end of the lake and back commenced just
before sunset. Great Gray habitat looks best along the first mile or so
where there are large and dense spruce. Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir
dominate around the lake (~4,000 ft), and I've never thought it very good up
there for Great Gray anyway. Maybe it's just a pipe dream, but I keep
imagining that Boreal Owl might be in those spruce along that first mile
inside the Okanogan N.F. some day, although the altitude is a little low
(~3,600 ft) by conventional Washington wisdom. But ...winter maybe?
Accessable areas of spruce are a bit scarce in the Highlands. Alas, no
target owls again. BUT... there was yet another Moose! Incredible! This
one a bull and a total surprise, strolling along the lake shore road in the
pink afterglow of post-sunset, while a pair of Great Horned Owls dueted and
echoed across the frozen snow-covered Lake. On the walk back, a Barred Owl
startled me bursting forth with the usual query: "WHO, WHO, ARE YOU?" from
the spruce along the road edge. He only had to ask once, and I never heard
from him again. Not in the mood for chat, huh. I was starting to think
maybe the moon was the problem, although January 1994 suggested otherwise. I
always tried to conceal myself in the dark shadows when stopping, listening,
calling by voice, or playing back taped calls, and still maintain a clear
view of the night sky for anything that might fly over.

Back at the car by 2200 hrs, and feeling pretty tired, I had to force myself
to head down Oroville-Toroda Creek Road and Beaver Creek to hit the 1994
Saw-whet and Boreal sites. Absolutely dead quite, save for one Great Horned
Owl on the ridge somewhere. What's going on here? Saw-whets should be
tooting all over the place. Maybe the winter was overall much harsher than
1994 or the food supply was not what it was in 1994. By midnight, I was
feeling bummed, ready give up, cold, and fighting the impulse to just sleep
right there, but wanted to get around to the Highland Sno-Park near Havillah,
where Great Gray's have nested for at least the past two years, for a
pre-dawn shot at listening. I really needed a 'designated driver' for that
terminally long 40 mile drive to Havillah. Even there at 0100hrs, there
wasn't a sound, and I couldn't last any longer.

At 0500 (02Mar), I was suddenly jolted out of my comatose sleep with a sudden
"WHOOOP" call from right outside the car window. I was so droggy, I wasn't
sure what I'd heard and prayed desperately that it might do it again as I was
downing a full commuter mug of ice cold coffee that I'd gotten 21 hours
earlier at the Wauconda Cafe, saved specifically for this purpose - yum! I
was almost certain that it was a Great Gray Owl -- but only one call in a
droggy state? I had to hear it again. I really wanted to hear the "WHOOO
WHOOO WHOO WHOO WHO WHO" call, and have the bird do it without prompting. It
never did. But after about 10 minutes, the WHOOOP calls started again.
Sometimes in twos or threes, but usually singles 5-10 seconds apart.
Definitely Great Gray Owl. Phew, what a relief! This went on for about 30
minutes until a pair of Great Horned Owls arrived on the scene and boomed out
a duet nearby and the Great Gray shut up for good, and by 0600hrs, the show
was over. Never saw it though, despite spending a few hours wandering around
on the convenient meandering woodland ski trails, but the snow was still too
deep for much wandering off the trails. Lot's of good trees for nesting in
that corner and I suspect the owl(s) are nesting there close by.

By mid-morning, I went off to explore and bird areas between there and
Molson, including Mary Ann Creek Road (called Molson Summit Road in DeLorme)
west of Chesaw. A great day, kicked off right at the start with the pair of
Western Bluebirds and Snow Buntings at Havillah, then the first of several
flocks of White-winged Crossbills in a patch of heavily cone laden spruce
(Engleman?) at the 90: turn just north of the Sitzmark Ski Area, north of
Havillah on the way to Chesaw -- a spot I've always thought should be good
for them one day. Sitting in the car and pisching through the open sun roof,
the White-winged's and other birds often fluttered down, and hovered within
arms reach. Amazing how the birds up there respond by just sitting in the
car and maximizing the sun roof. Obviously makes for a great 'blind' and the
birds are totally confused as to where the 'pisching' is coming from.

Mary Ann Creek Road was wonderful. After three unsuccessful tries for
sharp-tailed grouse at the STGR WMA west of Chesaw, I was finally rewarded
with a single bird perched high in an alder nipping away at and plucking off
catkins. I saw it up there as I rounded the curve and crested the hill, and
enjoyed a mesmerizing 30 minute look and study in perfect sunlight that was
hard to drag myself away from. I was hoping it would just fly away so I
could justify leaving with a clear conscience, but ended up just driving away
leaving it there in the tree top.

Several small flocks of Common Redpolls were scattered all along Mary Ann
Creek Road, with ~30 right there with the grouse. A huge noisy flock of
mixed finches, including ~35 White-winged Crossbills and more Redpolls, were
discovered in another area of heavily cone-laden spruce near the intersection
of Mary Ann Creek Road and Fields Road, and others were scattered all through
that area, anywhere where there were spruce. A little 'pisching' enticed
both White-winged and Red Crossbills, Common Redpolls, and Pine Siskins out
to all perch in the same scrubby spruces in the marsh along Fields Road.
Rather neat seeing all those at the same time and in the same binocular
field. For anyone bent on seeing White-winged Crossbills, spruce and
hemlocks are the place. Don't waste your time in the vast Douglas Fir
forests -- you'll only find the ubiquitous Red Crossbills there.

Maybe this sounds mundane, but I couldn't help but notice, and in fact was
quite excited by my first bird *ever* at Molson -- a single Red-winged
Blackbird. I'm fascinated by Molson. It's hard to believe such a place even
exists. This tiny little hamlet that stands out in the open exposed
Highlands was completely encased in snow and hoar frost in January. It had
thawed some this time, and the Red-winged Blackbird was indeed a welcome
sign that Spring was not so far off, even in Molson.

Molson is definitely worth a visit, if not for the birds (or lack thereof),
there is an interesting bit of Washington history displayed here, and the old
weather beaten turn of the century town is still nicely preserved. It's
unlike anything I've thus far discovered anywhere else in the State. It
stands out there as a testament to a time and era long gone and lends one to
ponder just what it was that drove early settlers to select such a hostile
looking area as home. Gold I suppose. Don't look for gas, food, or lodging
here. There isn't any.

By mid-afternoon, I was starting to fade and running out of gas (body & car),
and made a run to Tonasket, stopping only to check out 3 Lapland Longspurs
that flushed up with a flock of Red-winged Blackbirds from a cattle feed lot,
and checked in to the Apple Inn Motel for a desparately needed shower and
nap. Crashed into a coma for an hour, but up staggering about at 5pm,
grabbed another commuter mug of coffee, and off again for the evening owl
prowl at Highland Sno-Park.

Great Horneds were already hooting upon arrival, even just as the sun was
setting over the large meadow and distant Cascade peaks. No sign of the
Great Gray. As dusk faded, the waxing full moon began taking over brightly
lighting up the whole area and coyotes howled off in the distance. I walked
by the light of the moon, in and out of the dark tree cast shadows, along the
road and along the meandering ski trails in the forest, giving only a passing
thought to the Cougar I'd seen here stalking deer in January, and wondering
if now I myself might become Cougar-bait. Still, no Great Gray, but a Barred
began hooting from way off in the distance to the east.

Just when I was about to give it up; There it was! GREAT GRAY OWL!!
Perched on top of the Okanogan National Forest entrance sign along side the
road exposed to the full moonlight with white mustache absolutely glowing.
It was like an etherial apparition, magnificent and huge, and clearly
obvious in all detail in the subtle silver light of the moon. What could
possibly be more perfect -- a mental 'photograph' forever imprinted on my
brain! It was chilling! It perched erect there for 2-3 minutes, then took
flight, silently like a giant moth, disappeared into the shadows.

About 30 minutes later, and back in the parking lot and thinking about
leaving, I saw a huge shadow of Great Gray proportions and 'jizz' flapping
and gliding over the snow in the open area studded with small Ponderosa Pine
on the east side of the parking lot. This is an area I've always thought,
based on a Great Gray I stumbled upon in Oregon (Umpqua N.F. near Toketee
Lake, east of Roseburg, Mar-Jul 1993), as a perfect haunt for this owl.
Utter magic and it took my breath away even if I could never actually see
the bird; the shadow over the moonlit sparkling blanket of untrodden snow was
enough.

I shall never forget that Great Gray Owl sitting on the Okanogan N.F. sign.
I mean, after all this, where else and on what could possibly be more
symbolic?! Now, to find and commission an artist to accurately recreate that
etherial scene. Such a rendition could likely replace the current Polar Bear
I photographed from a Canadian icebreaker in the Chuckchi off Barrow, Alaska,
posing in the ships spotlight one night a few years ago, and currently hangs
over the fireplace.

I almost feel like saying after this, that I don't care now if I ever see
another Great Gray Owl again. Any other will be an anticlimax after this
one, symbolically posing on that Okanogan N.F. sign. Still, being the
glutton I am for this amazing and fascinating bird of the deep northern
forests, I'll still chase around after them I suppose. I certainly enjoyed
the Skagit bird and will no doubt run off for any others that turn up
locally. I'm always curious about the habitat these owls utilize in the
marginal areas of their wandering range in the lowlands, and their normal
haunts in the highlands.

-----------------
Since this was largely an 'owl' trip, and with such a happy ending,
I'll repost an excerpt from the 'Okanogan post-script'. "The Encore"
-----------------

Moses Lake, Grant Co., WA (03Mar96). Partly cloudy, SUNNY (1600-1730), wind
calm, temp. ~45F

Snowy Owl -- What better way to end this trip with a sunset over the Cascades
and watching the two snowy owls, bathed in 'pink', and perched out on the
irrigation sprinkler lines, moon one day shy of full rising right over them!
....
-----------------

Well, I'm going to put tweeters to 'sleep' now (not *you* hopefully ;) - the
BB). I wish you all a great spring and summer and fall. I've really enjoyed
my winter 'vacation' in Washington, for a change. I love the gloom and doom,
the rain, and the dark. It's not been quite like the usual southern summer
in Antarctica, but winter birding in the Okanogan has been the next best
thing, if not it's equal.

Best wishes to all, -- Richard


Richard A. Rowlett <pagodroma at aol.com>
Bellevue, WA, USA