Last spring was an owl nest bonanza. I spent time at barred, great horned, eastern screech, and even saw whet owl nests. Most years, I’m lucky if I get to see the nest of one owl species, much less four. The one nest I spent the most time at was a barred owl nest located about ten minutes from my house. What made the experience unique was my ability to watch it from “start to finish”. My first visit to the nest was in early April. I checked it out on a whim based on a tip from a fellow photographer. I had seen a photograph of a barred owl perched in a picturesque cavity - a photo I immediately wished to seek out for myself. That evening I headed to the location to see what I could find. Sure enough, I witnessed an adult barred owl leaving the cavity just after sunset. It happened so fast all I have from the initial encounter is a short video clip of the owl taking off.
It was a learning experience and I went back the next day better prepared. Sure enough, right around sunset, the owl slowly peeked out of the cavity, giving me a little more warning than the night before. Then it jumped to the edge of the cavity, pausing for a moment, and flew away. I got the photo I was after, but I wasn’t satisfied. I felt like there was more to accomplish at this location.
It wasn’t until my third or fourth visit to the nest that I became aware of a second barred owl. It had some favorite perches all within about 30 yards of the cavity. From time to time the two would call back and forth to one another, and over time I learned that this owl was the male, the one in the cavity the female.
I spent several evenings watching the two owls interact. About an hour before sunset, the top of the females head would appear in the cavity. Slowly, over the course of an hour, she crept closer to the lip of the cavity, eventually jumping up to perch before flying away. When the female would fly from the nest, she would often select a perch along the edge of a ravine and call to her mate. He would join her and they would spend a moment catching up, preening, calling, and then begin their evening hunt.
They were a fun pair to watch as they were quite photogenic and, living in the middle of a popular park, relatively unbothered by human presence. I kept returning to the area as each time I walked away with unique photos. Their patterns were relatively predictable and I could usually show up at the same time every night in order to catch the action.
But once I thought I had them figured out, their patterns shifted. One night I showed up and the female owl was already out of the cavity well before her usual time. She was perched right above the path leading up to where I would position my camera and tripod to observe the cavity. As I watched, she made a peculiar call that I had only heard on one other occasion while observing barred owls. It’s a call I’ve heard the females make when they have very young owlets.
When owlets are too little to leave a nest, it seems to be a call to reassure them that their mother is nearby. When they are larger, it beckons them to leave the nest and begin exploring the wide world.
I had hoped this was a nest, and this confirmed it. On my next visit, as I was getting ready to pack up at sunset, I heard a distinct, high-pitched hissing sound coming from the cavity - the call of a barred owlet! It’s an unmistakable call and I knew there was at least one owlet successfully hatched in that cavity.
Due to the proximity of my house as well as how picturesque this location was, I knew I would be spending a significant amount of time watching and waiting to see how things would progress. I spent many mornings and nights at this spot, and I had some incredible moments observing and photographing the female barred owl. She was incredibly photogenic, completely unfazed by humans, and would select beautiful perches when hunting - often low to the ground and right next to a trail. I walked away with some beautiful images of her as she went about her evening routine of providing food for her babies.
Now it became a waiting game for when the owlets would make their first appearance. On one visit, the female owl brought a mouse to the cavity - perching in the opening and leaning in to feed the owlets. I waited, hoping that after she flew away I would see one of the babies. But they were still pretty small and that cavity must have been deep and the wait continued. Then, late one evening, a tiny white head was seen slowly peeking up from the cavity. It was after dark and all I could manage was some mediocre video footage, but finally I had visual confirmation!
Owlets grow quickly, and soon I was treated to regular appearances as they peered outside of the cavity, their heads bobbing up and down as they took in the world around them. There were three owlets in total. Once they were big enough, one or more would sit on the edge of the cavity. They would take turns, sometimes competing for space with wings flapping and feathers flying about. At times they would even nap at the edge of the cavity, reminiscent of an exhausted toddler who has passed out after too much fun.
As the owlets grew, it became a countdown to the day when they would leave the cavity for the first time. I had never witnessed the initial moment an owlet leaves the nest, but was hopeful I would get that chance with this crew.
Typically, once they have left the nest, they do not return, and instead make their way high into the trees, becoming difficult to observe.
On the evening of May 6, after a month of frequent visits, I made my usual trek to the nest early in the evening. When I got there, all three owlets were very active, wings flapping, fighting for room on the edge of the cavity. Anticipation was in the air and it was clear the moment was fast approaching when the owlets would abandon their nest.
I set up my tripod and waited, snapping pictures and videos of the three owlets. The female owl was perched nearby. From time to time she would let out that unique call - except this time it was beckoning the owlets to take a leap and venture out of the nest.
An hour passed. The crowd of photographers had dwindled to just myself and one other person. The sun was setting and we were losing light, but the activity at the cavity was only increasing. There was one owlet in particular who had nearly fallen out of the nest multiple times over the course of the past hour, and it seemed clear that it would fledge sometime during the night. I was holding out hope I would get to witness it in-person, and with enough ambient light for a photo or two. I kept playing the game of giving myself five more minutes before I intended to pack up and head home, but I just wasn’t able to tear myself away.
Shortly after sunset, just as I was ready to give up, the owlet gave a furious flap of its wings, stumbling around the lip of the cavity, and awkwardly propelled itself onto the trunk of the tree just outside the nest. It clung to the tree for dear life with its talons, flapping its wings as it steadied itself alongside the nest, its siblings watching in amazement.
This is a precarious moment for owlets. Falling all the way to the ground can lead to injury or death, and if they are unable to climb back up the tree quick enough, can leave them vulnerable to predators. This owlet seemed to have a firm grasp on the trunk of the tree, and once it steadied itself it began making the effort to climb to the upper reaches of the tree where it could rest safely.
I had been recording video up to this point, mainly due to the fading light. However, I wanted a photo to commemorate the moment, even if the quality was reduced due to the growing darkness. I switched the settings on my camera and fired off several clicks of the shutter, capturing a series of images as the owlet began its ascent up the tree.
To the right is my favorite of those photos - the owlet climbing upwards, looking up as it ascends the tree, its siblings perched on the edge of the cavity.
Finally, after several minutes of significant effort, the owlet reached a fork in the branches of the tree where it was able to pause and rest. As it perched there, I have to imagine that, if owls feel pride, this one must have felt like a rockstar.
But there’s no rest for the weary in nature, and safety is priority one. After a minute or two, the owlet resumed its climb, ascending higher and higher until it finally paused in the upper branches of the huge oak tree, seventy feet or more above the ground.
It began calling, it’s high-pitched whistle signaling its location and calling for food. In a flash, the female owl appeared, flying to where the owlet sat, bringing it a small rodent as a reward for its efforts. This was truly a special moment to behold.
Even with the thousands of images captured and the hours of video filmed, it is hard to showcase what a truly special event this was to witness. From the moment I first spotted the cavity—before the trees had even begun to bud—to the day the owlet took flight, surrounded by the full flush of spring greenery, I knew this was a special opportunity I was rewarded with observing a pinnacle moment in the rhythms of nature.
It would be several weeks before I would return to this spot. The nesting area was quiet so I wandered a few hundred yards down the trail. Sure enough, there was the female owl, on a beautiful perch surrounded by greenery.
The owlets were scattered across a nearby hillside resting. As they started to wake up, their high pitched whistle carried across the ravine, begging the female owl to deliver dinner.
I trekked up the hillside, catching sight of all three owlets. They were not yet large enough to hunt on their own and still reliant on their parents for protection and food, but they had learned how to awkwardly fly short distances to move from one perch to another.
Over the next hour they made their way around the ravine, finding perches near one another. Two decided to share a perch, preening and poking at one another like typical siblings. The female owl flew to the lone owlet and dropped off dinner, causing the other two to protest loudly about having to wait their turn.
Eventually the light was gone and I headed to my car. That was the last time I saw that barred owl family. Once summer was in full swing, other subjects captured my time and attention, but I often think back to those early mornings and evenings spent watching them.
This year, the cavity sits empty. I recently learned that the tree the nest was in is scheduled to be taken down. While I had hoped this spot would become a recurring nest site, its ending makes this experience even more meaningful.