4 January 2015. Hamilton ON. I suppose it depends on your definition of drama, but many of my encounters with birds, particularly those that find their way into these postings, involve some element of a mini-drama. I would include today’s encounters with a Snowy Owl as being a minor mini-drama; many wouldn’t, but as I said, it depends on your definition of a drama.
I left the house this morning intending to go to our local library, but being Sunday it wasn’t open until after lunch. What now? I wondered. There were a couple of easy options and I took the ‘go-birding’ one. There’s a spell of bad weather on its way; strong winds to begin with and then it’s supposed to turn much, much colder by nightfall. Knowing that birds somehow anticipate threatening changes in the weather, I headed to the downwind end of our large harbour; there’s always something going on there, especially at this time of year. Winter birding is more about the naked elements, hardship and eat-or-be-eaten dramatics than summer birding. Those same factors are assuredly present in summer, they just suit our ideas of charm and prettiness better.
My first drama queen was a female Peregrine Falcon spotted on some cables high overhead. While my back was turned for a few minutes she left, probably in search of a meal, an event that would be no fun at all for the meal but explosive theatrics to an interested observer.
I scanned the shores and harbour edges and noted several loafing Great Black Backed Gulls (highly capable slayers of unwary ducks) and, riding the swells, hundreds of Long-tailed Ducks and Lesser Scaup who don’t frighten anyone except maybe mollusks like Zebra Mussels, which I sincerely doubt experience the emotion of fear.
As the waves started capping white, I moved further around the edge of the harbour, spotting first a distant Snowy Owl and then another right above the road. Being a fair-weather birder, I pulled well over, flipped the emergency flashers on, and angled so that I could watch and photograph from within the dry warmth of my cocoon. The bird was atop a streetlight that seemed to offer it little to grip, I could see that the blustery wind was making life difficult, so anticipating that it might very soon fly off, I took several shots and readied the camera just in case there would be an in-flight moment. It worked and I pressed the shutter not an instant too soon. (All of the Snowy Owl pictures are in galleries visible only on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email.)
The snowy moved a hundred metres or so to another roadside streetlight and I was able to get a few more shots before it had had enough of me and a couple of photographers who’d stopped to see what the fuss was all about. I regretted, just a little, having drawn this extra attention to it; it seems voyeuristic somehow that this minding-its-own-business-and-trying-to-survive bird of open tundra should attract the pointed attention of camera lenses; or am I being too sensitive?
If you’re being over-sensitive then I am, too! I totally feel the same way but have a hard time resisting shooting/observing a ‘critter’ of any kind! At least we care and don’t purposely disturb or exploit (I hope!)
Thanks, as always, for sharing!