What could be better than finding a great gray owl nest your first summer in Montana?
The pinnacle of all things wild; a needle in a haystack if you would, something so far out of sight and mind that it only seems right to conclude your searches after nearly 100 unsuccessful hours of staring up at trees alone in the woods. Strix nebulosa, a name that quite literally means “misty or foggy”, capable of disappearing away into the deep forest with ease, not to be seen again unless willingly. Of all the time I’ve spent with great gray owls, it truly seems that luck has played the largest role in my successes. This story is no different.
Even after those 100 hours, I was not satisfied with the extent of my searching as I had conclusive evidence that great gray were breeding in a particular sector of Gallatin National Forest, not far from Bozeman, Montana. But at what point does finding nothing begin to seem crazy? It all started in February when my naive, east-coast-self strapped on snow shoes and headed into the backcountry. I would convert my Google Earth searches for proper habitat into trudging for miles to every meadow and dense patch of trees that seemed fit. First, I would find an owl hunting, then I would study its habits and flight paths and translate them into finding a nest. It seemed flawless on paper. This continued into the spring, May and June primarily, when bumping into bears and moose would have me thinking twice about trekking out alone. Still, failure in the name of finding owl nests persisted. Soon time greatly outweighed my findings. Self doubt and frustration arose, only to be coupled with an overload of owl photos on the internet from those who did succeed. My mind got the best of me, and I was done.
(I am incredibly fortunate to have these opportunities to explore nature. Despite not meeting my specific goals, my appreciation for the outdoors is heightened with every step I take into the woods).
Fast forward. July rolled around faster than I had imagined, and while great gray owls were no longer a thought in the front of my mind, the unthinkable happened. My girlfriend and I treated her parents to a beautiful hike through an area I know best - I mean, I had spent over 100 hours there. It was the middle of the day, temps about 80, sun shining bright. Not long after noon, as we began to pack up and hike back to the trailhead, Maeve and I picked up an unfamiliar sound through the trees. We would later learn it came from a small chipmunk. Being the nature enthusiasts that we are, we deemed it was worth an investigation.
Bushwhacking off the trail 150 yards or so led us right to our target, whom we still could not see. I took one big step around a large Douglas fir to better my vision and bumped a large, gray figure from the backside of the tree. Immediately words began pouring out of my mouth: “That’s a great gray! That’s a great gray! That’s a great gray!” The bird had flown only one tree further, where he stopped to look at us intruders on his quiet space. The world seemed to have paused in that moment, and as if life was flashing before my eyes, I relived every step through those woods I had taken since winter. I had seen the terrain again, every mile behind me, every step through snow and mud, every climb over deadfall, every push through thick vegetation. I had seen the bears and their cubs, that young bull moose, the meadows and trees from my computer screen, and finally I was staring dead into the eyes of the one thing I wanted and needed most. A great gray owl.
The male great gray owl perched atop a favorite snag.
Finding the owl aside, it was a wonderful experience to share with others. I had pictured what it might be like for a while - finally finding the one. Ironically, I had searched there before, many times actually. I had hiked the trail directly past the trees we were now standing in, but I guess I had never given them the attention I needed to. All along it seemed, that owl was hiding in plain sight. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Once some initial excitement began to settle, it was back to seriousness; time to complete the story. This was a male, identified primarily by size and a few other subtleties. In the hour or so we spent with him, he gave zero hints of having young nearby, except one brief hoot that came shortly after a red-tailed hawk made an appearance in the area. I took this as a warning to nearby owls - likely, young owls - as most raptors will not usually vocalize unless there are others of their kind nearby. Now, I was certain.
The day grew long, so collectively the group decided to conclude our time in the woods. I returned that night with one goal: find the young. I did just that. Immediately upon arrival, I located a juvenile sitting silently along the trail in. Again, pure luck. Typically at this stage in their lives, owlets are relentless, calling out almost constantly for food from the adult. Judging by the size and development of its wings, the chick was capable of flying by now, though for the moment all it did was remain still. I meandered away after a few minutes to search for more clues. I located the male pretty quickly, resting atop a snag not far from where we had seen him earlier. I photographed both birds as the light faded way. Anticipation grew, and I didn’t sleep much that night.
A fledgling great gray owl.
So begins the start of a new chapter. This was everything I had hoped for, for so long. Camera batteries were charged, cards cleared, gear in order. I was on a mission; a mission to document every possible moment I could spend with these owls. This was going to be the best summer in a long while.
Then came the news; it was worse than I ever expected.
Continue to Part II.