I’ve been trying to come up with the words for the next segment of this story for quite some time now, but a rollercoaster of mixed emotions, anger and frustration primarily, have kept me unmotivated to put them on paper until recently.
Initially, the Trees With Orange Rings were merely an extra on the set of the film that was these great gray owls. I walked through them every day for three weeks not realizing the role they would play in this story until I met someone on the trail one day who did. It was then I knew that trouble loomed over our heads, as it does in every scenario like this. But what do I know? I’m just a kid with a camera and a passion; a slave to disappointment, stemmed from a love for wild things and wild places. After all, trees are nothing but another asset in the pockets of those who represent us. This was no longer the happy ending to a dream I had in the woods, but rather the epicenter of a battle for saving the forest.
I would refer to this owlet, the smaller of the two, by the name Popsicle. In the field of science, naming your subjects is a controversial topic, but the two young were easily distinguishable, and Popsicle seemed fit for this one.
A global pandemic left me unemployed during the month of July, meaning my full-time job became spending time with owls. More often than not I found myself out in the woods morning and evening, learning and observing as much about them as the day would allow. It wouldn’t be long before I could recognize the habits of the young owlets quite well, from the perches they preferred, to the slight variation in calls they delivered when they were begging for food or simply looking for one another. I watched their flight skills improve each day, and by the conclusion of my time with them I could hardly keep up while crashing and fumbling through the understory. On one of the first mornings, the smaller of the two chicks, who I called Popsicle, flew to a high branch but failed to stick it, tumbling several feet down the base of the tree, only to catch himself upside down a few seconds later. The larger of the two chicks looked on silently before resuming begging calls as if nothing had happened. As the days went by, I couldn’t believe how quickly these faulty flight incidents quit occurring. The owlets were so infant-like, sporting fluffy, down feathers and misshapen faces, but all the while so instinctively capable of moving around the woods like smaller versions of their adult selves; ghosts of the northern forest, masters of their craft, Strix Nebulosa. The adult male would be gone most of the day, likely so he could rest far from the begging mouths of his kin. He was the sole provider for the owlets, as female great grays disperse shortly after fledging is completed. There were, however, several instances where he would appear, much like a shadow, carrying a different prey item to dish off each time. It was his only task; food deliveries. I rarely watched him return with voles which intrigued me, but rather, he seemed to prefer young cottontail rabbits and red squirrels. The forest was so dense where the owls dwelled, much unlike other habitats I was used to finding them in, which meant it was nearly impossible to keep up with him while he hunted. The flat, open lodgepole pine forests and intermingled meadows that Yellowstone great grays call home are far more maneuverable for people, offering opportunities to follow owls for miles as they move about the landscape. The Bridger Mountains on the other hand are much different geographically. Perhaps this would explain the differences in prey selection, as the typical wet meadows that hold high densities of small voles are far more sparse here. Generally speaking the male’s hunting habits took place behind closed doors, but on one memorable morning I located him far away from the chicks in an open meadow. A total accident, but one that resulted in some significant insight. He was incredibly active, for how bright the day had become, so it was clear to me that I finally found his hunting grounds. Sure enough, after a few minutes of stationary scanning, he launched toward the ground at prey. Before I could step around a shrub to judge his success or failure, he vanished. The king of secrecy had outsmarted me once again.
The adult male launches to the ground for prey.
Double Scoop, what we began calling the larger chick, was excellent at flying and exploring higher branches.
Attempting to consume half a rabbit is a difficult task for a young owl.
Learning the ropes.
Changes.
Each day spent with the birds was another opportunity to learn something. Sure, one could spend hours reading on the web or buried in a book learning from the perspective of someone else, but why not use those hours to learn with eyes and ears? While I’ve now gained sufficient experience in both, I prefer the latter.
I gathered more than enough experiences and photographs to talk for hours about the time I spent with the owls and the events I witnessed, but as per its preface, this story took a far more significant turn.
It was somewhere in the middle of three weeks spent with the owls that I began to take note of the sheer number of trees around me blazed with orange. After conducting a little research I learned that the Forest Service uses orange blazes in timber sale areas to mark trees that should not be cut. Three words, “timber sale areas”, weighed heavily on my mind. The trees without blazes severely outnumbered those with, so if logging criteria had been met, we could be looking at a pretty significant transformation in a year. If the forest is logged heavily, it eliminates the probability and/or success of great gray owls nesting there, as this requires dense canopy. Without proper cover, nests are more easily predated, prey populations are altered and open habitat as a whole allows other species like the far more aggressive great horned owl to occupy areas that were once utilized by great grays. My suspicions were upsetting to think about, and only a few days later confirmed by two folks I met on the trail. The woman worked for the Forest Service and told me that the area we were standing in was set to be logged the next month. Little did I know, this swath of old growth that I came to love so much was included in the North Bridger Forest Health Project, a 2300 acre logging plan set in stone since 2017 to “reduce the susceptibility of trees to insects and disease, enhance aspen, reduce hazardous wildland fuel load levels in the treated areas, and supply forest products to support the local economy and industries”. My heart instantly dropped. Forest Health Projects are notorious for rushing the process on analyzing environmental impact in order to begin logging quickly. I wondered if this situation would be any different.
A battle for them.
Why management of old growth forest to this degree can be completed without any real consideration for birds and wildlife in the 21st century is a conversation for another day, but it soon became clear that raising concern to anybody was going to be an uphill battle. Biologist and conservationist Steve Hoffman and I worked hard to sound the alarm. Steve had several contacts in high places within the Forest Service that received phone calls, emails and photos from the both of us, but it wasn’t until a few weeks had elapsed that our efforts were heard. There were no known nests within the 2300-acre logging project area, as per one of the forest biologists, simply because no monitoring efforts were made. Although only ~300 great grays remain state wide in Montana, the Forest Service does not recognize them as a species of concern, and therefore does not require active nest searching. After ensuring our contacts were aware of the birds, we pushed for an establishment of a half-mile buffer zone around their nesting area. Unfortunately, the timber in which our birds dwelled had been sold, and the logging plans were set in stone. A buffer of this degree would not be possible. But what would?
Given the stages of their lives, I knew the owlets would not be at any direct risk from the logging. For one, they could fly, but by the time the logging was set to begin, they likely would have dispersed anyway. This was more concerning for the future of the owls, who as a species are threatened globally from habitat degradation, among other factors. Here we were, staring dead into the eyes of a conservation issue, which by the looks of things would not pan out well. I had managed to locate a likely nesting tree during my time spent with the owls, which by coincidence was marked with an orange blaze. A beautiful, gnarled snag with a platform nestled in the top; perfection in the eyes of a nesting great gray. While I couldn’t necessarily confirm or deny the tree’s role in the current nesting season, it could hold significance for the future. And so, the tree became the center of our buffer, which to the likings of the forest service was more like 50 yards, not a half-mile. The timber sale administrator and forest biologist had the final say, marking several trees in the direct proximity of the snag to ensure cover in the event that the owls return to nest there. We thanked them for this.
Owlets at home.
If it were up to me, the forest would stand freely - every tree, every snag, every sapling. Old logs and deadfall would remain as they were intended to; for young owls to climb upon during their flightless days. Broken branches, fallen leaves and litter would continue on their biological journey towards fueling the next generation of old growth trees. The birds and wildlife that live amongst them would do so in the secrecy that healthy forests allow for. Although this is not the case, there is no one I wish to blame in this situation. This is an institutional issue, present in America from the very day Europeans set foot here; Earth and its resources are for the taking. Great gray owls need to become a top priority in future forest management situations or they will be extirpated throughout most of their range. I am weirdly thankful for how this story panned out, as it shed light on how delicate this species is, and ignited a flame inside of me to keep them here and thriving.
Part III of this story will take place in March, when the great grays decide how it ends. I will continue to wander through their old grounds until then, keeping an eye out for some familiar faces.
Great Gray Owl manuscripts cited in this article:
Wu, J. X., H. L. Loffland, R. B. Siegel, C. Stermer. 2016. A Conservation Strategy for Great Gray Owls (Strix nebulosa) in California. Interim version 1.0. The Institute for Bird Populations and California Partners in Flight. Point Reyes Station, California. 88pp.