Great Gray Owl Program and Fundraiser

I am incredibly excited to announce that I have started a fundraiser to fund my first film project this summer! It aims to raise awareness for Great Gray Owls in the Bridger Mountains of Montana. More information can be found by clicking the GoFundMe link here. Great grays, like many species, are directly threatened by habitat loss. Unfortunately in this part of Montana, large logging projects on public lands are one of their greatest threats. After being tied up in this exact situation last summer, I am now, more than ever, motivated to prove to the U.S. Forest Service why we need to limit logging of old growth forests throughout the state.

Additionally, I am giving a talk on my experiences with Great Grays this Friday 2/19 at 7:30pm ET for my friends at Delaware-Otsego Audubon Society via Zoom! If you would like to join me, the link to reserve a spot is below!

https://doas.us/.../in-search-of-the-great-gray-owl-kyle.../

Thank you all so much for your time. Sharing this post would be greatly appreciated! For the owls

Cheers!

Kyle

The Trees With Orange Rings - Part II

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.

The Trees With Orange Rings - Part I

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.

Comet in the Sky

NEOWISE; the name of the magnificent lantern in the northern sky, passing through our solar system with unparalleled beauty. Trails of vapor follow close behind the 5-mile wide object of dust and water, etching a contrail into the atmosphere like no plane ever could. Only visible for these few weeks, NEOWISE will soon disappear for nearly 7,000 years, gracing the airspace of other planets as it passes by. The layout of the stars becomes so familiar to the observer’s eye, that no new item such as this could ever go unnoticed. Like Indian paintbrush and its cardinal hues, standing slightly taller than neighboring wildflowers. This unique visitor before our eyes and cameras seems to have put the world on hold momentarily, just as the total solar eclipse did a few short years ago. Of all the mysteries to ponder, why is it space that pulls us together so tightly?

At a day’s end, we are all human. We breathe air from the atmosphere, we are survived by Earth and her resources. We look up at the same night sky, and warm ourselves under the same sun. Though our mentalities may differ, drastically it seems, a comet above our heads makes us alike. Perhaps it is the unknown, the presence of infinity, or something greater? We may never know.

I love space and I love admiring the stars and naming constellations, but I do not wish to dive any deeper. The science behind the universe and beyond is simply too much to comprehend sometimes, but the stars we see have brought people together since our establishment on Earth. Staring up at a comet may only last a few short minutes, but in that time we are human, together.

I wonder where you’ll go. I wonder who will find you.

At Home Here

The essence of moving water is overpowering; a total drowning of every sense in the body and mind. It is meditative in the way that nothing else matters, all is swept away with the current. Your thoughts are no longer audible, your mind is at peace. Like staring into a flame; so familiar, repetitive, but primal and somehow almost always irresistible. Hours elapse, maybe even an entire night. Still nothing has changed. Repeating cycles so simpIe and inexplicably human. For this is why I envy the harlequin. He experiences this purity by day and night, year after year, spring after spring, a life so perfectly coupled with water. He is at home here.

I could hardly hear the camera shutter, I didn’t want to. I wished for that moment to last forever.

A Glimpse Into Their World

Delving into the world of a rail is something that is seldom achieved; comparable to that of the deep ocean, or high arctic. We know fully that it exists, yet it remains a true mystery, out of sight and mind. The sora is a bird that fits this niche, living a secretive life amongst rushes and cattails across the far reaches of North America. Its distinct calls ringing out at dusk and dawn are likely the extent of which our senses will ever interpret, that is, unless a sora let’s you into its world.

If only I could let it into mine.