The Sweetwater Owl Prowl

I've reached a milestone. I can now claim my first nighttime birding hike.
For this, I returned to Sweetwater Creek and joined my new favorite park ranger, along with 20 or so brave souls and short people, ready for the hike into the woods.
We first began our hike with a short presentation on the owls resident in our area, which isn't that many. The main resident is the Great Horned Owl, the most common owl in North America, so no surprise. The second is the Barred Owl. The third and last of the most common species in Georgia is the more diminutive Screech Owl. Listen to his call all the way through. He has a call like the whinny of a horse.
Don't you have to wonder how that happened?
For better or worse, this was the park ranger's strategy: take a CD Player along with us on the hike. At intervals, stop, turn on the CD player, which plays the call of the Great Horned Owl, look up in the sky and wait for something to happen.
And that's what we did. We did it next to the visitor's center. We did it where an owl had been spotted earlier in the month as people gathered for hayrides. We did it near the ranger's home, where he's heard then numerous times. Each time, it was the same.
We stood.
We stared.
We listened.
Some of us (me of course, because I fidget), turned in place. Look east. North. West. South.
That's because, as the ranger explained, Great Horned Owls have fringing on the tips of their feathers, so they can glide through the air, barely making a sound.
As we walked, the ranger told us all kinds of facts about these elusive animals. They were associated with wisdom in ancient times because they could be found near Egyptian temples. Their eyes are so big relative to their head that if it were as large as ours, their eyes would then be the size of grapefruits. Their hearing is so acute they can hunt just as accurately blindfolded as not, and hear a mouse doing damage in a cornfield a quarter of a mile away.
After no luck on our hike, he said, "I know of one other place we could try on this trail. Would you like to go?" We all agreed.
After another short walk, we stood in an open field, with tall trees on the perimeter. The CD player once again planed the call of the Great Horned Owl. Only this time, we got a response. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark shape in the night sky, the silent silhouette of a Great Horned Owl. He was checking out our CD player, but definitely not threatened by it.
And we were thrilled. Because in seconds, he was gone again.
Someone declares, "Wow, a hawk!" I admit this. I felt pretty good about that. "That was the Great Horned Owl," I said quietly. A few seconds later, he decided to have another look at us, and he cut across the field, so we could see his wingspan and body clearly. Then he disappeared altogether.
In the quiet, I watched the CD player as the owl call drifted from it. With its huge round speakers glistening in the dark, I thought how it looked like two enormous eyes, and said, "I think that owl checked out the CD player and thinks it's one ugly owl."
And that was our introduction to nighttime owl watching. Has anyone else done it differently? The ranger warned us that we were in a hit or miss area. No one seemed too disappointed by the walk, the exercise or the experience. And I will admit it, I like listening to the ranger talk. He seems to know where every abstract, ancient or endangered plant, butterfly or bird resides within the entire state.
I know hunting for owls is an elusive task. Because the reality is this: we could have passed a dozen of them. They just weren't in the mood to play. But something else happens, in the hunt for them. You realize that you can walk through an area and miss so much if you aren't looking. Standing in the quiet field we'd just entered moments before, standing in the still of the night, standing quietly, we began hearing the snorts and rustles of unseen deer. We never did see them, in fact. We only heard them. But they'd been there the whole time. Just like that Great Horned owl. It highlights the part of birding I love, the part you typically do alone, without a crowd. Because a crowd of birders is never quiet. They don't run through the woods, true, but they are chatting, pointing out movement in the trees, and generally making their presence known to anything in the woods with acute hearing.
But. If you are quiet... If you are patient... They will become used to you. They will accept that you aren't a threat. And if you pay attention, you will develop the subtle realization that you aren't standing alone in a woodland field.
On this owl prowl, the woods were busy, and we weren't alone. I love that.

--Laura