Turning

I love the stillness that surrounds the winter solstice. It seems as if, as the earth turns on her axis there is a momentary stillness as she holds her breath. With the Christmas season upon us too, the little traffic we see this way ceases and there is an unearthly quiet to my owlish endeavours. It feels as if midwinter has signalled to all that this is a time to hunker down, to rest and to reflect.

Yet, within less than a week of the shortest day I am seeing a difference in the owls' behaviours. The youngsters are now flying confidently over to the house with me. Just a couple remain in the shed, hissing impudently at me as I approach. One waits in the open sheds, sheltered and safe until I arrive.Two others have taken to west nest box on the dutch barn and fly to the trees hissing as they go. It is a privilege to watch them as they gain their independence.

I am always delighted to share my evening walk and last Monday I had visitors to watch. It fills me with apprehension having written so enthusiastically about my wonderful fly pasts and as my guests stood on the bridge the farm appeared just like any other, still and lifeless. However when I began to whistle my familiar call they appeared, beautifully white and flew gracefully through the farm lights over to the house where they knew we would walk first. Arriving on the lawn they were assembled, perched in trees and circling close by keen for the food to be shared. I held back for a few minutes knowing they would stay and we could watch for a while. As the minutes passed more arrived until we counted six owls in total across the grassy expanse. Four flew in for tea as we stood watching. I always leave once the bravest have fed knowing that my faithful female will wait until I am out of sight and if I over stay my welcome she may go hungry.

Over by the shed and the dutch barn I left my guests to watch from the straw stack and made my way out of the farm as usual. Sure enough, owls returned to this corner of the farm too. More youngsters left the shed in a flurry of excitement and an older bird flew within metres to take food from the dutch barn platform. It was a spectacular viewing. I almost felt as if the owls had conspired with me, knowing I wanted to show them at their best and so they duly obliged.

The only thing my owl enthusiasts didn't see was the owls fly alongside me as I walk to the yard. One graced me with its presence on Christmas Eve, flying upward from a fence post and then measuring its flight with my stride so it continued alongside me the whole way down the road. I know it is hunger that prompts such actions but it makes me immeasurably happy to watch this.

You would imagine that seeing these beauties each evening makes a snatched sighting as I drive home less exciting but the opposite is true. Somehow it adds to the experience. On my way to work I spotted an owl close to the bridge that acts as a county border less than a mile from us. It was sitting quite nonplussed on a dyke side watching the traffic. Two evenings later I saw an owl in the same vicinity hunting from a post. The car headlights captured it beautifully and its upright stance and intent stare are appliqued on my heart. At such a short distance away this could well be one of our autumn fledglings making its first forays out into the world.

Closer to Thorney, I was delighted to see the very dark female owl hunting along her favourite dyke. Paddy recaptured one of our 2016 fledglings here this summer. It was where I tried to help a sodden owl during a downpour in April and where I had taken chicks during a wet spell in June. I watched her circle warily away from the traffic. With her especially grey flecked feathers she was spectacular.

My final Christmas owl encounter was a sad one. I am always watching out for road casualties and usually I find myself staring intently at a McDonald's wrapper but along the A16 I was saddened to see an owl close to the Cowbit roundabout. It looked to have been hit and struggled to the grass verge to die and I was sorry I had not passed that way earlier, in time perhaps, to help it.

Somehow getting involved with my owls makes these encounters across the fens even more significant. I know in the new year as the days lengthen and activity increases I will see  many more both memorable and heartfelt. I will be ready for them.

Learning something new.

I do not need to tell you how much I enjoy my evening jaunt down to feed the owls. Even mid week when I went out for a meal, I spruced myself up including make up and heels, then I exchanged the heels for wellies so I could drop the food off on my way out.

Part of the satisfaction comes from seeing those familiar patterns unfolding again and again. As the summer came to an end I was doubtful that I would have my fantastic winter fly pasts but here I am once more, encountering some of the most fabulous spectacles I have ever witnessed. It is immensely satisfying to walk down the road whistling and see the owls responding, flying upwards through the shed lights and turning effortlessly as they make their way over to the house to wait for me. As usual the outsider is sitting expectantly. It has found a safe place deep within the walnut tree branches and flies in first hoping for a quick getaway but midweek was chased by two of our adults. I watched by the light of the full moon as they flew low across the sodden fields. I do wish they were more tolerant. This is one familiar pattern I wish I didn't experience.

Similarly I am blessed to have the youngsters staying for the winter. Usually the adults would have sent them on their way by now but the routine here is that the autumn broods get to stay much longer. The extra food means they are allowed their safe roost and sustenance during the harshest of seasons. I have seen this again and again. It is one of the benefits of supplementary feeding and gives me an especial pleasure in knowing I am helping them in this way.

However, each year, each season, also teaches me something new. This year I have learned that the youngsters from two broods will mix together quite readily and I have witnessed the older ones feeding the younger ones and encouraging them out to find food for themselves. I have also been captivated to watch them roosting together in the barn, cuddled together on the beam. My morning photo has been a particular highlight as I count five or six birds most mornings so you can imagine my consternation when, after a few days without looking my photo revealed not a single bird and this has continued throughout the week.

My worries regarding the lack of roosting owls have been unfounded. At feeding time they tumble from the shed almost falling over each other in their haste. I regularly count four leaving whilst others fly close and wait on the dutch barn roof for their siblings to appear. I can only assume that they are roosting in the nest box now the weather is so cold.  Once more I have learned something new.

There is a new behaviour that has perplexed me but this week I am beginning to make sense of this too. Some nights the youngsters appear immediately from the shed whilst other night they stay inside hissing insistently for a good ten minutes. This behaviour doesn't seem linked to hunger or weather conditions. I think back to the night they all appeared whilst I stood close to get my photo. Indeed tonight they came out as I stood by the straw and watched me walk by as inconspicuously as possible. Suddenly I realise the link. They do not appear until they hear another bird outside. I assume they see this as their cue that all is safe and it is indeed a clever survival strategy. I think back to the time they heard the outsider land on their food platform. Unaware that it was an unfamiliar bird that was flying low and keen directly over my head they tumbled out assuming the coast was clear.

The year is nearly at a close. I wonder how many familiar patterns I will continue to have the pleasure to watch and whether I will learn anything new from my feathered friends in those final few days.

Changes changes.

  In the middle of the fens we have had rain since mid September. Relentless showers, downpours that last for days, mornings that promise dry weather but invariably revert to the damp status quo that has become Autumn 2019. It is terrible weather for owls and I predict empty nest sites next spring where there should have been an abundance of young owls to fill every one.

My fortunate youngsters continue to thrive although I walk the fields with trepidation after finding one of the youngsters dead a month back. Only this morning I approached a piece of white plastic with dread, grabbing the dog and edging closer before relief flooded over me. When you watch the youngsters with such pleasure you also imagine their sad demise wherever you go.

I have, almost by accident, found a novel way of checking on them. After peeping through the circular door handle on the shed I realised that if I pointed my phone through I could get a photo without disturbing them and make sure they were present and correct. Sometimes four, often five and occasionally six birds could be seen perched close together on the furthest beam. Often they were alternating facing forwards backwards in a sequenced pattern. I wonder if this was for warmth. It certainly warmed my heart to see them sitting so companionably close.

Each evening follows a predictable pattern. As soon as I whistle I see owls lift upwards through the farm lights and head towards the house. I assume they are adults but last night one struggled against the wind and landed in the field. It was classic adolescent owl behaviour. Someone couldn't wait for their tea. Now the leaves have fallen I can clearly see them waiting in the surrounding trees. The fly in immediately deftly snatching the chicks and heading away. I watched with pity as an especially brave bird took its tea only to be chased by two others. Feeding over here allows them the space they will need as the youngsters think about dispersing and I will increase the amount over time.

Once I reach the shed the hissing reaches a crescendo. I feel a little nervous as I leave the food, half expecting a hungry owl to appear above me but they wait for my cues. I feed at the dutch barn , often picking out a kestrel or little owl and then walk away but not before I flash the torchlight into the shed. Four or five waiting owlets can be seen on the beam. They will not appear until I leave. However once I have quietened and reached the roadside out they spill, perching expertly on the door ledge now and peering out into the night. They fly down immediately and there is a clash of wings as they choose their tea and head off around the shed. As the autumn continues it becomes ever more difficult to tell the youngsters from the adults.

On the days that I work my morning dog walk coincides with dawn and I have been delighted to see the owls flying as I enter the farm. One morning three were exploring the yard together and fly back into the shed on my approach. Another time two were hunting the dyke side ahead of me and I watch with satisfaction as one broadly circles back to the shed roost with an ease and surety that fills me with confidence about its capabilities. A third encounter sees one leave the straw silhouetted against a coral sky. The kestrel sets out in pursuit but it no longer has the advantage and the owl twists and turns almost languidly against the smaller aggressor. They do not always go to roost. I notice one perched on my beehives staring intently at me as I return. I avoid its gaze and stay well away. There maybe food later in the evening but in order to hunt successfully they must be left alone to focus on this important task.

As the weather settles I become aware that they are less reliant upon my food. They are becoming more capable hunters and the weather is allowing them to hone their skills. In turn I slowly reduce my offering leaving enough for them to survive and continue to live peacefully alongside each other whilst encouraging them to follow their natural instincts. It is a fine balance.

I won't have too many more evenings where I am greeted by such a host of owls. This morning I pointed the camera through the door to check my owlets and the beam was empty. Whether I am ready or not there are signs that changes are afoot. Tonight they were waiting still as raucous as ever. I will enjoy their company whilst I still can.