It was the Wolf Moon that I had missed as it began its shy ascent appearing on the north eastern horizon. I forgot about my owl and hastily paced the field perimeter knowing if I was in position in time I would get a photo of it looming majestically over my favourite trees. The rapidity of its ascent and the change in colour that accompanied it was astounding. It morphed from white through yellow to a burnt orange in minutes before resuming a brilliant white that lit up the winter skyscape and made a torch at owl feeding time quite superfluous.
After a few nights of suspicious activity at the farm Rob accompanied me and we sat under the Horse Chestnut tree to watch as the visiting owls took turns to fly in for their tea. One after the other they arrived with effortless elegance and barely a glance in our direction. The straw stack was also awash with owls and we sat upon a bale to watch the younger birds alight on the platform to choose the tastiest of morsels. After two rainy evenings the still, clear conditions were perfect both for ourselves and the owls.
I was heading over to Peterborough and knew it was an evening for owl spotting. I didn't have to scour the fields for long. Before I had driven one hundred metres into the Lincolnshire fens I glanced my first owl. It crossed the traffic on the top bank road and flew into my waiting headlights. I recognised this bird. It was the incredibly grey barn owl that we have seen hunting along the road sides here in the past month. I am unsure of its roost but it will undoubtedly be one of our youngsters. Although the farm makes for a perfect roost site the autumn fledgling's instinct will already be telling them to literally spread their wings and leave for territories of their own. We often see them still within a short distance of the farm and it is both terrifying and wonderful to watch.
This particular bird seemed undaunted by the cars. My dilemma was whether to keep my headlights on full beam. Would this blind the owl or would they light it up and warn other vehicles of its presence? I tentatively edged out onto the main road and drove at a snail's pace with the owl quartering beside me. It held itself steady, wings at a horizontal and head down as it stayed intent upon its hunt. As I met car after car in the next few minutes I willed the young owl to stay safe in its foray for food.
Within a couple of miles I happened upon my next owl; another familiar bird. This one was hunting from a post across Thorney fen on the northernmost border of Cambridgeshire. As an experienced bird it was wisely conserving its energy by waiting for prey on this favoured post. It could almost have been another species to the one I had seen just minutes previously. Its deep amber feathers were flecked with grey and I was reminded of the time last April I stopped along here. I had seen an owl on the dyke edge in the pouring rain one lunchtime. I scaled the water and got within a metre of it before it flew quite capably through the tussocky grass. My initial concerns that it was injured or starving had been allayed and I kept watch instead from a respectful distance. What I remember most from this encounter was the singular beauty of this owl's feathers. With the rain jewelled across its back it had the beauty of a peacock as the vibrant rust accentuated the grey flecked tips of each feather. This encounter gained extra significance when I found out that this territory belonged to one of our 2016 owlets that was recaptured in July last year. As I watched her staring and engrossed on the weather beaten grass it seemed amazing to think that perhaps I had once held her and been part of the process of detailing those all important details, that I had watched her fledge across the farm, perhaps viewed her with that now familiar anxiety as she too made her way into the wider world.
My final sighting was close to Eye. An owl flew just within the periphery of my vision, a flurry of white beating upwards and away from its tree perch, a flamenco turn dressed in haughty disregard. In 2014 I had the pleasure of being part of something very special here too. Teaching at this village school I undertook a project about barn owls and we were given an owl box. 2014 was a bumper year for barn owls. We erected the box in March and it was occupied in May. I had read the now classic "Owl Babies" to sixty four year olds in the shade of the trees only to find out we had our very own owl babies roosting quietly above us. I arranged to have them ringed and we found three bundles of fluff as in the story. Some of the very youngest children came with me to hold the owlets.I still remember the assembly where we shared the photos with the whole school. Silent awe and wonder filled the hall. It was undoubtedly one of the highlights in thirty years of teaching. Watching this owl so close to the school made me wonder if it was one of this brood's predecessors. How lovely to think I may have made an impact in this part of the fens despite the sprawl of Peterborough relentlessly encroaching upon the area.
The moon continued to cast her glow, painting the fields and the ditches and the hedgerows with its silvery light. When I returned along the same route after a couple of hours the owls had gone. Undoubtedly they had caught their supper and returned to their roosts until hunger forced them out again. It filled with me optimism for the forthcoming year to watch these elegant raptors, to see their assured quartering, to know they were there.
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