It was an impromptu call last Tuesday that gripped me with excitement;
"Are you about to check the nest boxes tomorrow?" Of course I was. My regular chores were forgotten and I eagerly looked forward to the following day. Wednesday dawned warm and bright. The sun always seems to shine on our nest box check although I remember one year when the rain slated down and we reconvened in the grain store to check those endearing bundles of fluff. This year the sun shone indulgently celebrating with us our modest successes.
I knew there were owlets in the combine shed. If I left the farm but waited by the gate the male owl was back within minutes, expertly darting between the gap afforded to him between the door and the shed frame. Counting each return had given me an estimate of the size of his family; four, five, six times he took in food and I was feeling optimistic. There was also a second clue, his mate had reappeared meaning the owlets were old enough for her to leave them.Initially she had worried me. I watched her circle her mate begging for food. When he wasn't forthcoming she flew into the shed and I worried for the owlets should this be a bird from the summer brood. The following night I witnessed a similar activity. She had quite obviously become so used to being fed in the nest box that she expected it to continue although she was now at liberty to help herself. Her mate was unperturbed and so, I reasoned, that I should be too.
We began the check in this very shed, a veritable barn owl heaven. It is rarely disturbed with two owl sized entrances for them to choose from and plenty of beams for perching and flying practice. The nest box was situated on the furthermost beam, dark, secure and warm. We watched as Paddy scaled the ladder and stared with rapt attention as he carefully extricated the bundles of fluff from the inspection hatch. There were five in total and rather unusual for us, the female was also in the box. The youngsters were taken to the truck to be checked and ringed.
All were well fed and tolerated the usual procedures. They were between two and four weeks old and mainly fluff although the older ones feathers were just starting to unfurl from the quill. These almost prehistoric little creatures clung to each other for comfort with one keeping its eyes tightly closed. Paddy checked, measured, weighed and ringed them as quickly and quietly as possible and I wondered to myself what the female must have thought to see her family so swiftly whisked away.
As Paddy went to collect the female I stared hard at these little paradoxes. They were so very helpless yet already their talons could slice straight through my skin. Looking objectively at them with their red skin showing through their patchy fluff and their oversized hooked beak they were almost grotesque yet my breath was taken away by the sight of them.
Mum took some catching and was decidedly unhappy to be captured yet we were delighted. Her ring number told us she was an older bird yet not one of Paddy's and I experienced a feeling of deja vu, almost certain we had been faced with a similar dilemma before. Paddy checked his notes on recaptures and there was our answer, This bird had been caught at the farm three times before, twice in 2012 as a young adult and again in 2015. She was at least into her tenth summer. My heart lurched as I considered her story. How many mates had she had? How many owlets raised? How many times had I watched her fly with ease along side me. Her longevity was incredible and I look forward to reading back through the blogs to find out more.
There were, however, disappointments. We checked the beehive box where I had regularly seen activity hoping for the second pair, but despite the hush the male barn owl flew from the box before the entrance could be secured. He flapped haphazardly across the grass filed before finding his bearings in the bright sunlight and heading to the cover of the ash tree. From here he gave us the most indignant stare as if to say,
"I trusted you, how very rude of you to disturb me!" To have caught him would have been the absolute icing on the cake giving us clear details of the first resident pair, but it wasn't to be. I was also disappointed to find no further signs of our second pair of barn owls although Paddy assured me that they would be close. The territorial screeching that resounds across the fens after feeding tells me there are still other adults close. Perhaps the lack of natural prey this year has made our first pair more precious about the farm site and they are more unwilling to share this much sought after location. I will be watching the other nest spaces in the straw gaps and even the house chimney as Autumn asserts itself. Despite these disappointments I remind myself of the huge achievement of having five owlets, across the fens Paddy only found three other females sitting on clutches of two or three eggs. We have cause for celebration indeed.
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