Mystery.

 It finally feels as if the worst of the winter is over. The sun is gaining strength as the days lengthen and the birds are beginning to sing. There's a nostalgia to these early awakenings. Even when we hadn't acknowledged that they were missing, their return is so very welcome. On the river, our swans send their final cygnet on its way as they begin their courtship and look forward to a new family very soon, and so it is with the owls.

This winter the rain has been incessant. Figures from the North Level drainage board show that in our region we've had the wettest winter since 1832 when recorded rainfall was 393 mm. This year from October to February they recorded 462 mm. This is terrible news for Barn Owls who rely on dry weather to hunt. The constant flooding also means that they main prey, field voles, will be impacted. I suspect that this is why the adults tolerated the autumn youngsters well into February when they would normally send them away from the farm in soon after Christmas. I did my best to support them by putting out plenty of food and hoping that this would lessen any rivalry but I knew that the evenings of listening to them hissing at me from the straw were coming to an end.

It was during this transition from the shelter of the farm that we seemed to have lost another of the youngsters. I saw a buff coloured, shape high up in the straw stack in the field. Looking through my binoculars I felt almost certain it was the lifeless body of a barn owl, face down with its wings spread out. The body was too high for me to retrieve and all I could do was guess what might have happened to it. Predation by a fox was obviously discounted due to where the body lay. Starvation was also unlikely as an owl that had grown weak would hide away rather than sit out in the open. Although our farm itself is safe from poison, I couldn't rule out the fact that an opportunistic youngster could have picked up a poisoned mouse elsewhere which might have explained it being out in the open. Similarly had it been injured, perhaps in a traffic collision it may have returned to the farm before sadly perishing. As I walked Max and pondered its fate, I saw the buzzards growing ever more territorial as they too, thought of nesting in the near future. They stood tall and proud on the straw stack, surveying the area and I recognised the risk they can pose. I also watched the crows tumbling upwards and spiraling round the straw stack. We've lost a young owl to a mob of crows many moons back so I know that either of these species could mean trouble for a weak, injured or vulnerable young owl.

Then a thought occurred to me. What if the owl that had perished was our adult female? She is in her thirteenth year here and surely cannot last forever. That same evening I took my camera down and snapped shots of the owls as they flew in. I recognised her immediately; distinguished by the way she sat patiently and waited for me and this was confirmed by the ring on her right leg. I really shouldn't have favourites, but I was so relieved to see her. 

I now see four, five sometimes six owls at feeding time and feel certain that any remaining youngsters are no longer roosting here. One morning an owl dropped out of the holly tree along the farm drive as I returned to our house. It flew towards the beehives and I watched in astonishment. That same evening I waited after feeding time to see an owl harried away by another. They circled and turned just above my head like two ice skaters in a starlit duet and although there was no screeching I sensed the hostility between them. I hope if they are desperate they can snatch some food at an inopportune moment but more than that, I hope the weather settles to allow them their independence.

I watch the remaining owls avidly. The females are still showing but ours lay eggs in early March and I know that any day now they will disappear. I search for clues as to their chosen nest sites. Last year they chose the boxes on the dutch barn yet this year two regularly leave the combine shed and others fly across to the beehive box.  I will enjoy the little guessing game that awaits me in the next few weeks.

As for the sad demise of the straw stack owl? I walk down with my camera a week or more after first seeing the body and snap a photo. Looking at the photo I cannot be certain that it even is an owl after all.

A sad find.

 Despite the bitingly cold weather we have had over the past week, the natural world is looking forward to spring. Our Kestrels wait, side by side now, reestablishing their bond and showing a real interest in west nest box. I was also thrilled to see two Little Owls perched on the straw bales. They haven't been noticeable since last Autumn. They too are acknowledging the longer days and stronger sunshine that tells them spring is not too far away. The Barn Owls show me that they too are thinking of new families. They seem more hostile to the youngsters who still hiss at me from the straw stack as I approach and two adults are flying from the combine shed together. It fills me with excitement to see them like this

But there is one bird that won't be finding a mate and looking for a nest site this spring. After Storm Isher I walked down in trepidation. The wind had been relentless and the owls were unable to fly out for food. I knew one night alone wouldn't hurt them as they had been well fed during the cold, frosty spell. My biggest worry was that they would be blown out into the worst of the weather and become predated. Yet the youngsters were more experienced now and thankfully, when I arrived to check the following morning, there were no owls in the grass field or around the yard. It seemed that they had stayed in their roosts and kept themselves safe. 

It was as I returned to the yard that I spotted a light shape in the open sheds near the house. I went inside to check. Now, I am always imagining casualties, it simply goes hand in hand with what I do. When you look out for Barn Owls as I do, you imagine the worst for them too. Only recently I convinced myself that a fawn shape hunched on the side of the A47 was an injured owl only to find on the return journey that it was a sugar beet!! So the majority of the time my investigations bring me relief but not so that morning. I knew even from a distance that this was one of my Barn Owls laying dead on the dusty floor.

The poor thing was paper thin, just feather and bone and had undoubtedly starved. Its beautiful obsidian eyes were firmly shut and its wings were majestically spread in what seemed like a gesture of hopelessness. Initially I thought it was a male but its wings and back were deeply barred in grey  reminding me of an especially dark female that I had been watching on the farm since the summer. It had been dead for a while and I suspect had succumbed during the stormy weather in early January when Storm Henk brought us rain that made hunting impossible.

After twelve years I still find this hard. I'd heard of owls starving during the wet weather and even advised some people how to help them but never imagined it would happen on our site. I leave twenty day old chicks out each night, there was plenty to be had. Perhaps it hadn't flown in as rigorously as the others when the parents stopped providing for it. maybe it became injured and stranded in the shed. It possibly may not have even been one of our youngsters. Just a couple of years back we found a starved youngster in these very barns and its ring told us it came from a nearby nest site so maybe this bird was also from away and hadn't realised there was food offered. Since Christmas I had seen an owl peering at me from these sheds on my morning walk. How I wished now that I had kept a closer eye upon it.

I am beyond sad to notice that where two young owls sat closely in the straw waiting for me each evening there is now only one.I loved  the way these fledglings continued with their close bond despite leaving the nest box in October and it makes the death seem even more poignant. However, there is no point in dwelling on what has happened I have to move on. To look out for the owls that greet me each evening and watch for the kestrels on my morning. To do what I do and make a difference where I can.

 

Worrying

 The storms that have impacted the UK and, in turn our wildlife this winter, have been relentless. We began with Storm Agnes on the 25th September and have had a severe storm approximately every two weeks since then culminating in eight in total including Storm Henk on the 2nd January. Between these storms we have had deluge upon deluge of rain leading to flooded fields and brimming ditches. It's a hard time to be a Barn Owl.

(Our beautiful female )

Although these conditions are tricky for all wildlife, Barn Owls are especially susceptible. Their feathers aren't waterproof. This is necessary for silent flight and makes them a feared hunter as they can stalk their prey and strike without being heard. It does however mean that during rain they cannot hunt. Wet undergrowth proves tricky too as each time they strike for prey they become wetter and wetter. They are a species that need dry conditions to sustain themselves. Windy conditions also prove tricky for Barn Owls as they predominantly use their hearing to catch their prey. The wind makes this impossible so even if a Barn Owl can manage to fly in blustery weather it cannot hunt effectively.

                                                   (Thorney Fen last Spring)

With the extra food I leave out, ours seem to have fared well but they are desperate. They fly to meet me and circle low while they wait for the food. It is a pitiful sight to see a wild bird waiting on the food platform and behaving in a totally alien way because it is starving. The youngsters wait in the straw , hissing urgently as soon as they hear my voice. They should have broken this habit by now but are relying on me totally to see them through this weather.

Further afield I see signs of owls in trouble. On social media there are stories of birds starving to death at their roost sites as they wait for more hospitable weather. My sister had one hunting her fields at 1pm in the afternoon. As I drive home from work across the fen, I am caught unawares by a hungry owl out before dusk that scatters upwards in front of my car. I swerve and swear. This owl has been pushed beyond its comfort zone in its hunger. I look out for them whenever I drive and yet I narrowly missed this one. As I reach home I see one of ours just outside the farm gate, perched on a post, head down, concentrating on its hunt. Barn Owls will hunt in this way during the winter to conserve energy. Even with the additional food it seems ours are hungry too. 

There are up to ten owls waiting each evening. It is a humbling sight. Yet if I think beyond our immediate autumn broods I know that the summer owlets that I watched Charles ring will have most likely perished by now. Weather such as this is nearly impossible for inexperienced youngsters to tackle. Unless they have happened upon an excellent roost site, or stayed close enough to fly in to us their longevity is unlikely. Sometimes it feels that as part of the bigger picture I am not making a difference at all. I cannot take on Mother Nature and all that She can throw at us and win. The floods and the storms have shown us that entirely.

Weather in Fenland has undoubtedly changed. In his farming heyday my husband would get the crops in before the weather turned each autumn and springs were mild and welcoming. Now it is becoming normal to see this stormy, inclement weather through much of autumn and our springs are often cold and inhospitable. Whether you see the extremes in weather as climate change as most people are now acknowledging or whether you believe that extreme conditions have prevailed for centuries,there is no doubt that the climate is very different now. 

In the short term I can feed the owls and help them through the lean spells but long term I, like everyone, else need to look at how I can tread lightly on this earth of ours and minimise my impact. The RSPB's State of Nature reports estimates that 43% of bird species are at risk of extinction. I really hope the Barn Owl isn't one of them.

Reflection

 The end of the year is a time for reflection in all aspects of our lives and each December I like to look back on the year just gone and consider the successes and triumphs, the tragedies and trials of my feathered friends. 

2023 has certainly been successful at our farm but I think that generally for Barn Owls across the country it will be another poor year. The first half of the year saw cold temperatures well into early summer which made owls reluctant to rear broods. The second half initially saw more suitable conditions and later broods were recorded but the terribly wet autumn and winter here in Lincolnshire has made for trying times for Barn Owls.

However, we had a few firsts here on the farm. Our two pairs reared their first broods of the year on the dutch barn just metres apart in east nest box and west nest box. They haven't done this since 2014, a bumper year for Barn Owls, when voles were abundant. Although we always have two early broods that fledge in June, the young are usually reared further apart. We fledged three or four owlets from each nest box who quickly dispersed. A first for our owls came with our second broods later in the year. The original pair who always produce second broods moved over to the beehive box and reared another three owlets and the second pair moved from west nest box into east nest box to fledge their second brood of three. This pair usually rear their second brood elsewhere so it was a privilege to have them so close for the whole year. The only difference between the two pairs is that the second pair reared their young a coupe of weeks later than our original owls. These fledglings are still with us, giving me some fantastic fly pasts on these cold winter evenings.

I am estimating the number of owlets although, in watching them every night I am fairly confident as to how many youngsters there are. Charles kindly came out to ring our first brood but the Manitou was out of action after that. Later in the year Simon  was approached by Peterborough City Council to oversee the boxes that Paddy had previously monitored and so gathered the data from our owls. Ringing continues to be invaluable in showing where owls move to and how long they live. I am always keen to talk to these experts too. I like to hear what they have found locally and how Barn Owls are faring across the Fens. 

Alongside the successes for the Barn Owls the Little Owls did well too. They reared two broods in June. One pair used the nest box on the dutch barn and a second pair used a tree cavity. I loved walking down at dusk and spotting these dapper little birds with the most indignant of stares. These are a fair weather bird. I rarely see them during the winter but know they are close and will show themselves when the weather becomes warmer. 

For the Kestrels it was a trying time. You may remember how daddy kestrel hurt is wing just as his youngsters were fledging.  I have grown very fond of him and to watch as he struggled to the ground with the food I left and see him look so forlorn was hard. Out of necessity he completely ignored his young family and the female took charge. They still reared three youngsters who commanded the skies above the farm during early summer. I am so relieved that daddy kestrel regained the use of his wing. He would have perished without my supplies of food during those early days and each morning he says thank you with a wonderful fly past as I walk Max and leave breakfast for these resilient little falcons.

The Short Eared Owls graced us with their presence if only for a short time during both spring and autumn. I was pleased to get some half decent photos as they flew beside me on my evening walk. The Barn Owls have also been very benevolent this year in allowing me some fabulous opportunities to take photos. I know how fortunate I am to have such close encounters throughout the year.

2023 was also the year that I thought the farm would finally be sold. I feel certain that in 2024 it will sadly change hands and leave our family after three generations. As I will still live close, I hope to continue feeding the owls but this will not be a certainty. My little project may be in jeopardy but I remain upbeat. As I walk down each evening and watch the owls fly buoyantly to meet me I stay focused on past successes. The future must take care of itself. 

Perils

When any bird fledges, there are numerous challenges for them to negotiate but for barn owls, particularly these fledgling so late in the year, the perils seem almost insurmountable. I watch over these youngsters with angst and trepidation, anticipating threats and worrying a ridiculous amount over their welfare. But I have invested time and taken pleasure in their journey this far and I am a soft-hearted individual at the best of times. If I wasn't I would have given up this jaunt many moons ago.

 

Although I help and we wouldn't have successful broods this late in the year without some support, I am sometimes a hindrance. This was plainly evident when the owlets first fledged and I disturbed one of them from the straw early one morning. It flew, clueless, from the farm and plonked itself in a small ditch where it waited, exposed and vulnerable. I took a detour to work to drive along past the farm and look out for it, but this only added to my concerns. There were at least three buzzards hunting the roadside, buzzards that could easily take out a young, naive barn owl. I could only hope that it headed back to the farm and the safety of the straw promptly and that no harm came to it and I resolved that for now, my morning walk needed to take a route away from the straw stack.

The next hazard was some testing autumn winds in the form of Storm Babet, Ciaran and Debi. These literally hit the farm in quick succession when the owlets were still honing their flying skills. I walked down to find gale force winds tunnelling through the farm gate and owlets grounded all across the grass field. They couldn't fly even if they tried and I just hoped they had the sense to hop back to the straw and find shelter. The food I provided meant that they didn't have to hunt in the worst of the weather and could practice their skills in more suitable conditions. I knew that if  they got wet they would be vulnerable to predators. Max had shown me that we had foxes close. He has a special drill for foxes which involves nose down, tail up and some very deep barks. Because of his behaviour, I realised that while the owlets were at their most naive, foxes were prowling. Thankfully I never found any trace that any had been predated but this added to my concerns.

Over time the owlets became more streetwise, they stayed in the straw as they saw me approach both in the mornings and at feeding time. They still hissed incessantly for food and the fly pasts were incredible but I was reassured that they had found safe and cosy nooks in the straw stack itself. Yet on a farm there are always changes so you can imagine my consternation when one morning a lorry approached and the fork lift began to load straw onto it. The straw's true purpose isn't to house my barn owls but to provide bedding for animals and it is transported right across the country. I watched a distance away, looking for owlets flying out and worrying that some of them may even be loaded up onto the lorry between bales if they sat tight. But the forklift just took single bales from the outer edges and it seemed that the owlets were safe once more.

                                             (Notice the owl nook between the bales here)

On my evening walk we saw owls in the torchlight as they began to hunt beyond the periphery of the farm itself. The new peril for them now was traffic. They would need to learn to negotiate the roads close by and although they weren't too busy I was dismayed to find out that the main trunk road closest to us as closed at night for a week. All main route traffic would be diverted within half a kilometre of the farm. I stood on the bridge and watched a stream of lights constantly negotiating our small fenland road. The owlets simply wouldn't stand a chance against so many vehicles. To try to help I fed early and generously in a bid to keep them close. I dreaded a journey out each morning fearing that I would find one of the youngsters crumpled on the roadside verge but it seems that this was a peril they have avoided, at least for now.

I know they won't all make this first winter with so much against them but each evening gives me hope for them and their precarious futures. Each morning I see them hunting from perches or along simple familiar routes and last night two flew to greet me and my torch found four little rotund faces peering at me from the uppermost bales. They will be with me now until January when I will worry again for them as these beautiful babies leave the farmyard for the final time. 

Fledglings everywhere.

 Just a few days back I knew the owlets fledging was imminent as they popped back and forth from the nest box at feeding time. They danced and weaved, stamped their feet and scuffled. These were fully fledged owls ready to join their parents gliding across the farm yard. The adult bird's behaviour told me that their youngsters would soon be out too. Instead of my usual fly past they were screeching at me and far more hostile. I have seen this each year when the youngsters are on the cusp of leaving the nest box. The owls have worked hard to rear their broods and are anxious and understandably protective. I recognised their anxiety and swiftly left the farm.

The realisation that they are actually out of the nest box happens during a daylight sighting when a slight movement in the straw stack alerts me to a youngster that has got out of the nest box and roosted in between the bales. It is not at all happy to be seen and has no idea how to hide away and so sits stock still pretending it just isn't there. This one is female. A far more confident male leaps about in the roof space scaling the bales with ease, apparently unaware that I can see it. I continue on my dog walk and take a different route back to give it space and not cause any distress. This scenario happens for a few days until the youngsters learn to tuck themselves away and stay hidden until after dark.

Now that I know they are out, I walk down at dusk and sit quietly to see where the youngsters are appearing from and perhaps to find out how many there are. The full moon is looming over the hedgerow to the east, illuminating the sodden ground. Standing by the huge straw stack in the field I have views of both nest boxes and I am not the only one watching. The little owls have appeared and one is perched on the shed door staring indignantly across the yard. It is not impressed with these brave, new interlopers and watches from the shadows. Barn owls appear as if by magic. Often I don't see where they come from but suddenly they are there, floating across the yard or moving in the straw. There appears to be little activity over by the beehive box but I know there are owls out in the trees because the blackbirds are constantly calling in alarm, a sure sign that an owl is close. I take my cue from the little owl and I too move into the shadows of the grain store but I am instantly rumbled. A barn owl appears on the shed right next to me and stares incredulously at me as if it cannot believe that I have the audacity to be there, and with no food either! It gives one almighty shriek and I admit defeat and head home.

At feeding time I am greeted far more enthusiastically. I can hear the owls hissing as I reach the gate. Some of the owlets clamour to get back inside the nest box because, I suppose, they still associate this with food. Other fly rather shakily around the straw while more perch in the nearby trees. Occasionally there is a half-formed screech as one of the youngsters can't make up its mind whether I am friend or foe. The shed has, by now, also become a favoured roost. One night an owl leaves the back of the shed as I approach whilst last night, one popped its head out of the gap above the door once I started to throw the food onto the roof. They are beyond comical to watch and I walk down with a smile on my face each evening in anticipation of what these beautiful babies will get up to next.

Of course there is a worrying aspect to their fledging so late in the season. I am guessing there are three or four owlets from both broods now roosting in the yard. That's potentially ten owls plus the little owls and the kestrels. The weather has been unseasonably wet and whilst I will continue to feed the owls, it is difficult for them to gain their independence and begin to hunt for themselves in such wet weather. I am hoping for a settled spell so that these resilient little hunters can fend for themselves. In the meantime I have some spectacularly entertaining evenings ahead of me.

Celebrations and disappointments

 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 only note down exactly what I am told to.

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.