March 4, 2016
Great Horned Owl
She’s ba-ack.
Our neighbor, that is. The quiet one who keeps to herself.
I don’t mean to sound like we’re disrespectful, or unobservant, but frankly it took us a while to notice her. Only within the past few weeks has it become apparent that, indeed, Mama Great Horned Owl has returned.
Here at Hickory Knolls we are blessed with not only our own 130-acre natural area, but also the large open expanses of land at the Illinois Youth Center, a.k.a. the St. Charles Boys Home, next door. Over the course of the year, all sorts of wildlife are drawn to this vast , undeveloped space. Some, like the great blue herons, are quite obvious. Each spring they come back to their rookery–a collection of, I believe, seven nests in the oak trees by the boys home pond. Amid much flapping and squawking, they spruce up their nests and set about the business of raising their young.
But Mama Owl, well, her return is a completely different story. After she and her mate complete their courtship rituals–who-whooing their way through November and December,–they both turn down the volume and start setting up housekeeping.
For this particular pair, that means returning to exactly the same area–the rookery–and choosing a heron nest to call their own. That in itself isn’t all that unique, at least not for great horned owls–or actually even for owls in general. As a group, these birds of prey adopt existing structures and adapt them for use as nesting sites. It could be a nest of a squirrel or crow; it could be a large tree cavity. It could also be the unoccupied nest of a red-tailed hawk. Or a heron. As long as it’s large enough and sturdy enough to support the female, her eggs and, eventually, owlets, it’ll do.
At any rate, once the nest is chosen, the owls grow quiet. Even though they are nearly invincible–a nickname for great horned owls is flying tigers–their eggs and offspring are vulnerable. It’s best to not attract attention, and believe you me, great horned owls definitely don’t.
What works great for them can make things a little tough for us. Each year, starting in January, we trek out to the spot on our property where we can view, with either binoculars or spotting scope, the trees that are maybe 75 yards away. Standing just so, often squinting, we see the outlines of the nests–large masses of sticks arranged high in the trees.
This year Miss Jeanette, our outreach coordinator, made regular checks of the area with her Wednesday morning walking group, the Happy Hikers. It was toward the end of January that she came back with a report of a possible owl sighting.
Using two fingers from each hand and sticking them up behind her head, to simulate the namesake feather tufts that jut from the top of a great horned, Jeanette said, “I think I see her.” She then added that she couldn’t be positive because what she perceived as feather tufts might also just be twigs from the
An arrow points toward the distinctive feather tufts of a female great horned owl incubating her brood inside a great blue heron’s nest. The tufts aid in camouflage, helping to break up the outline of her head.