Thursday, January 05, 2006
Step outside and into adventure: great horned owl in Central Park
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
This was shaping to be another kind of article when good friends Mary and Harry called, suggesting that we drop our post New Year’s Eve plans and come with them to Central Park, where observers have sighted a great horned owl. This creature, with a wingspan of five feet, has been living in the Ramble for the past two weeks, sleeping in a treetop during the day and going hunting after dusk. Don’t dally, we were told, who knows how long she (it had to be a female, they are larger) will stay here, in January, before flying south.
This was an invitation not to be taken lightly. We have had an encounter with a giant owl before – some years ago I had practically a mano-a-mano with one, when a little bird was knocking against our picture window upstate, hiding in the big forsythia bush. When I looked up, there was a huge white owl with immense wingspread, trying to get to the little guy. I ran outside into the snow, and chased the intruder away.
It was an interesting thought to see another owl in action, and we joined our friends in a cab ride to CP, a little early for the owl action, so we visited the Reservoir first, to see some reddish ducks. The Reservoir, seen from 85th street, was like a Corot painting, grey skies and water, with trees and the Castle near the tennis courts in foreground. But no red ducks, only a few mallard couples, and a clutch of seagulls in the center. Nothing daunted, we headed to 72nd Street, slightly cold in the as the day drew to a close.
At 72nd Street, on the edge of the model boat lake, where kids float their little yachts in summer, wind or motor-driven, a man has a photo exhibit of the hawks at 927 Fifth Avenue, the ones that caused the public furor when the coop apartment owners, tired of the smells, decided to destroy the nest. Pale Male and his new nest mate, portrayed in Marie Winn’s 1998 book Red Tails in Love and on several broadcasts, are still in the neighborhood, but Mary Tyler Moore and her husband, the lonely defenders of the hawks’ nest, have sold their 18-room nest and left. Rik Davis has pictures for sale, and graciously lets you peer through his telescope to see the hawks’ nest in action. He also has pictures of the Romeo and Juliet statue at the Delacorte, with a robin’s nest on Juliet’s breast, and of our objective, the owl, which he describes as located “up the path to the Ramble, past Central Park Cafe, and then some, and look for a crowd of fifty people.”
We could not quite pass the café without a cup of hot coffee, and ran into a clutch of bird people, our hosts’ acquaintances. But there was not much time for socializing, if we wanted to see the owl before she took off for her nocturnal hunt, so up and down the Ramble we went, a crooked path veering left to the side of The Lake (look it up on the map in your Yellow Book), at a spot called The Oven, a dip between two hillocks, and there, atop a tall tree, was a black oblong with ears, observed through high-power binoculars, with groups of people watching, some sitting on benches, waiting for the bird to move.
It was a big creature, probably from Wyoming, here by accident, and not expected to stay, we were told by a passing bearded birdman. The bush telegraph is apparently very strong (or is there a web site?), since scads of people were coming daily for the viewing. Our man assured us that this was the first memorable event since a couple of bald eagles floated down the Hudson on an ice floe, feeding on fish along the way (unverified) a couple of years ago when the river iced over (verified), then flew back home.
While waiting for the owl to move, our troop moved down to the lakeside, towards the graceful Bow Bridge, to see a gaggle of mallard ducks and Canadian geese begging for food, obvious victims of civilization and the welfare system. Our informant further told us of 19 screech owls released in the park, which had been hand-fed and perished in the hard get-your-own food environment (we subsequently found that a couple of nests had managed to survive and brought forth hardy offspring). Darwinism on the wing.
The owl finally stretched one wing and then the other, while fifty spectators held breathlessly still, and moments later opened the powerful great machine, to plane down, then flap up to a better height, finally settling on a tree over a ravine rich in mice (no bird hunter this, per our informant.) We eventually gave up waiting for the owl’s grand flight, thanking the volunteer guide, who refused to give his name, claiming to be an extraterrestrial alien.
On return to the heated café, we exchanged experiences with other seekers of warmth, among which a computer expert and bird and plant watcher, Ken Tauris, upon hearing of our adventure, also claimed the alien mantle, offering Alpha Centauris as his real name. Feeling gratified and honored to have met two aliens and a giant owl in one day, we returned to our modest aerie nest and cats and an environmentally justifiable cold supper of domestic fowl.
Feel free to follow our example; you too may meet the owl, and any number of facile bird story tellers of dubious veracity but considerable charm and entertainment value. An afternoon well spent.
Go to the blog behind www.dobelis.net for a longer version
This was shaping to be another kind of article when good friends Mary and Harry called, suggesting that we drop our post New Year’s Eve plans and come with them to Central Park, where observers have sighted a great horned owl. This creature, with a wingspan of five feet, has been living in the Ramble for the past two weeks, sleeping in a treetop during the day and going hunting after dusk. Don’t dally, we were told, who knows how long she (it had to be a female, they are larger) will stay here, in January, before flying south.
This was an invitation not to be taken lightly. We have had an encounter with a giant owl before – some years ago I had practically a mano-a-mano with one, when a little bird was knocking against our picture window upstate, hiding in the big forsythia bush. When I looked up, there was a huge white owl with immense wingspread, trying to get to the little guy. I ran outside into the snow, and chased the intruder away.
It was an interesting thought to see another owl in action, and we joined our friends in a cab ride to CP, a little early for the owl action, so we visited the Reservoir first, to see some reddish ducks. The Reservoir, seen from 85th street, was like a Corot painting, grey skies and water, with trees and the Castle near the tennis courts in foreground. But no red ducks, only a few mallard couples, and a clutch of seagulls in the center. Nothing daunted, we headed to 72nd Street, slightly cold in the as the day drew to a close.
At 72nd Street, on the edge of the model boat lake, where kids float their little yachts in summer, wind or motor-driven, a man has a photo exhibit of the hawks at 927 Fifth Avenue, the ones that caused the public furor when the coop apartment owners, tired of the smells, decided to destroy the nest. Pale Male and his new nest mate, portrayed in Marie Winn’s 1998 book Red Tails in Love and on several broadcasts, are still in the neighborhood, but Mary Tyler Moore and her husband, the lonely defenders of the hawks’ nest, have sold their 18-room nest and left. Rik Davis has pictures for sale, and graciously lets you peer through his telescope to see the hawks’ nest in action. He also has pictures of the Romeo and Juliet statue at the Delacorte, with a robin’s nest on Juliet’s breast, and of our objective, the owl, which he describes as located “up the path to the Ramble, past Central Park Cafe, and then some, and look for a crowd of fifty people.”
We could not quite pass the café without a cup of hot coffee, and ran into a clutch of bird people, our hosts’ acquaintances. But there was not much time for socializing, if we wanted to see the owl before she took off for her nocturnal hunt, so up and down the Ramble we went, a crooked path veering left to the side of The Lake (look it up on the map in your Yellow Book), at a spot called The Oven, a dip between two hillocks, and there, atop a tall tree, was a black oblong with ears, observed through high-power binoculars, with groups of people watching, some sitting on benches, waiting for the bird to move.
It was a big creature, probably from Wyoming, here by accident, and not expected to stay, we were told by a passing bearded birdman. The bush telegraph is apparently very strong (or is there a web site?), since scads of people were coming daily for the viewing. Our man assured us that this was the first memorable event since a couple of bald eagles floated down the Hudson on an ice floe, feeding on fish along the way (unverified) a couple of years ago when the river iced over (verified), then flew back home.
While waiting for the owl to move, our troop moved down to the lakeside, towards the graceful Bow Bridge, to see a gaggle of mallard ducks and Canadian geese begging for food, obvious victims of civilization and the welfare system. Our informant further told us of 19 screech owls released in the park, which had been hand-fed and perished in the hard get-your-own food environment (we subsequently found that a couple of nests had managed to survive and brought forth hardy offspring). Darwinism on the wing.
The owl finally stretched one wing and then the other, while fifty spectators held breathlessly still, and moments later opened the powerful great machine, to plane down, then flap up to a better height, finally settling on a tree over a ravine rich in mice (no bird hunter this, per our informant.) We eventually gave up waiting for the owl’s grand flight, thanking the volunteer guide, who refused to give his name, claiming to be an extraterrestrial alien.
On return to the heated café, we exchanged experiences with other seekers of warmth, among which a computer expert and bird and plant watcher, Ken Tauris, upon hearing of our adventure, also claimed the alien mantle, offering Alpha Centauris as his real name. Feeling gratified and honored to have met two aliens and a giant owl in one day, we returned to our modest aerie nest and cats and an environmentally justifiable cold supper of domestic fowl.
Feel free to follow our example; you too may meet the owl, and any number of facile bird story tellers of dubious veracity but considerable charm and entertainment value. An afternoon well spent.
Go to the blog behind www.dobelis.net for a longer version
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 12:39 PM 
