Juvenile Sharpies on the move

Sharp-Shinned Hawks have been migrating in numbers these past weeks, following their cherished food source: songbirds. This juvenile, like many of its peers, thrives on the unnatural local abundance created by bird feeders, making Sharp-Shinned Hawks quite common in cities, and possibly more numerous overall than they have been historically.

While most are headed South, some Sharpies will remain for the winter. Next spring, there will be less than half the number of Sharpies we are seeing this Fall due to winter and migration mortality. The rest will be eaten by Peregrine Falcons and other larger raptors, or struck but some other hazard along the way that will send them back into the nutrient cycle to be recycled into many other lifeforms.

This other juvenile is developing the rufous adult breast. Also visible are the white specks on the back that are not illustrated in my field guide (!). The presence of these bird-eating hawks is often given away by how scarce songbirds become when they're around. Everything is connected out there, in a subtle balance we can tune into if we quiet our minds and observe.

Pileated Woodpecker with body image issues

Every morning for a few days, this Pileated Woodpecker has been flying through to snack on Blue Elderberry fruit. Acting like a goldfinch, it holds onto the slim branches and pecks at the berries while swinging upside down. Other birds stay clear, although the Sapsuckers seem to be trying to demonstrate the appropriate, time-tried stance and tree choice for a woodpecker, so far in vain. Quirky personalities and variable lifestyles are more prevalent in animals than some humans would guess!

Spirit of the Forest

This 3-year old buck lay peacefully on the bank of Muddy Creek as I crossed the foot-bridge. Clearly aware of me, he chose not to give up his shady spot on this september day of lingering summer heat. It could not be more clear to me that I must walk by a good many animals without noticing them. If the only ones you notice are the ones who flee, you might form the notion that animals always run when a human approaches, and end up not even looking for the ones who stay still all around...

Fern Ridge, post-Spotted Redshank

Fern Ridge is a bit like Mecca. The faithful have to go there once in their lifetime. And so every fall shorebirds and birders both migrate there, each intent on fulfilling the requirements of their respective biological callings; in the case of the former the urge to live and pass on the genetic underpinnings of their species, and in the case of the latter the need to satisfy a fanatical compulsion to chase small balls of feathers for the sake of extending their life list.

When a Spotted Redshank was seen there this summer, the place reportedly took on the feeling of a rock festival. Such an atmosphere might be to the liking of an Alice Cooper fan (the rocker, no relation to the accipiter), but not everyone at Fern Ridge was thrilled: "we were surrounded! You just couldn't enjoy a benthic invertebrate in the quiet and privacy of your favorite mudflat", Greater Yellowlegs told COTW. Sharing this view was Wilson's Phalarope: "being admired by the odd seasoned connoisseur once in a while is one thing I don't object to, but I swear some of these people were in such haste they didn't bother to study their field-guides before coming; one person even tried to throw some bread at me!".

With enthusiastic bipeds lining the shores and practically beating the bush for a glimpse at the second ever record of a Spotted Redshank in Oregon, one American Bittern felt it necessary to have a word with the Redshank about her alarm at being seen by so many people. "I try to hide, and methinks I do a pretty good job of it " (stands erect with beak pointing to the sky and sways with the reeds, practically vanishing before my gaze) "but you can only muster so much invisibility with 5 scopes trained on you; I had to ask them to leave in the hope of keeping the peace around here".

The Alliance of European-American Birds, headed up by Starling and House Sparrow, noted meanwhile that although the sudden interest in a European bird is encouraging, it should not overshadow the difficulty some Euro birds have in reaching the hearts of American birders. "Look at Eurasian Collared-Dove; there's no impromptu rock festival when they show up on the block".



While COTW did not send a reporter on site at the time of the Spotted Redshank phenomenon (too busy learning to distinguish Western and Least Sandpipers!), these interviews were recorded during a later visit on August 25th. Below are some pictures from this excursion.

Greater Yellowlegs

Stilt Sandpiper next to a preening Western Sandpiper

Stilt Sandpiper again, pretty rare!

Juvenile Purple Martins

The elusive Virginia Rail

The common and majestic Great Blue Heron

The Black-and-Yellow Garden Spider (Argiope aurantia)

Complete checklists:
http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S11445505
http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist?subID=S11445525

Flycatcher Beak Count

Flycatchers sometimes get a bad wrap for being troublesome secretive little brown birds with no distinguishing marks. Nothing could be farther from the truth! Yamhill county has 5 species in two very distinctive genera: Empidonax (the little guys) and Contopus (the big guys). Recognizing them should be no trouble to the casual observer with a few characters in mind (their respective dialects are also unmistakable by ear).

So far Hammond's Flycatcher and Olive-Sided Flycatcher have eluded my birding forays and camera lens in Yamhill county, but here's a review of our other Flycatchers.

Pacific-Slope Flycatcher: boasting a prominent white eye-ring and fashionable bi-colored beak, this is the ubiquitous Empidonax flycatcher west of the Rockies. Often heard calling a full hour before sunrise in spring and early summer, they easily get the palm for earliest riser among the songbirds (though Swainson's Thrushes are serious contenders for that distinction).

Willow Flycatcher: less common than the Pacific-Slope and restricted mainly to its namesake shrub, this flycatcher sports a broad, pale bill and a white underside. Generally detected first by its "fitz-bew" call.

Western Wood-Pewee: among the Tyrant Flycatchers, which are larger than the two Empidonax flycatchers above, this flycatcher is very noticeable with a far-carrying call and striking sallies from perches in pursuit of insects (a behavior known as "hawking"). August has been a very busy time for Wood-Pewees, and the little fellas below are the reason why...

Hungry Wood-Pewee babies! They need all the insects they can get before they can migrate to South America for winter.

Long-Standing Bird Resort Still a Hit

Wood Duck babies splashing around with glee, gossiping Killdeer frolicking up and down the busy pathways, Canada Goose parents sunning themselves nonchalantly on the beaches, Cliff Swallows indulging in aerial acrobatics. While this carefree scene might bring to mind the mega migration stop-overs of Baskett-Slough or Fern Ridge,  this is in fact the atmosphere a travelling shorebird can expect to encounter at the Sheridan Sewage Treatment Ponds Resort of Yamhill County.

Western Sandpiper; note the black legs, rufous scapular patch on the wing (though this individual, presumably a youngster, is pretty rufous all over the back and wings), medium-length blunt bill that droops slightly at the end.

A hip hang-out spot for several years, the Sewage Ponds are a haven for the weary migratory bird and a reliable family-friendly joint for all those worn parents with juveniles. If your plumage is faded and frayed after a year of tireless territory defense and reproductive duties, this is an ideal place to rest your wings.

Least Sandpiper; note smaller size and shorter bill than Western, unique greenish-yellow legs, lack of a specific rufous wing-patch. The overall cinnamon-y color on this individual indicates that it is a juvenile, methinks.

Dining on gourmet food in a down-to-earth atmosphere, Least and Western Sandpipers animate the shores with their lively chatter and bursts of energetic flight. South America is still a long way off, and the sewage ponds are the perfect spot to relax along the way.

Semipalmated Plover (with a photobomber Western Sandpiper). Although superficially similar to a Killdeer, it only has one dark ring on the neck rather than two, and is considerably smaller.

The Sheridan Sewage Ponds are also a trendy location for the fashion-conscious. In this discrete, out-of-the-way paradise, local paparazzi have been know to locate bird stars such as Parasitic Jaeger or Red Phalarope.

2 Red-Necked Phalaropes. Phalaropes are intriguing because of their reversed sexual dimorphism and sexual roles: the females are larger and more colorful, and actively compete for males, defend the territory and their mates, and migrate south immediately after egg-laying is over, leaving the males to incubate and rear the young. Phalaropes practice polyandry, the less common conjugal arrangement in the animal world, in which females take multiple males as mates.

This Friday's special guests included 3 Red-Necked Phalaropes in non-breeding plumage, one Semipalmated Plover trying to keep a low profile among the Killdeer, and one Hooded Merganser seen socializing with a gaggle of Cinnamon Teals. We have it on good authority (from our trusty informers CK and PS) that an early Redhead was spotted in the beginning of August, presumably making sure the high standards their species has become accustomed to in previous years are still followed.

Whether your destination is merely southern Oregon or distant Patagonia, whether you molt before or after migration, are an excitable juvie or a seasoned migration veteran, there is a place for you this fall at the Sheridan Sewage Ponds.

Sheridan Sewage Treatment Ponds, Yours to Discover.


Click here for a full checklist of the guests to the Sheridan Sewage Ponds, Yamhill Co., on Aug. 10th.

Watcher in the Woods

Early morning encounter in the Coast Range... This Saw-Whet Owl was actively claiming territory, at first in a fairly casual way, more emphatically after hearing my poor imitation poo-poo-poo-poo call. Holding still on a branch in a thick regrowth of Douglas-Fir, the owl stared at me in disbelief, before flying up into the thicker branches to spend the day away from the Chickadees who were already coming around to inspect this nemesis of theirs.

The Early Brassica Gets the Sunlight

Earliest flower of the year! No contest!

Draba verna is not fancy. Draba verna is not big. But Draba verna is fast! Most plants haven't even registered that winter is waning, and already D. verna is up , flowering and going to seed. Indian Plum flowers are but a dream within tightly packed buds when D. verna races to grace February with its very own spring wildflower.



Living in disturbed sites across the Northern hemisphere, this tiny annual plant has quit the "grass race" by doing its business before anyone else has even put forth a new leaf. I guess an appropriate adage in this case would be "the early brassica gets the sunlight". What pollinators are so kind as to indulge the minuscule flowers is a mystery to me, however.

Size compared to my finger!

D. verna's vernacular name is "whitlow grass" (much to the dismay of those of us who care about taxonomy). A "whitlow"is a infection around the fingernail, which plants in the Draba genus were thought to heal in Middle-Age Europe (I don't know if the wisdom of Old Age has confirmed or forsaken this notion).

Although we are now past the single-flower month of February, you might still find D. verna if you look in disturbed places. The ones I found were growing in a loose mat mixed with clover, on hard-packed gravel along a driveway. No more than 7 cm tall, a basal rosette of leaves bearing a single flowering stem; four white, notched petals; fruit flattened, not much longer than wide... After months of having only dried seed-heads and baby leaves to identify, it's pretty exciting to fin a complete specimen with flowers, seed and all!

Breaking News: Blog Appears to be Budding

The web's only blog reporting on the daily news in the animal and plant world seems to be showing signs of life, despite a long period of inactivity. The word had been that the estivation-turned-hibernation was a sign that it was already turning to humus, and that all those who had been following its growth should fly or slither on. Now it turns out the emissary of the wild who had humbly been compiling the lives of green, brown and multicolored beings all around may in fact be stirred to renew activity once more. In a rare interview by Deer, he justified the delay saying it "took time to tune in" to the ecosystem of the Willamette Valley. Deer went on to advise yours truly that it's "good time to start reporting on coyote activity again, what with birthing season approaching and all", before munching on some particularly juicy Indian Plum leaves.

Skunk Cabbage: "Yay! News about us! Hey did someone fart around here?? **chuckle**"

Meanwhile some are holding their excitement. Among the disgruntled, Turkey Vulture was heard grumbling that the delay in publication meant that their return had passed without much publicized electronic fanfare. "Been back since March 6th, and my little brother Rufous Hummingbird since the 16th. The Wood-Warblers are going to get all the ooohs and aaahs again this year". (Editor's Note: this interview was conducted telepathically; indeed, Turkey Vultures lack syrinxes and are therefore mostly silent, save for the odd cough or hiss)

On the other hand, the spring wildflower committee was more forgiving toward COTW. Already in bloom, the woodland-bound Oaks Toothwort (Cardamine nuttalii nuttalii) and garden lovers Common Bittercress (Cardamine hirsuta), Purple Deadnettle (Lamium purpureum), and the minute Draba sp. have sent their compliments. As per its mandate, COTW will endeavor to monitor and document their beauteous progress. 

Stick around for interviews with Song Sparrow, the race for sunflecks, territorial politics of songbirds, and more. Also don't forget to tune in to our "on air" edition, available any (outdoor) place, anytime, free, courtesy of Mother Nature, Unlimited; all you need are senses, provided. 

Also, if you have any breaking news to share, some odd occurrence in your end of the woods, thrilling drama or quirk of life among the green and brown things of the world, let me know and I'll share it with all of the animal readers of this blog (my assumption regarding the Kingdom of COTW readers is not speciesist, but merely based on personal research that shows that plants and fungi use other, more refined communication methods).

Homage to Vancouver's wildness

It has been more than a month since I've stretched my metaphorical wings, free from bureaucratic chains, and flown from my proverbial nest in Vancouver, BC. But before I move on to the horizons that greet me daily in my new homeland, I send this post as a thanksgiving to the natural spaces that inspired me during my time in Coast Salish territory.

Homage to Maplewood Flats

A Redcedar sprouting from a nursery stump overlooks the salt marshes

The canal at high tide, home to some river otters

The big pond, home to a lone beaver and a cackle of redwing blackbirds

A gift of delicious salmonberries

This relic of the Flats' industrial history, finally reclaimed by the area's original occupants (and some relative newcomers), is a special treat for the more exploratory among human visitors

Homage to Lynn Canyon

Decaying skid road passes by a Redcedar stump, legacies of the area's logging history

The roots of this huge hemlock now fully cover the nursery log that nurtured it

The deep, winding canyon

Lynn Creek coming out of the mouth of the canyon

Homage to Deer Lake

A huge bifurcated Black Cottonwood holds me

Skunk cabbage patch, a great spring moment

Crows coming in to roost, a congregation of all the area's crows seen from miles as they come together for the night

Coot showing awesomely styling feet

To all these places I send my deepest greetings and thanks.

Mystery bird

Yesterday at Maplewood Flats, North Vancouver, occupied Coast Salish territories, a brown bird was fluttering in a tree and eating blossoms when it dropped this song. Can you help me return it to him? Mystery bird by Blacksquirrel

Mystery bird was brown, with a heavily streaked breast, a moderately thick beak (sparrow/finch-like), a long, slender, notched tail, house finch-like. Size of a large sparrow, bit smaller than a thrush. Feeding in a tree, then in bramble thicket. Very active, bursting into song in the middle of a mouthful and dropping the flower it had just plucked! Any ideas?

Update
It has been suggested by a more knowledgeable birder than myself that this might be a Purple Finch imitating a Swainson's Thrush. It does sound like a cross between the Purple Finch's song and the Swainson's Thrush's! However if it was a Purple Finch, then it wasn't an adult male, because it didn't have any colour apart from brown and whitish. Also I've heard it (though not seen it) both times I've been back to Maplewood Flats since I made the recording. So would an immature male be practicing his vocals by very consistently and repeatedly borrowing another bird's song? It might enable him to avoid the ire of territorial males... Though I haven't noticed any other Purple Finches. Also, I haven't noticed any Swainson's Thrushes, so where would a juvenile have learned their song? Surely a year-old finch is no longer a juvenile, right? Or would a female Purple Finch have discovered a musical yearning? There was I assuming only male songbirds sang! Many questions still to be explored...

"The Purple Finch (sober-colored) is a rich singer. As I said the other day, something like a Warbling-Vireo, only louder, clearer, mellower and more various." - Henry David Thoreau


Update 2
The plot thickens as I find out that male Purple Finches take 2 years to get their adult plumage; first year males look like females. So maybe this is a one year-old male who heard the Swainson's Thrush last year and is singing it again this year before the actual Swainson's Thrushes have returned.

The magical song of the Swainson's Thrush is a harbinger of the return of summer and the season of plenty in the Pacific Northwest. In several First Nation languages along the coast of British Columbia it is known as "Salmonberry Bird" because its song rises from the thickets at the same time as the salmonberries start to ripen. In several languages such as Saanich, the song even lists the different colors and kinds of salmonberries (golden, red, dark...).

Would a hungry Purple Finch be trying to hasten the ripening of the berries?

Deer's News

COTW endeavours to bring you news from those who don't tend to make their way into conventional media. Today, news from Deer, whom I met while striding through the light forest of Maplewood Flats. Since she wasn't going anywhere for a while, I sat down too and had a chat. 

COTW: I'm grateful for your time and welcome, Deer. Blessings to you and yours.

Deer: Thanks for being quiet, also thanks for your interest. Blessings to all your relations.

COTW: What's been going on around here lately?

Deer: As you see, the grass has been growing. That's good.

COTW: Tasty?

Deer: Comfortable, actually. I'll stick to brambles and shrubs when I'm hungry. The shoots are still nice and tender. Try some!

COTW: Indeed, it's pleasant to chew on young bramble leaves! (Note: at this point I actually did chew some bramble leaves, to be agreeable at first, then because they actually taste good).

Deer: Also have you noticed? The Twinberry is flowering. It's amusing to Towhee. The Bigleaf Maple is in flower too; good hunting ground for warblers looking for insects: Wilson's Warbler, Yellow-Rumped Warbler and their congeners.

The Twinberry mentioned by Deer

Bidleaf Maple flowers

COTW: You seem pretty relaxed. Haven't met any predators lately?

Deer: Cougar came through recently [as reported by COTW], but it's not a regular phenomenon. You never know, so I listen to the rustles in the thicket. Also Bobcat is around a lot. I need to look out for them too, seeing as I'm pretty weak.

COTW: Why's that?

Deer: Let me show you [gets up]. I have what's been called "deer hair loss syndrome". Appropriate. Also, an understatement. I've been scratching and rubbing a lot, it's these european deer lice. They're terrible. We black-tailed deer and other mule deer are most affected. We're hypersensitive, see. White-tailed deer not so much. Bummer. My mom has it too.

Deer scratching, showing symptoms of "deer hair loss syndrome"

Deer: Dude you make me nervous when you sit so still. At this time when the light is fading I can't see you when you're still, you know? My sight isn't as good as yours, so knowing you're there but not seeing you is freaky.
COTW: OK sorry about that. I'll have some more blackberry leaves.

Deer: You do that, I'll be on my way. Been resting for a while before you got here.

COTW: Thanks for sharing the news of the forest! I wish you the best with your lice problem. See you around!

Deer: Alright. Keep your ears sharp. 

***Translation from Deer language by COTW***

Crow curse lifted

(Not one of the actual crows from the story, but one doing
an acceptable imitation of a couple of them)

It is a well kept secret among crows that they can curse you. Some people get an uncanny feeling from crows, others are attracted to their mystique and dark aura, others despise them or fear them. Few are indifferent. Yet fewer still take seriously the crow's mastery of the dark arts. This was a mistake I committed recently.

I was happily trespassing in a forested area (well, at the time I didn't know I was trespassing, I'll get back to that toward the end), enhancing a path by putting logs to channel bipedal traffic along the path and away from the undergrowth, when I noticed a rather agitated crow. I knew it was agitated, and more precisely agitated at me, because it would look at me, cawing at the top of its voice, and peck with all its might at the branch it stood on, making it abundantly clear that it was picturing my head in its talons and not a tree limb. I noted this, and the presence of another crow, also upset but less intent on threatening the physical integrity of my scalp. I assumed a nest must be nearby, and my branch-moving antics were unwanted in the neighborhood.

It was shortly after this that my fate was sealed. Under some litter, I spotted a skull. It was the skull of a crow. "Wow!" I thought, "I haven't found a bird skull in years!" So I picked up said skull and walked away, absent-mindedly thanking the crows for their "gift", though noticing that they were still as transparent in their vehement desire to shred my skin and puncture my every vital organ with great beaked gusto.

After this, I walked home, showing my find on the way to neighbor Dave, who asked whether I had made an offering in return. I felt a bit chagrinned to be receiving spiritual instruction from Dave, but I mentioned having broadcasted a mental "thank you" upon leaving. Next, scanning the surroundings, my eyes were caught by a cloud of small feathers floating down from a garage roof. Looking up, I beheld the body of a Varied Thrush, disemboweled and bouncing helplessly under the rhythmic assaults of... a large crow's beak. The crow then seized its prize (which I assume it had acquired from a hawk or bald eagle), and flew with it across the road, to another garage roof. There it proceeded to finish plucking and devouring the hapless songbird.

After a while I returned to see what was left, and found the two wings joined by the sternum; mostly blood-stained feathers and bone and very little meat. I wanted to get some feathers, but when I moved forward the crow lunged out of the nearby red-cedar and swooped down on me yelling and swearing! It perched on the phone wire and seemed to consider using it to model what its beak would do to my tender flesh were I to tempt it, but decided against it and stuck to vocally abusing me. Every time I stepped toward the remnants of the carcass I was mobbed and assaulted with raucous utterances of condemnation.

Returning home utterly castigated, I put the skull on my bed-side table. I expected it might give me some kind of dreams, not least likely nightmares. But that, sadly didn't occur. I did, however, become sick. Not bed-ridden kind of sick, more sinus-irritated, runny-nosed, tired kind of sick.

So after a few days, I admitted to myself that appropriating the skull had maybe been a bad idea. I decided to return it to the location I had taken it from. It was cloudy and drizzly and gray, but I made my way to the park. I was engrossed in observing a robin and several passing ruby-crowned kinglets when someone beckoned to me and told me that the children from the nearby school would be in recess soon. Startled our of my trance, I thanked them for the heads up, though I found it strange that someone would think of warning me of the impending appearance of children. Still I returned my attention to the robin, but only a few moments later was recalled by a stern "excuse me, sir." This time when I turned around, I realized I was in the presence of two police officers! Well, my morning sure was becoming interesting. This is when I was informed that I was in effect trespassing on school ground, albeit an area of school ground that the children are prohibited from entering (it's dirty and full of bugs, you know). I remarked that everyone in the neighborhood seemed to enjoy walking their dog along the well-worn path, but that didn't appear to amuse. My information was taken, and I vacated the premises, after maybe 2 minutes of first arriving in this spot I have visited a couple dozen times without incident.

So I made my way along the paved sidewalk, which I'm allowed to wear down my shoes on. This is the last commons of the modern folk. Though you shouldn't try staying in one place for too long, or, heavens forbid, sitting or lying on it. I reached the spot I was aiming for from the other end, and swiftly deposited the skull in a hidden location next to a red-cedar, along with 9 horse-chestnuts that I collected last autumn. The first thing I noticed upon leaving the darkness of the tree-cover was that it was sunny now. In fact, I had to look far into the distance to see any trace of clouds. Wasn't it just raining? As I walked home I looked up and saw a crow waiting on a balcony rail. A second crow joined the first one, and they flew up to the roof together, where the first crow fetched some food that had been stashed in the gutter and fed it to his begging mate. I was glad that this time I was leaving with a vision of love ("allofeeding" is the term for a male feeding a mate during courting), rather than a heinous vociferation of gore-spattered aspirations.

I know you would be skeptical if I said that I felt in full health again in the blink of an eye. In truth, I came home and slept for several hours that afternoon. I feel better now, and in the morning I will surely feel much replenished.

The morale of this story though is that the more I train my awareness to decipher the land and its inhabitants, the more fascinating dimensions are revealed. The effect of my mind's processes on my surroundings and the reciprocal impact of other beings on my life, even in previously unbelievable ways, become increasingly palpable. Episodes like this one, like the cougar tracks I followed a few days ago, are signs that my awareness is becoming greater and my senses are tuning in to the wilderness around me. Had I not payed attention, I might have ignored the crow's anger in the first place, or dismissed "that loud bird" as another unexplainable phenomena of nature. I might not have spotted the thrush becoming dinner, would not have been curious to the point of wanting to approach to see what the wing feathers are like and therefore not been mobbed. In response to being sick I might have taken some pills and waited to get better again, gone back to my day job, and never allowed myself to think this had anything to do with the skull now gathering dust on a shelf. None of this would have had any meaning. Coincidences. Non-events. Only by regaining my sensory participation in the world does the meaning of these experiences unfold. Do you think your experiences have meaning? When was the last time you looked at a crow? Can you recall an occasion when a wild animal's behavior indicated that it recognized you as a unique individual?

INTERNATIONAL BREAKING NEWS: Eagle Owl Chick Regains Freedom

"You're so not my mother... Moooom!"

This just in from one informant in France (known as "Dwee"): an Eagle Owl chick was saved from its impending demise in a private back yard by a well-intentioned biped. The austere-looking youth was promptly returned to its home on the cliff, where it proceeded to sit rather despondently, muttering something about the food being unnatural (while the chicken leg was accepted reluctantly, the minced meat patties were pointedly ignored). No further comment could be obtained. The Guild of Eagle Owls however did wish to extend their gratitude to the individual "Wolly" for his actions, and mentioned that Eagle Owls would be recommended to treat him with deference in the future.

Savior "Wolly" releases chick, wears T-shirt with marxist slogan.
(identity concealed to protect against paparazzis)

The Eurasian Eagle Owl is the largest owl (a position hotly disputed by the Blakiston's Fish Owl), and can eat young deer and foxes, not to mention crows and other raptors. In a feat that would defy the most skilled Fakir, Eagle Owls can also swallow a hedgehog whole.

Apex predator in the making. Crows not delighted.

PS: Did you know? An Eagle Owl nicknamed "Bubi" was made citizen of the year in Helsinki, Finland, in 2007!

Cougar Medecine

Signature of Puma concolor couguar (for reference, lense cap is 2.4'' / 6cm in diameter)

In the still of the night, a deer expires. The web of the forest, stretched for a fluttery moment of animal panic, springs back into baseline like a blade of grass in a feline footprint. A 3 inch footprint to be precise. Roundish, with no claw marks, two lobes on the interdigital pad, inner toe visibly larger than outer toe and further forward, third toe from the outside leading (same as your hand, human) and toes offset and pointing in a different direction than the pad. The scene* takes place at Maplewood Flats, unbeknownst to most of the daily human visitors or even the preserve volunteers. This is the medecine of the cougar, to be seen only when wishing to. Living at times close to the habitat of humans, who might never know of their presence despite years of proximity. It isn't surprising that these lowland Flats would be a sought-out place for cougars: dense undergrowth, lots of deer. Curious looking bipeds acting funny, with no visible natural instincts, a cougar's version of the cinema. Except movie actors know they're watched...


*The part about the deer kill was a projection, no actual sign of this was found.