The Spotted Owl in Northern California
The Spotted Owl in Northern California
On the night of August 28, 1910, Mrs. Clay and myself spent the night in camp on the north branch of Elk River, at a point ten miles a little east of south from Eureka. A maple flat, in the heart of the redwoods, shaded, and right on the edge of a stream, it was a most charming spot to spend a night. Soon after darkness fell over our camp, we were attracted by an odd, nerve-racking noise. It would start in with a kind of long-drawn-out whining, gradually increasing to a more grating sound, which gave rise to uncertain thoughts, as to its source. It first seemed on the hill-side across the creek, then came nearer, all the while increasing in distinctness, and finally seemed to be double, with ever increasing loudness, until the woods seemed uncanny. My curiosity was aroused to a nervous pitch, and I found it hard to induce my wife to follow me with a paper torch. I took my collecting barrel from the twelve gauge and slid in a shell of number sixes. After following in the direction of the noise for some little distance, I located the ghostly racket nearly over my head in a large maple tree. The noise never ceased, but was continually repeated; and save the smooth branches, sparingly tipped with rustling leaves, as they swayed under the strain of the gentle night breeze, nothing could be seen except the twinkling blue background. Finally, I remarked, “It's an owl”. A spread of wings was plainly visible now, and right on a bare limb, not over three feet above my head, sat an inquisitive owl with craning neck. Then came another from higher up and perched beside the first. They were attracted by the light, and sat there stretching their necks, with as much curiosity as I had shown, at the sound of a noise that seemed almost panther-like. In a few seconds the collecting tube replaced the number sixes, and after stepping back a few feet, I took aim as best I could and fired. A hurried flapping of wings and a rustling in the branches was none too promising. The number twelve shot were not as effective as I expected, for in a moment everything was still, and not an owl fell to earth.
Early the next morning, I started a systematic search of the nearby trees. After an hour's hunting, both in the brush and on the ground, I cast my eyes on a half-dazed and blinded owl. It proved to be an immature female of the Northern Spotted Owl (Strix occidentalis caurina). Although we heard several owls in the night, it was my first experience with the Spotted Owl.
