Soloing an Owl Prowl

By James Holtzclaw, Interpretive Naturalist

Thousands of people visit Cobus Creek County Park annually to participate in its natural beauty and many amenities. They bond while fishing the park’s pond and stream, hiking the trails, eating at the shelter, and watching their children enjoy the playground. This place is a community center set up on an 84-acre outdoor area that contains prairie, woodlands, and wetlands. During the day, park guests can interact with a variety of flora and fauna while exploring these different wild lands. But when the sun goes down and the stars start to twinkle in the pinkish sky, the park patrons hop in their vehicles and drive away, leaving the park ranger to close the entrance gate until the next day. As the ranger leaves, I stay behind to search, observe, and understand how one feathered nocturnal creature in this small park continues to live on throughout the night.

Being alone in the woods at night can be unnerving, no matter if these woods are an island surrounded by a sea of neighborhoods. While I gather my gear in my pack and place it on my back, I listen to Mother Nature’s nightly rhythms. Crickets, katydids, and frogs interact with one another in song, creating melodies that echo through this forest. Then, a few coyotes yelp and a few owls hoot, adding to this concert. I pause at the sensory garden to reflect on their symphony. Their music may be for mating, but it is intimidating to me, one who is about to cross a bridge into darkness.

Darkness.  I have been in darkness a few times due to power outages and walking on dim walkways at night. I have discovered during these moments that loneliness creeps into me, causing my heartbeat and breathing to become faster. I fight this feeling while walking across the bridge into the dark woods at Cobus Creek. I fight the temptation to turn on my headlamp. I pause, listen, and peer into the coal-colored blackness, wanting my eyes to adjust to their new environment. As my vision adapts, gray, tall sentinels appear in my view. These beings are like unmovable guardians waiting for orders to defend their forest land against an invader. Who is the invader? I am! I am a mere alien in their nocturnal realm.

Then, a phantom neighing reverberates through the night’s air, silencing Mother Nature’s symphony. I fall on my knees, taking the backpack off. I grab my phone and speaker from the pack and play the same neighing sound. Then I hear another neighing sound; the creature is answering me! I have made contact with an Eastern Screech Owl! Visitors to this park may never see an Eastern Screech Owl, but they may hear its trills and neighs at night in their neighborhoods. They may focus on something other than the calls since they often blend in with the nighttime noises. Tonight, I am not an ordinary visitor to the park. I am focusing on the Eastern Screech Owl’s trills and neighs, but I do not understand this robin-sized bird’s language. Is it telling me to leave or asking me on a date? I want to see it, so I hope it is the latter. Then, this small bird flutters down to a lower branch, becoming silent.

*Photo by Annie Aguirre

I ascend from the ground while fixating on its shadowy outline. The owl’s eyes penetrate the darkness, looking at me, thinking this human is an outsider. It’s not moving. It’s not afraid. It is defiant. I look down to turn on my headlamp to red mode. I raise my head towards the branch, and reddish eyes appear in a scarlet halo. The light washes out the owl’s tones. Its intricate texture and patterns are visible in the red glow. It moves down the branch, rattling it, and flutters off, leaving me to ponder this moment in this dark forest.

Eastern Screech Owls are rare to spot in the day due to their plumage and their habitation methods. They have an esoteric coloration that differs from gray to red, which helps them blend in with the trees’ bark. They are cavity dwellers, which means they live in tree hollows. These adaptations help these birds avoid predators in places like Cobus Creek County Park. Because of these adaptations, visitors to the park may walk past them every day, not knowing these owls are next to them in slumber in a secluded hollow. While these owls may remain hidden during the day, my chance encounter with one this evening allows me to have a better appreciation for them and the park.

I  am glad that I have shared an intimate moment with an Eastern Screech Owl that may never happen again. This tiny bird of prey may not remember me by tomorrow’s sunrise, but I will reminisce about our encounter for mornings to come. I chuckle at the thought of how small this feathered creature is in these woods, but I am a grown man who feels smaller. This owl knows how to hide and hunt at night in this park. I know how to stumble on roots and have anxiety while exploring Cobus Creek County Park at night. The difference is that the Eastern Screech Owl lives here; the park is its home. The park is not my home. It’s a place to visit.

So I start walking back to the parking lot, ignoring the nighttime noises and, with my headlamp on, disturbing the darkness.