Raptor Rapture at Doran Road (Lima, NY)

This past winter, I volunteered to monitor Short-eared Owls at Doran Road in Lima, NY. The New York Department of Environmental Conservation is harnessing volunteer power to conduct a study of this owl at several sites in central and western New York. 

The objectives of the study are to document short-eared owl wintering locations in eastern New York, establish long-term population monitoring efforts at these sites, and to identify important foraging areas and roost sites.

Because the site is so close to my home and a regular winter hotspot for me, I decided to help out. 

Yesterday was one of the first warm, sunny days after a tough winter, and the evening promised a clear sky and decent sunset. I made a family affair out of the owl study and brought my husband, two boys, and binoculars for everyone.

In New York State, the short-eared owl is an Endangered Species. It may regularly spend winter months here, but few are known to breed in the state. Most migrate north into Canada to pair up and reproduce.  

The owl has a distinctive moth-like flight pattern and is most often seen flying back and forth over grassy fields late in the afternoon and evening in search of field mice and other rodent prey.

The bird is medium-sized, primarily tan and brown, and has white below and dark streaking above in varying amounts.

The Short-eared Owl also has a bad-ass facial disk. If you ever get in a stare-down with one of these guys, you just might wet your pants. Or spontaneously shrink and grow a furry tail. 

With the clear sky as my friend that evening, I got the best looks of Short-eared Owl I’d ever seen. I also got the best looks of Northern Harriers I’d ever seen. Six harriers—three males and three females—had paired up and were foraging together over the fields. It was an amazing scene bathed in perfect light. A birder’s delight. A photographer’s dream.

Did I grab my spankin’ new Nikon D90 with its 300-mm lens? Why YES! 

Were the batteries charged? NOPE.

Well, at least my binoculars were charged. With fear.  At one point, I raised my bins to follow a male that appeared from the south to circle the field in front of me. It banked across the grass and began flying directly towards me.

Through my binoculars, I saw two glaring eyes and a hooked beak staring me down, getting closer and closer, and bigger and bigger in the lens! I had to pull my bins away to duck and protect my head!

Or so it felt for that dramatic second.