Looking for Elusive Blakiston’s Fish Owls in Ancient Forests of Primorye
The pair didn't know what it was at first. In his new book Owls on the Eastern Ice: A Quest for the World's Largest Owl, Slaght describes that the bird was clearly an owl. "It seemed almost too large and comical to be real birds, backlit by the hazy grey of the winter sky, then propped in the tree by the dazed beast," Slaght wrote. He had spent months consulting experts to confirm the bird's identification: Blakiston's fish owl. "It was obvious that no scientist had ever seen a Blakiston’s fish owl so far south over a hundred years. My photographs proved that this uncommon, reclusive species persists."
Slaght was quickly captivated and enthralled by Primorye, the primordial Primorye, and its mysterious fish-owls. He completed a master's thesis in 2005 on forest songbirds. When it was time to do a Ph.D., he decided that he would study salmon-eating birds. He writes that fish owls felt like a beautiful thought that I couldn't articulate. He writes, "Fish owls were like a beautiful thought I couldn't quite articulate." To learn more about Blakiston's Fish Owls, he had to go into the wilderness. His new book, which was published August 4, combines adventure story and scientific discovery. He takes readers on four years of expeditions through Primorye to find the birds. They were victorious hunters, devoted parents and singers of haunting duets.
Excerpted From OWLS OF EASTERN IICE: A Quest for the World's Largest Owl, Jonathan C. Slaght. Farrar Straus and Giroux. Copyright (c), 2020 Jonathan C. Slaght All rights reserved. __S.17__
***
Tolya Rhzhov, photographer, and I started to heal from the chaos and ice that had characterized our time on the Samarga River. While we waited for the team members to return, we spent our unexpected free time searching the Serebryanka River Valley, near Terney for owls. Samarga had taught me what I should focus on when searching for fish owls--the type and location of the forest, the silvery shimmering of a snagged bird within it, the track in the snow by river or the tremor at dusk. I was able to generate a list of individual birds that I might be able use in my Telemetry study. These owls would be crucial to the final phase, which will include data collection and capture. The information that we gathered from these owls would be the basis for a conservation plan. But I was unsure how many owls could I expect to see in the Terney region. In my Peace Corps days, I had spent many years birdwatching in this area. I even accompanied the local ornithologist as he surveyed the valley's riparian forest. This habitat was the home of fish owls. It was the forests that lined the river with large water-loving trees like poplar or elm. However, I had never seen one or heard of them. Although I thought most of my luck would be further north in the remote Amgu region, where I planned to travel in a few more weeks, it was worth at least looking near Terney. The practice was a good thing for me as I didn't have anything else to do.
Tolya was my main partner in my hunt for owls, but I did occasionally have John Goodrich as a field coordinator for Wildlife Conservation Society's Siberian Tiger Project. He is based in Terney. John was a Russian citizen for over ten years, and I knew him for six. He was able to thrive in the rural environment of Terney village life and even Russedified, as one would after so many years in Russia. In winter, he wore a traditional fur cap and kept his face clean. He was eagerly awaiting the mushroom- and fruit-picking season to start. He could not fully extract the rural Americana from Russia because there wasn't enough vodka. John introduced fly-fishing to Terney and drove his pickup truck around town wearing wraparound sunglasses, a T-shirt with sleeves, and a T-shirt without sleeves. This vision was teleported from the back roads of the American West.
John was an avid inquirer about wildlife. Even though he was a tiger researcher and was keen to help with fish owl surveys, when he had time, he was still deeply interested. An evening in April, without any recordings from the Samarga River to help John, I imitated fish owl vocalizations, including a four-note duet, and a two note call by one bird I learned from Sergey. My crude hoots wouldn't fool any fish owls, but it was important to learn the cadence of the call and the pitch. Nothing else in the forest sounds like it. The Ural Owl was the common owl, but it had a three-note higher call than the Oriental Scops Owl and Collared Scops Owl. Brown Hawk Owl and Northern Pygmy Owl were all likely to be heard in this area, with higher, easily recognized calls. It was easy to recognize the fish owl. After John was able to identify the signs, we set out on our journey. Tolya, Tolya, and I were driven 10 km west of Terney to reach the confluences of the Serebryanka River and Tunsha Rivers. This is where the road splits to follow each river. The habitat was ideal for fish owls with large trees and shallow rivers. This location is easy to access and would make a wonderful place to study owls if we are lucky enough to see them.
Initial fish owl surveys were not difficult. We drove along the roads parallel to the rivers, stopping to listen for their distinctive calls. We didn't need to be too close to the river; in fact it was better not to, as the rush from the water would make it difficult to hear other sounds. John left Tolya with me at the bridge and continued five kilometers up the Tunsha. We agreed to meet at the confluence approximately 45 minutes after darkness fell. Camouflage pants and jacket were my choice. I wanted to blend in more with the locals than my surroundings. Tolya was heading in the opposite direction, while I walked in the one direction. To make sure my hand was flinty, I felt my pocket. This was to protect me from the bears. Being a foreigner, I was unable to carry a gun and bear spray was hard or impossible to find. Hand flares were designed to help Russian sailors in distress and are readily available in Vladivostok. They can be activated by pulling a string and releasing a pillar of smoke and molten fire that lasts several minutes. This shock-and-awe method was sufficient to deter dangerously curious bears and tigers in most cases. The flare could be used to deter dangerously curious bears or tigers. John Goodrich once used it in this manner: While on his back, a tiger was chewing holes in his one hand. John used the knife of fire to push the knife into the animal's side. He survived, but the knife of fire ran away.
The duet came after I had walked maybe half a mile when it rang. It echoed upriver in my direction, about two kilometers from where I was walking. This was the closest I had come to singing fish owls, and it was also the most clear duet I have ever heard. This sound was the one that anchored me in place. There are certain sounds in the forest that grab one's attention instantly, such as a deer bark, rifle shot, or songbird warble. The duet of fish owls was something else. The call was organic, slow, and breathy. It pulsed through the forest, hiding behind creaking trees, and then bending to the rushing river. It was an ancient sound that had its place.
Triangulation is a reliable method to locate distant sounds. It requires very little information and takes only a few minutes to do. I used a GPS to track where I was at the time I heard the owl call, a compass and time to gather multiple bearings before they stopped calling or moved. Later, I could use a ruler and plot my positions with the GPS points to trace each bearing on a map. The general location of the owl calling was indicated by the intersection of these lines. Three bearings is the most common number, and this allows for the desired location to be found within the triangle formed by the bearings crossing (hence the "triangulation")
It was imperative that I work quickly because breeding fish owls are known to start duets at the nest, but then soon leave to go hunting. If I could get three bearings, I would have a good chance to find the nest tree. I ran up the road, took a quick bearing and recorded my location using my GPS. I stopped short of the dirt track, my heart racing, and listened once more. Another duet. Another compass bearing was taken and a GPS location was set. I then ran another few miles. The birds had stopped chirping by the time I reached the third location. The forest was still, even though my ears were straining for more time. I understood why I'd been living in Terney so close to fish owls all these years and hadn’t noticed their presence. I needed to be outside at the right time, under the right conditions. Because the duet is folded into other sounds, it's possible that I would have missed them if there was wind or someone nearby.
My two bearings were a source of encouragement. They might point me in the right direction depending on their accuracy. I waited for another vocalization but it did not come. I then retraced my steps along the road, gravel crunching underfoot, as I walked in darkness, feeling elated. John and Tolya both smiled, having both heard owls. Tolya found the Serebryanka pair that I thought he had seen, but John heard something different. John had heard an owl sing in the opposite direction. In the space of one hour, my list of potential study birds had grown from zero to four. It was encouraging to hear pairs of birds and not single birds. While a single bird may be transient, pairs are territorial. These were owls that we could catch and study next season.
The next night I plotted my coordinates on a map and then entered them into my GPS. Tolya and me drove the dirt road to the Serebryanka River the next morning to follow the GPS gray arrow wherever it led. The river was swiftly flowing and blocked our progress. We hadn't reached it the night before. It is likely that the owls called from the other side. We climbed into our hip waders, and we approached the main channel of Serebryanka. It was approximately 30 meters wide. The water was too deep for wading upriver and downstream, but it wasn't here. It was clear and rushing over a smooth substrate of small pebbles and fist-sized stones.
Primorye is a place where even a river that is only knee-deep can fool the uninitiated into thinking it's easy to cross. The Serebryanka current, similar to the Samarga or other coastal waterways, can be quite formidable. As we wade through it, its swiftness hampered us. If we stopped in one spot to look ahead, the pebbles would erode underfoot. We found ourselves on the far bank among small islands interlaced with smaller channels. They were covered in lush, old-growth forests of pine, poplar and elm, and the flood-prone areas were surrounded by willow curtains. We were able to locate the largest island by using the GPS. It was surrounded by lazy backwaters that are more like a stream than a swamp, and its topland is dominated by a huge grove of massive poplars rising out of a bed of shrubs, tangled in the decaying remains from their wind-fallen brethren. My binoculars searched every possible nest in the area, scanning from one cavity to another. A graceful pine stood at the center of these gangly trees, looking like a beautiful woman surrounded by intimidating suitors. It was strong and healthy, with a sturdy trunk of red bark and a green skirt of branches. The fish owl feather was trembling in an imperceptible breeze as it clung to a branch.
Tolya was attracted to my wave and we began walking toward the pine, transfixed. The tree's base should have been protected by its thick branches, but there was something beneath that blended in with the melting snow. This was the whitewashed carpet of excrement from fish owls, a lot of it, mixed with bones of past prey. The roost tree was found. This pine is a good choice for fish owls. It provides shade when they sleep, protection from the wind and snow, as well as protection from the attention of roaming crows. The fish owl pellets I saw were different from other owl pellets. They were not like the grey, sausage-like regurgitations they produce. Because most owl species eat mammal, the pellets are made from bone wrapped in a tight bundle of fur. The bones are not kept together when a fish owl ingests its prey. They were only pellets.
Tolya and me were both delighted by our discovery, so we gave each other the Russian equivalent of a high-five, which was a handshake. It is rare to find a fish owl that uses a roost as frequently as other species. A roost is also an indication that there was a nest tree nearby. When the female sits on a nest, the male usually stays close by to protect her. The rest of the morning was spent looking up at the cavernous cavities above us, which range in height between 10 and 15 meters. We searched unsuccessfully for clues as to the location of a nest tree. The secret location for the fish owls was hidden from prying eyes in the swamp and river islands.
OWLS OF EASTERN ICE: A Quest To Find and Save The World's Largest Owl by Jonathan C. Slaght and Farrar Straus and Giroux. 368 pages. $28. Macmillan has it available online.
Comments
Post a Comment