Zen and the Art of Finding Wildlife part 3

From a long way off, a high-pitched screech reverberated through the trees. This is what we were waiting for. This is what we had been hoping for. Loud and distinct, once you have come to recognize the call for what it is, you have direction. Continuing to walk with great care, minding those waves of sound with each footstep, we searched for the source.

But as luck would have it, we never heard an additional begging call. We knew there was at least one owlet in the woods now. But we had little to go on other than the general direction it came from.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into an hour. But all was not lost. In following the sound of the hungry owlet, we came upon an area of the forest that just screamed barred owl. Although barred owls very much prefer old mature forests where the size and age of the trees dramatically control the amount of light that reaches the forest floor, they want immediate access to places with extensive understory as well. Understory equates to habitat for prey species. Although small mammals make up the vast majority of food for barred owls, individuals, and specific populations, can and will have a significantly more varied diet than this. Songbirds, earthworms, crayfish, frogs, and snakes are all within barred owls’ repertoire - especially near swamps and wetlands.

Here, the mature forest butted up against a small creek with a corresponding light gap in the forest. The Understory was thick with shrubs along the edge. It was muddy. There was water. Crayfish mounds were scattered about. Squirrels scampered up and down trees. Anoles seemed to cover every piece of wood, both living and dead. And songbirds flittered about in the light.

Although we hadn’t heard another sound from the owls for some time, we agreed that this area would likely be our best bet to concentrate our efforts.

Anytime we are in the field, we have binoculars. My weapon of choice: 10x42 Swarovski EL binoculars. Annalise prefers her 8x42 Nikon Monarch 5 binoculars. And there is a big difference between these two, other than price.

Me, I prioritize long distance magnification and contrast because so much of my work takes place in wide open landscapes such as Yellowstone, the coast, the prairie, and tundra. I need to be able see clearly from a long distance away. I need to be able to make out the subtle difference of a bear amongst sagebrush, for instance. Annalise, however, has spent a lifetime working forested situations with lower light. She needs maximum light gathering capabilities, and she wants them lightweight.

When looking at the numbers on binoculars, the first number, which in this case are either 8 or 10, is the magnification. The second number is the size of the glass and thus its light gathering capabilities – similar to our camera lenses. Although both the 8x42 and 10x42 binoculars should hypothetically have the same light gathering ability, this is not the case. To understand why, we must understand what the exit pupil is on binoculars.

We come up with the exit pupil number by dividing the lens size by the magnification. This tells us how large a beam of light will be as it exits the eyepiece and enters our eyes. So, 42 / 8 = 5.25 whereas 42 / 10 = 4.2. The larger the exit pupil, the better low light capability of the binoculars because this equates to more light entering your eye. Thus, a pair of 8x42 binoculars are going to be better in lowlight than my 10x42.

The other thing about using 8x42 bins (bird nerd for binoculars) is that because the magnification is less than the 10x, this size is also considerably more “stable” to use – meaning, you don’t notice your hands shaking as much. This is one of those scenarios where more is not necessarily better. And if I were to ever buy another pair of bins for what I do, they would be the Leica Noctvid 8x42s, without question.

A good set of binoculars allows us to study detail in ways we could never do with our naked eye. Being able to spot an animal is oftentimes predicated upon our ability to see the anomalies in the patterns of nature. Then, we use bins to study and identify that anomaly.

Being able to pick out and notice the anomalies in nature is a critical skill that all wildlife photographers who wish to go beyond just driving around national parks needs to develop. There are countless patterns in nature. From the visible to the audible, recognizing these patterns, tapping into and closely scrutinizing these patterns, allows us identify anomalies and thus find and photograph wildlife.

One very easy pattern to begin looking for is the nature in which plants in an area tend to grow. Most plants, whether trees, bushes, tall grass, etc. all tend to be vertical in orientation. Looking at a section of woods or meadow from this perspective, we begin to recognize the vertical lines in that environment. Mammals, on the other hand tend stand around on all fours. In doing so, their backs create a distinct and hard-edged horizontal line that runs perpendicular to all the verticals in the environment. So, when searching for mammals, especially larger ones, we look for the “horizontals.” Sure, a forest is full of downed trees which also create horizontal lines. But there are far fewer horizontal lines in the forest than there are vertical ones. And if we home in on these anomalies - those things that interrupt the pattern of vertical lines - we can quickly scan an area for potential subjects to photograph.

Likewise, you know what the canopy of a tree is supposed to look like. But unless you are actively scanning these patterns in nature, then you may very well miss the dark blob anomaly in that tree. And if you miss that, then you may have missed your opportunity to photograph a black bear resting on a limb above the forest floor.

As I write this sitting in my camp chair deep in the woods, beneath an ARB awning I have attached to the side of my old Land Rover, I am watching a blue jay chase insects. Over the span of the last hour, I have watched her catch at least 10 insects including a giant luna moth. This is far more food than a blue jay needs to eat in such a short amount of time. Over and over, she returns to my camp by a small creek to hunt. Over and over, she catches something, takes flight, and then heads off in the same direction. This means one thing: the blue jay has a nest very close by.

This is the simple power of observation. How often do we as a culture slow down enough, quiet ourselves enough, to actually observe what is happening around us? The French philosopher and mathematician, Blaise Pascal, once wrote that, “All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” For me, this is a very powerful and poignant observation about the state of things. Pascal wrote these words in the 1600s before he died at the age of 39. This was, of course, long before the age of distractification we live in now with our epidemic of attention deficient disorder and constant need to be entertained. But I digress.

Squirrels chattered. Palm warblers warbled. A red shouldered hawk cried out from a distant and unseen perch as her telltale “kee-aah” echoed through the hammock. And then, from somewhere nearby, a deep and faint but unmistakable “coo” filled my ears. This was it. This was the sound of one of the adults reassuring the owlet.

Hearing the screech of the owlet had taken us in the right direction. Recognizing the importance of this light gap and understory told us to concentrate our efforts in this area. Then hearing the “coo” of the adult told us we were right where we wanted to be.

Knowing now that we were in the right area, we went to work visually searching for anomalies. But given that owls perch upright, the whole “look for the horizontals” thing doesn’t apply in these situations. Instead, this is a matter of trying to identify any sort of variation or anomaly in the patter of the landscape. Live oaks. Sable palms. Cabbage palms. The random assortment of shrubs growing along the side of the creek. All were now suspect. All could potentially harbor a family of owls here.

As much as shapes come into play when we look for these anomalies in the landscape, color can also play a tremendous role. Think again back to the example of a black bear resting in a tree. Brown trunk. Brown limbs. Green leaves. Black blob. From a distance, it’s the color, it’s the black of the fur, that clues me in. And I have picked out black bears resting in trees from over a quarter of a mile away before by recognizing the “dark spot” across agricultural fields.

To Be Continued. . .