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Sounds of the Night



Tonight's target was the Northern Saw-whet Owl.  I've scouted for the proper habitat and concluded the montane open pine forest around Powder Mountain Ski Area at the northern tip of the Ogden Valley was the best bet.  My companion and I arrived at the top of the mountain at the Hidden Lake condo area in time to see the day pass through the sunset spectrum into night.  We watched the yellow sky turn orange, then pink, then red, then purple.  That spectacle would have been enough to conclude the trip up the mountain was worth it.  But we had an additional sight in mind. 
 
I played the Northern Saw-whet CD at several stops as we descended down the dirt road to the terminus of Highway 158 at the Powder Mountain parking lot.  No luck.  But intrepid, we were!  That winding gray ribbon-road through the canyon is fringed with firs as it nears the ski area.  The first stop below mile marker 11 did not produce any Saw-whet response.  As I pulled up again, I heard something unexpected..."Poor-will!  Poor-will!  Poor-will!  Poor-will!"  The call was incessant and came from the trees.  A shoestring of hope inspired me to flash the spotlight down the road and I saw.....absolutely nothing.  We listened to the Common Poorwill for a while if only to enjoy a sound of the night.  Then we continued down the road, eyes riveted on the ribbon, hopeful yet again to see poorwills sitting on the pavement.  I stopped a couple tenths down to listen and stuck my head out the window.  The Northern Saw-whet called without any coaxing.  You've never seen such a flurry of activity as we two birders piled, tripped, and spilled out of the truck.  Grab the binocs!  Grab the spotlight!  Grab the CD player, just in case!  A second Saw-whet answered across the road and we listened to their tooting.  A third one might have chipped in, too. 
 
Now the work began.  We moved along the road to pinpoint the tree where the closest bird was calling.  A little knot of tall trees across a stream harbored the sprite. The foliage was too thick and the trees too far away for me to pick out the little blunt-headed shape I sought.  Hmmph!  Impossible task!  We moved down the road again.  The second owl began to call in a towering fir tree close to the road.  It sometimes needed the inspiration the CD provided to continue tooting.  I played the song a few times as we searched for the owl with the spotlight.  I'm sure that tree has never had such an inspection.  Up, down, under branches, around the north side, swing to the south side--at every angle we could muster from the road.  Traipsing around the tree was not an option since the embankment descending to the road bed was quite steep.  My companion gave the spotlight a try and earned the same disappointing results.  The owl continued to call to us:  "Tooooot--Can't--toooot--see--toooot--me--toooot--Ha!--Toooot!"  
 
Meanwhile, other winged ones had found the spotlight.  A legion of moths were determined to commit hari-kari in the beam, except their aim wasn't so good.  They thudded against it, ricocheted off the light and into my head, back to the light, thudded off my shoulder and ricocheted into my hand, arm, face, hair, while flapping, fluttering and buzzing.  Their flapping and fluttering was so strong I sometimes fancied they were bats...or Japanese Zeros dive-bombing my ears!  We heard one buzzing on the ground and aimed the spotlight down.  A big hummingbird moth was breakdancing in the gravel, spinning on its back with eyes glowing green.  Eerie. 
 
I prided myself on my steely grip and determination while I sustained the moth assault.  And then one bounced off my light and ricocheted right down into my V-neck shirt.  Curious feeling--that flapping, fluttering, and ricocheting was fairly close to home.  The moth must have found its way out, because I have no recollection of showing it the door.  I was back to owling.  No amount of peering, squinting, or surveying produced the little owl bugger.  We sure did try hard. 
 
Finally, I heard another night sound...a small sound, but one that I could not ignore..."Mom, can we go home now?  I'm getting really tired."  It was time to go. 
 
The evening was not without its rewards.  I've mentioned the sounds of the Common Poorwill and the Northern Saw-whet Owls, but we also saw moose, deer, mice, and of course, that lovely sunset.  My 10-year old companion appreciated all of them and proved herself pretty resilient under the moth attack, too.  Looks like we'll have to save the saw-whet for another night. 
 
Kris