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Enriched by a Poorwill



Glenn Barlow, Dana Green and I headed up Powder Mountain Road (Highway 158 through Eden) last night for another attempt to see the Northern Saw-whet Owl.  We arrived in time to reconnoiter the rugged terrain on either side of the highway in case a hike to an owl tree became necessary.  The early survey proved its usefulness later, but not because of an owl.  We gave the Northern Saw-whet many opportunities to respond and show us what a beautiful bird he is.  We played the CD to no avail at several spots along the road.  At least two owls have sung for me in the last 2 weeks with and without the CD, but we did not elicit a response last night.   
 
During the earlier survey I heard a Common Poorwill singing far back in a draw.  We decided to play the CD for poorwills once we concluded the owl wasn't going to be "our" bird.  We were encouraged to hear one poorwill respond and then slowly another, and another.  It seemed that the birds were working their way down to the road.  We frequently swept the road with our spotlights, but never saw one resting there.  At one point I was sure a poorwill was singing in the ditch right in front of me.  Not only did I hear the "Poorwill!  Poorwill!  Poorwill!", but it was close enough for me to hear several singular, musical chuckling notes.  My spotlight picked up nothing. 
 
The poorwills chorused on both sides of the road.  Glenn swept his light up high on a rocky embankment and picked up the luminescence from glowing orange eyes on a flat rock.  The eyes flashed down at us without revealing much more.  Showing spotlights from two angles did not illuminate the bird's body.  Those eyes were tiny beacons that beckoned.  While Dana held her spotlight on the bird from the roadbed below, I climbed the slope to get a better look.  I tried to use Dana's advice to keep my eyes on the shine in case the bird flushed.  Watching my footing at the same time to avoid becoming part of a scree avalanche was somewhat entertaining.  Thankfully, I had climbed the slope in early evening light in case it became necessary to get a better view an owl in a nearby tall fir.  Little did I know I would later climb the slope for a better view of Phalaenoptilus nuttallii--the Common Poorwill.  The knowledge of a rough route became invaluable. 
 
The grade was at least 20 percent...maybe more.  As I climbed higher, I kept my head low to use the slope to disguise my approach.  I came within view of the bird at about 15 feet...then 10...then 6...then 4...then 2...then 18 inches...then I stopped.  This chunky little piece of bark was completely unconcerned with my presence.  Perhaps it was instinctively relying on its protective coloration in response to a potential threat.  I turned on my own light for a close inspection.  The poorwill watched me every second, but didn't move.  Its black pupil was surrounded by a warm brown iris.  Hairs around its face seemed to stick out in every direction.  Its flat wide triangle of a beak was hairy to the faintly down-curved point.  The white crescent under its neck was compressed to a narrow white slash.  Every feather seemed to have a different pattern of gray and black and white.  The word 'variegated' doesn't begin to accomodate the different shadings, tiny geometric shapes, patterns, and marks of its plumage.  A narrow white terminal band on the tail determined his gender for me.  The band was slightly worn and the end of one tail feather was askew, pointing toward the night sky. His three toes on each foot stuck out from below the belly.  The middle toes were curiously long.  Together, the toes didn't seem suitable either for perching on a flat rock or on a bare tree branch.
 
By using my spotlight, I inadvertently brought the poorwill into the swirling circle of moths that surrounded me.  I imagined the poorwill would snap open his gaping maw that marks him as a member of the Nightjar family, but he never acted out my imaginary wish.  The moths churned with impunity, at times ricocheting into my unconcerned subject and me.  They were not in danger. 
 
To size the bird I imagined he could almost fit into my open cupped hands and perhaps overhang my fingers a bit.  Glenn most certainly is clairvoyant.  From below, his voice floated up, "You're going to pick it up, aren't you?"  I wasn't really thinking of flirting with the anti-bird harrassment provisions of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, but I chuckled at the synchronicity of our thoughts.  
 
I had finally experienced enough to be able to keep the bird in my mind's eye, and I turned quietly to go.  The trip down the slope was as entertaining as the ascent.  The occasional shrubby vegetation obliged me with handholds.  Together, the shrubs and I frustrated the force of gravity that was determined to carry me pell-mell downward to be presented in a dusty pile at Dana's and Glenn's feet. Thanks to the shrubbery I arrived back at the road, unscathed but bedecked with burrs and a satisfied smile.  Thanks to Dana and Glenn, I was enriched by a wonderful experience with a Poorwill.
 
Kris