When I first heard reports of Northern Pygmy-Owls at this site several years ago, I was skeptical because it seemed too low on the mountain for this species. Nonetheless, here they were, and still are, continuing now for perhaps six years. Farther up the trail I have encountered my birding friend, Vic Lewis, who reported the little man with the big lens has been on the trail asking passing birders if they mind if he plays his pygmy-owl tape. By the time I arrive at the scene he has played his tape, gotten a vocal response but no sighting, rock hopped his way across the wash, and is now clambering up the forty-five degree slope to a point directly below the oak.
On my way uptrail this morning I witnessed this obviously territorial pair of owls copulating on this same pine stub. The male flew off into the now well leafed out oak and continued calling from a hidden perch deep within its canopy. The female, perhaps hoping for a repeat performance, remained on the stub for several minutes before departing up canyon. Now the man on the slope (I refuse to call him either “birder” or “photographer” since both labels carry ethical standards to which he is obviously oblivious) is breaking every protocol of birding in his impatience to see and photograph the owls.
Because this canyon is heavily used by birders, tapes are forbidden here. Because tapes may interrupt hunting and foraging activities critical to nesting success, tapes are discouraged any place during breeding season. Excessive noise and habitat disturbance are proscribed any place any time. The slope is forty-five degrees, all rocks and loose dirt, the man is attempting his assault carrying a 500mm lens mounted on a monopod and a large backpack with water and camera gear.
Using his monopod as a third leg, he is taking two steps upward then sliding one step backward, raising dust and sending small boulders crashing downslope, pishing loudly and trying to mimic the seldom heard trill this species makes on territory. Hopefully the owls’ ardor will survive this aural and visual assault. When I see the man on the slope point his lens straight up, my anger dissolves into amusement, and I laugh out loud.
Apparently he has finally spotted the male’s perch in the oak. Shooting straight up, he’s getting excellent photos of the owl’s vent, its head out of focus, its body crisscrossed by a tangle of branches, much of it hidden by shadow. Taking full advantage of his state of the art digital camera, he is “machine gunning”-- holding his finger down on the shutter release, taking frame after frame of the owl’s vent. Hopefully the owl will send a little gift directly from his vent to the man’s lens. The man is neither aware of nor can he even see the female directly above him fully exposed in perfect light from my vantage point on the trail.
I shoot one frame of her, call loudly to him suggesting he come back to the trail and cease his disturbance of the owls, then turn and hurry down the mountain. I am having an adrenaline rush. I need to leave the area quickly lest I be guilty of physically assaulting this idiot.