A Season with the Pacific Horned Owl

Abstract

IT is a hot August day in southern California. The nesting season has closed and some of our smaller birds are gathering in flocks. As .I sit turning leaves of well-filled note-books, many pictures of past seasons are brought to mind. The first scene to be recalled as I open each book is one near home of some pair of horned owls. The winter of 1903 was last I spent in San Diego County, and was also most productive in way of notes. My first entry that season is dated February 8. It was made as soon as I reached home on a Sunday evening after a long wet tramp that is still fresh in my memory. My brother and I had started out immediately after dinner on a prospecting trip for Bubo treasure. Our destination was a deep canyon two miles from home. A pair of horned owls (Bubo virginianus pacifIcus) had occupied an old red-tail's nest in a tall sycamore for many years, but had selected a cave in a rock pile just above old site previous season. This cave I had found by following my nose when searching gulch in 1902. Instead of going up ravine same as usual, that year I went directly over hill and entered canyon above hawk's nest. While scrambling down hill a strong breeze brought a stench that did not smell like fresh meat by some days. Curiosity always gets better of me so I followed scent which soon led me to bottom of a steep rock pile. Here among a heap of pellets and bones lay a dead horned owl. It took only a few moments to locate cave, five or six feet above, which contained three fresh eggs half buried in earth. This cavity was so easy of access that any species of mammal no matter how helpless could have entered without half trying. I packed set, but it was not without regretting loss of so faithful a pair of birds. However on day when my first 1903 note was written my brother and I decided to follow course chosen previous year. From top of hill red-tail's nest could be plainly seen and was deserted as we had expected. With little hope we hastened our steps to rock pile. To our surprise Mrs. Bubo went flopping out from beneath our feet leaving two clean, nearly fresh eggs. On our way home we met Dixon brothers, and now that the ice was broken we determined to hunt up another pair. Operations began along a small creek near home where a horned owl had been shot from a hawk's nest in an oak tree February 2 of previous year. The nest contained one egg on that date, but altho bird had been shot we expected to find another female in possession. Luck seemed with us; so we pounded hollow trees and threw rocks at a couple of old hawk's nests but with no results. Where creek emerged from a deep canyon we divided our party, two of us climbing hill to some rock piles while other two continued up creek bed. I, of course, was in party who had to climb hill. We soon reached our cave, however, and found it just as it had been for years. It was so situated that a fine view of entire canyon lay before us, so it was an easy matter to follow movements of party below. They were two-thirds way up ravine and seemed to be having as bad luck as we, when to our surprise an owl flew out from under a large overhanging rock but a few feet to one side of them. One of party disappeared into cavern and soon emerged with another set of two nearly fresh eggs.