A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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Short-eared Owl:Short-eared Owl Kenriiq “Flaming Owl” was the original English name for this wonderful bird, which is now referred to as the Short-eared owl. Its old name came directly from the Latin, Asio flammeus, and was given to it back in 1763 by the Danish naturalist Erik Pontappidan. Little did he know that many centuries earlier the Yupik people had dubbed the owl with a similar name, “keneqpataq,” the base, “keneq,” meaning “fire.” In all three languages, it seems it was the fiery texture and color of its plumage that got the bird its unique name. Take a good look at a color photograph of the owl and you’ll see what I mean. Its present English name, by the way, derives from two small clusters of feathers that protrude directly above its eye disks. The naming game doesn’t end there. Not only does the owl have other names in English (bog owl, flat-faced owl, marsh owl and prairie owl), but Yupik people also have different names for the bird. In Scammon Bay, they refer to it as “kenriiq,” and to the south, over the Askinuk Mountains, Hooper Bay folks call it “aniiparsugaq.” Again, “kenriiq” derives from “fire,” and the Hooper Bay name refers to a smaller version of “aniipaq,” or snowy owl. A memorable sighting of this friendly raptor was in Hooper Bay one autumn many years ago while my wife and I were dozing in the tundra. A shadow crossed my closed eyes and when I opened them a pair of young short-ears were flying directly over our heads, probably curious as to what we were. Another was a few years later in Scammon Bay, also in the fall, while I was camped at the top of the Askinuk Mountains. One evening, I was writing in my journal inside my tent when I heard the soft wuffing of wings nearby. I parted the tent fly and cautiously peered outside in the dim twilight where I saw, first, one, then two, and finally, six immature “flaming owls” perched on a rock outcropping not more than ten feet away and directly in front of the tent opening. They were all staring intently in my direction, and I could plainly see the yellow rings around their black pupils. They remained as still as the rocks they were standing on long enough for me to write a short poem about them. Even my white husky, Sam, must have been impressed since he stayed put at the entrance to my tent all that time with his eyes keenly fixed on the six birds. My most recent sighting was this summer as I was hiking with two young friends down the Kongakut River in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge next to the Canadian border. I spotted a large round-headed raptor flying close above the tundra, and by its buoyant moth-like wing beats recognized it immediately as a Short-eared owl. Once again, it flew directly over our heads, curious as to our presence so far out in his wilderness domain. Short-ears are not only found all over Alaska, but on every continent except Australia and Antarctica. They are migrants here and only stay during the summer when food is most abundant. A list of their favorite Alaskan foods includes voles, lemmings, shrews, rabbits, a wide variety of insects, small birds, and, along rivers, even bats. They hunt mostly at night, but also during the day, which explains why they are frequently seen by us humans. Their courtship flight is spectacular and reminds me of two giant moths cavorting in the sky like peregrines or gyrfalcons. After courting, the female often lays its eggs in exactly the same nesting spot on the tundra that it did the previous summer. Sometimes they nest in colonies of several birds, which marks them as a unique owl indeed. As many as 14 white eggs have been reported in a nest, although the average is about six. The female will perform a “crippled-bird act” to lead away an intruder, and in defense of their nest both owls will aggressively attack birds and animals much larger than themselves, including man. While courting and nesting, the short-eared owl utters a high-pitched rasping “wak, wak, wak,” like the barking of a small dog, or a rapid-fire “toot-toot-toot-toot-toot,” about 15-20 times. They are reported to live as long as twelve years, which is quite a respectable age for an owl that looks like it’s on fire.   | |
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