A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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Great Gray Owl:Great Gray Owl Tukutukuar(aq) The Great Gray Owl is a rare bird in the Lower Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, so consider yourself very lucky if you see it. I do. One day while cross-country skiing in the maze of Yukon River sloughs near Emmonak I remember seeing this giant owl. I couldn't believe my eyes because none of the range maps I'd ever seen showed it as living in the Delta. And yet there are a number of Yupik names for the big owl, among them: Tukutukuar(aq) which is imitative of the sound the male makes, a long series of deep muffled hoots. It's curious that a much smaller bird, the Pectoral sandpiper, also has the same name, because it makes a similar sound when it displays during mating season. Another name for the owl is Takvialnguaraq, meaning a bird with poor eyesight, probably in reference to the quality of its daytime vision as opposed to its nighttime vision which is so much better. Other names are variations of Atkulirraq, which has to do with its feather coat appearing like an atkuk, Yupik for pullover parka. Take a look at its picture in any bird guide, and you'll see what I mean. While we're on names, its scientific name, Strix nebulosa, is a combination of Greek and Latin, meaning screeching owl with dark cloud-colored plumage. Definitely true, if you check the picture in your guide. The English name speaks for itself but isn't very creative. Although Tukutukuar seems to have an angry countenance, it can actually be quite a gentle bird, especially in spring with its mate. If you're lucky enough, you might see the male do his aerial displays, then light next to his mate and feed her a vole or red squirrel. Both members of the pair also gently preen each other's feathers. Does this remind you of similar behavior in our own human world? Not that we eat voles, mind you, but ... use your imagination. Something interesting about this owl is that it does not construct its own nest. It reuses an old abandoned nest of another large bird such as a goshawk, raven, osprey or eagle. Once I found a nest in the hollow top of a large broken birch snag. The pair may use the same nest site for several years. After laying between 2-5 white eggs, the female incubates them for about a month. The male does not incubate the eggs, but brings food to the female while she is on the nest. After the eggs hatch, the mom broods the hatchlings for 2-3 weeks while dad continues to bring food to the nest. Only she feeds it to the young, however. In another week or two the young begin venturing out of the nest and perch on limbs near the nest or in neighboring trees. Within two more weeks they are fluttering like big moths in the void of air around their home. Even after officially leaving home the young return at night to roost and sometimes even during the day if they are alarmed. Their parents usually remain fairly close to them and feed them at the same time they show them how to hunt the small mammals that will become the mainstay of their adult diet. In some areas, the mother bird departs completely after her young fledge, while the father remains with them and feeds them for up to three months by which time they should be on their own. The Great gray owl, like other owls, raptors and gulls, does what human children are warned against, swallowing their food whole, or almost so. When they eat a vole or squirrel, they digest all but the bones and fur, after which they regurgitate the remains in the form of a hard, felted pellet. These pellets last a long time in dry climates and, if soaked in warm water and dissected, the identity of vertebrate prey often can be determined from the bones. I can remember in Hooper Bay when my wife and I examined a big Snowy owl pellet with her fourth grade class and found the remains of ten voles and lemmings. Back to my original encounter with the Great gray owl near Emmonak. I came home that afternoon so energized after seeing it that I wrote a short poem about the experience. Here it is: Great Gray Owl Skiing again, where the Yukon verges to the sea, I caught him out of the corner of my eye as I rounded the bend of a wrap-around slough not far from the Bering just when he pushed off and the bald branch of a hoary cottonwood bent heavily down as he lifted into the wind sailing close and gray across my winter trajectory in the snow, his round head tilted towards mine staring at me so near with those feathery-eyed disks, so intent on knowing what I was, till he was too soon on the other bank perched in a crowd of alders and willows, for only an instant, then he was off again back further into the willows and away like a giant moth escaping in the night....  |
