
Barn owls are birds of the quiet half-hour. In summer you might catch one hunting well before sunset, especially if there are young in the nest, but the reliable window is the last hour of daylight through to about half an hour after the sun has gone. In winter, when voles are scarce and the nights are long, a hard frost or a run of wet weather can push them out to hunt in broad afternoon light — a cold snap is often your best chance of seeing one while there is still enough light to watch it properly.
Weather shapes everything. A light breeze ruffles the grass and helps the birds, because voles cannot hear them coming as easily. A still, muggy evening is quieter. Strong wind and heavy rain keep them tucked up in the roost, and so does a bright moonlit night, when they can hunt quite happily without ever showing themselves in daylight. Clear evenings after a spell of damp, cool weather are the ones to put in the diary.
Barn owls do not need wilderness. They need rough, tussocky grass full of field voles, a roost or nest site nearby, and enough openness to quarter low over the top. The best places are often the least tidy ones.
Look for a fence post, gatepost or a bare branch they habitually use to pause and scan. Owls are creatures of habit, and once you find a favoured perch, you can often predict where a bird will appear. Also look for white splashes of droppings on posts and fence rails, and for dark, sausage-shaped pellets beneath them — both are sure signs that the margin is being worked regularly.
Arrive about forty minutes before you expect the first bird to move. That gives you time to settle, and it gives the owls time to forget you are there. Walk quietly along a hedgerow rather than across open ground, and use the hedge to break up your outline against the sky.
Wear dark, dull clothing — no white waterproofs, no rustling fabric, no bright rucksack. Stand or sit still, close to a gate or a thick stretch of hedge, and keep low. Owls are alert to movement above almost anything else, but a motionless figure under a hedge is quickly dismissed as part of the landscape.
Once a bird is hunting, keep a respectful distance. Thirty to fifty metres is sensible in open country; if the owl changes its line, looks up at you or drifts away, you are too close. Avoid anything that pulls a bird off its hunting, including playing recorded calls, which takes energy the bird cannot spare, particularly in winter or when there are chicks to feed.
Leave the torch in your pocket. A torch beam can dazzle a hunting owl and disrupt its night vision for several minutes, which matters when every hunting hour counts.
The flight is the giveaway. A barn owl quarters: it works back and forth across the field in a slow, deliberate pattern, flying low with deep, buoyant, almost moth-like wingbeats — pale beneath, buff and grey above, with a long, blunt head and no ear tufts. The look is soft and unhurried, quite unlike the jerky bounding of a kestrel or the stiffer, more direct flight of a tawny owl.
Watch for the hovering pause, when a bird hangs over a patch of grass with its head down, then drops in a steep, almost silent fall. If it is successful, it will usually rise with something small and dark in its talons and fly straight off to the nest, often returning within ten or fifteen minutes. Learning that flight line is the key to a good evening — position yourself between the hunting field and the likely nest site and the birds will pass close by.
Listen as well. Barn owls have no hoot; the call is a long, harsh, drawn-out screech, often heard just as a bird launches from a post. The young birds make a rasping, snoring hiss from the nest hole, which you may hear faintly from a lane nearby.
The privilege of watching is entirely dependent on the birds staying undisturbed, so a few habits are worth keeping.
Take a flask, wear more layers than you think you need, and give the evening time to unfold. The moment a pale shape slips along the hedgerow in the last of the light, quartering the rough grass with that silent, floating flight, is worth every bit of the waiting — and it will send you home already planning the next mild, breezy evening.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
I love to travel and writing blogging.
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