THE OOLOGIST 



49 



The Great Horned Owl. 



Not many years ago the Great Horn- 

 ed Owl (Bubo v. virginianus) was a 

 common bird in south-western Penn- 

 sylvania. As the time passed and larg- 

 er timber tracts were devastated these 

 great birds sought shelter and homes 

 in the smaller woodlands. Such places 

 afforded them suitable seclusion then, 

 but since this great owl chose to prey 

 upon the poultry of the neighboring 

 farmers he brought disfavor upon him- 

 self and was eagerly sought by man, 

 to be destroyed as a pest. So, today, 

 when none but the smaller clumps of 

 timber land remain , Great Horned 

 Owls are comparatively scarce, and 

 their nests are seldom found. 



During the past spring a friend and 

 I, while searching for nests of the Red- 

 tailed Hawk, were so fortunate as to 

 find a mother owl at home with her 

 young. The occupied nest was a de- 

 serted one of the Buteo b. borealis. 

 We left the owl and her nest undis- 

 turbed, hoping we might find her there 

 when the next nesting season should 

 come. 



This year when early February ar- 

 rived, the usual "owl fever" grasped 

 me with a rugged hand and I made my 

 way to the former nest of our friend, 

 the owl. Upon arriving at the clump 

 of tall oaks that had harbored the 

 home of Bubo v. virginianus, there re- 

 mained not even the remnant of the 

 past year's nest. The wintry blasts 

 had perhaps swept it from its resting 

 place, 1 — maybe some wrathy farmer 

 had torn it from the crotch. Sadly dis- 

 appointed I crossed a neighboring 

 ridge of hill and entered a wooded ra- 

 vine which rests between two friendly 

 hills. During the past spring I had 

 seen a Hawk's nest there, placed in 

 the crotch of a great white oak. A 

 short walk and a climb through the 

 fence brought me to a suitable view of 

 the nest. Two slight, dark protrus- 



ions surely must be the ear tufts of 

 an owl. Yes, I was right, it was an 

 owl, for she moved slightly as I came 

 near. A few fluffy feathers swayed in 

 the breeze, — a sure sign of owl's eggs. 

 With a club I rapped loudly on the 

 tree trunk but the bird refused to 

 leave her lofty home. Darkness was 

 now approaching so I tramped happi- 

 ly home, with the intention of climb- 

 ing to the nest when the morrow ar- 

 rived. 



Upon getting up the next day I found 

 the air quite damp and chilly and a 

 hazy cloudiness that so often precedes 

 a snow storm overcast the sky. I 

 gathered together the climbers, a large 

 rope and a camera and started for the 

 home of the owl. When I reached 

 the wood snow began to fall. The owl 

 saw me approaching and moved so as 

 to watch my actions. I strapped on 

 the climbers and began to ascend the 

 great oak. When i nad proceeded 

 some ten feet the owl swooped from 

 her nest and sailed silently down the 

 ravine. I pulled myself over a treach- 

 erous crotch and climbed to a limb be- 

 low the nest. Pulling myself up high- 

 er I peeped over the rim. There lay 

 three white eggs, beauties they were, 

 resting on the soft fluffy feathers from 

 the owl's breast. Surely such a sight 

 was worth the hard climb! What can 

 surpass the pleasures of finding a nest 

 and eggs of our Great Horned Owl, — 

 especially when it holds three eggs? 

 S. S. Dickey. 



Nuttal Woodpecker. 



This little black and white wood- 

 pecker is one of the most interesting 

 of the many birds of Los Angeles 

 County, where it is a common resi- 

 dent in the oak regions of the foot- 

 hills. 



In suitable localities it may be ob- 

 served at any time of the year, and 

 as he lights on the under side of a 



