20 THE CONDOR Vor.. IX 



A SEASON WITH THE PACIFIC HORNED OWL 



BY NELSON CARPENTKR 



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 the 

 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 the home of 

 some pair of horned owls. 



The winter of 1903 was the last I spent in San Diego County, and was also the 

 most productive in the way of notes. My first entry that season is dated Feb- 

 ruary 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 the old site the previous season. This 

 cave I had found by "following my nose" when searching the gulch in 1902. 



Instead of going up the ravine the same as usual, that year I went directly over 

 the hill and entered the canyon above the hawk's nest. While scrambling down the 

 hill a strong breeze brought a stench that did not smell like fresh meat by some days. 

 Curiosity always gets the better of me so I followed the scent which soon led me to 

 the 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 the cave, five or six feet above, 

 which contained three fresh eggs half buried in the earth. This cavity was so 

 easy of access that any species of mammal no matter how helpless could have 

 entered wathout half trying. I packed the set, but it was not without regretting 

 the loss of so faithful a. pair of birds. However on the day when my first 1903 note 

 was written my brother and I decided to follow the course chosen the previous 

 year. From the top of the hill the red-tail's nest could be plainly seen and was 

 deserted as we had expected. With little hope we hastened our steps to the 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 the 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 the previous year. The nest contained one egg on that date, 

 but altho the bird had been shot we expected to find another female in possession. 



Luck seemed with us; so we pounded the hollow trees and threw rocks at a 

 couple of old haw-k's nests but with no results. 



Where the creek emerged from a deep canyon we divided our party, two of us 

 climbing the hill to some rock piles while the other two continued up the creek 

 bed. I, of course, was in the party who had to climb the 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 the entire canyon lay before us, so it was an easy matter to 

 follow the movements of the party below. They were two-thirds the way up the 

 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 the party disappeared into the cavern and soon emerged with another set of two 

 nearly fresh eggs. 



