THE GREAT HORNED OWL 



13 



companies of sweet lisping red-poll 

 linnets, are near us. 



Look across the little valley, — there 

 where huge bluffs of sandstone are. — 

 see how the great trees with bare 

 branches "almost as distinctive as 

 that of leaves" outline beautiful pat- 

 terns against the blue sky. A little to 

 the left, perhaps a half mile, is a deep 

 ravine, — on either side this deep cut 

 gorge is covered with timber. 



At the entrance to, and near the 

 foot of the ravine, stands a monarch 

 of the forest, and in its topmost 

 branches we can see an old hawk's 

 nest, — tree and nest are clearly out- 

 lined. My companions tell me that a 

 pair of red-tailed hawks built this nest 

 last spring and reared its young in the 

 home among the branches. Later in 

 the season a pair of pigeon-hawks used 

 the same nest. 



This ravine had been the favorite 

 "roosting" place of several Great 

 Horned Owls throughout the winter, 

 so we crossed over to investigate. 



We followed a well worn path that 

 had been made by the little herd of 

 cattle that grazed here during the 

 summer months, — now and then in 

 some secluded and well protected spot 

 a tiny flower would show itself. 



"Oft I have walked these woodland ways, 



Without the blest foreknowing, 

 That underneath the withered leaves 



The fairest flowers were growing." 



Nearing the nest, which was in a 

 basswood about sixty feet up, we be- 

 gan to look about for signs of life, but 

 could not discover, from where we 

 stood, that the nest was occupied, 

 although it had the appearance of 

 having been repaired quite recently, — 

 a few new sticks and twigs seemed to 



have been added to the edge of the 

 structure. 



Walking around the top of the ra- 

 vine in order to obtain a better view 

 of the nest if possible, I found some 

 owl "pellets'' beneath a neighboring 

 tree; here was at least evidence that 

 an owl had been in the vicinity — but 

 we could not discover that the nest 

 was occupied. 



One of my companions carried a 

 small rifle, — to use in case we came 

 across a gray or fox squirrel, — and 

 concluded to take a "snap-shot" at the 

 nest. This was rather risky, for if the 

 nest contained eggs, the chances were 

 that they would get broken, and if 

 there was no owl on the nest, we 

 would never be the wiser, anyway, 

 unless one of us climbed up to the 

 nest. But of this v/e did not think; 

 my friend took a snap shot at the nest, 

 and awaited the result. 



Look — there from over the top of 

 either side of the bulky nest strethes 

 a large wing; a great head raises up 

 and out of the nest as if in great ag- 

 ony, and falls forward over the edge, — 

 suddenly the great body plunges and 

 falls dead at our very feet; the life 

 blood of this greatest of all nocturnal 

 raptores, slowly sinks into the wet 

 snow that still covers the ground in 

 this part of the heavily-wooded ra- 

 vines. 



My friend, who was born and raised 

 near the ledges, is an expert climber, 

 and soon reaches the nest, — a large, 

 bulky affair. The outside was made 

 of coarse sticks, lined with finer sticks, 

 twigs and rootlets, and then lined with 

 feathers from the breast of the owl. 



