408 
FOREST AND STREAM 
SEPTEMBER, 1917 
C 
owl party. The youngsters have gone their 
separate ways, but family ties are not yet 
entirely broken, and when the spirit moves 
they join in a riotous chorus that sends 
Great horned and other owls 
F k.\\ of us know them except as voices 
of the night, these creatures of noise¬ 
less flight and shadowy wing. Their 
time of greatest activity begins as our 
period of rest approaches, and as a result 
we have lost much knowledge that might 
otherwise have been ours. 
Rolled up in the blankets in the North 
Woods on a crisp September night, sudden¬ 
ly you are startled out of a doze by the 
deep bass question of the Great Horned 
Owl. “Who, who?” he seems to say from 
the blasted pine stub behind the tent; 
who-o are you ?” That is not what the 
savage old fellow wanted to know, how¬ 
ever. What he was more anxious to know 
was whether there was a woodmouse in¬ 
cautious enough to squeak with fright as 
the terrible voice of doom sounded—seem¬ 
ingly right in his ears—or a wandering hare 
that forgot to stop in time. For the owl’s 
ears are probably more sensitive to sound 
than those of any other living creature. 
Herein he has a great advantage over his 
prey, for he can instantly locate any sound, 
while his voice, though terrifying in its ap¬ 
parent nearness, never seems to come from 
any one direction. 
No other of our birds is more destructive 
to small game than this untamable giant, 
and it is a most fortunate thing for the 
poultry industry that he hates the advance 
of civilization. At the same time he is quick 
to profit by all clearings made in the back- 
woods, for here he knows the password 
of the jungle holds—“Good hunting!” As 
a result there is scarcely a man that has 
paddled over the winding rivers and placid 
lakes of the Northland, or followed the 
trail through its somber woods, to whom 
his solemn call is not familiar. 
In some of the New England states, 
thanks to the enforcement of the game 
laws, the small game is again coming into 
its own, and now the “tiger among birds” 
has returned to haunts that have not known 
him for many years. Here he has taken up 
residences once occupied by hawks and 
crows, and long before the snow is off the 
ground is taking double toll from the little 
woodfolk that his own children may live and 
prosper. Go into the country swamps in 
late autumn and perhaps you may hear an 
every mouse and squirrel in hearing shiver¬ 
ing to the farthest corner of its nest. 
How different is the little fellow known 
to all of us by the tremulous, shivering 
wail with which he greets dusk and dawn. 
W e cannot all go to the haunts of big game, 
but hardly any of the outdoor brotherhood 
can resist the lure of the open. It calls 
with a myriad of sights and sounds, and 
among the latter the screech owl’s plaintive 
voice is one of the most appealing. The 
light of knowledge has almost banished the 
superstitious fear with which he was once 
regarded, and as we travel the homeward 
path in the moonlight the ghostly cry in the 
big maple brings only friendly thoughts. 
One of the most peculiar things to be 
noted about the screech owl is the variation 
of the colors of different individuals, there 
being two entirely distinct color-phases. In 
the first little Megascops asio (though the 
ornithologists are now calling him Otus 
asio) reminds one strongly of the red squir¬ 
rel s back in winter. The bright color is 
relieved, however, by the fine black pencil¬ 
ing which makes the feathers look duller 
than is really the case. There seems to be 
no particular reason for the two phases, as 
they may occur in either sex regardless of 
season, and nestlings of the same brood 
may show the striking contrasts. In the 
second phase the bird has always mad e me 
think of a great horned owl reduced to the 
size of a robin, but whiter underneath than 
is the case with the big fellow. The brown¬ 
ish-gray color here manifested is much less 
conspicuous than the red tinge, of which a 
bare trace is present underneath. 
How misplaced a screech-owl seems 
when you find him in the hollow limb of an 
old apple tree, and drag him forth from 
his nest to the light of day. At first he 
ruffles up his feathers in defiance and glares 
at you, snapping his beak and clutching at 
your hand; then he blinks, seems to shrivel, 
and becomes quiet, trusting to the decep¬ 
tion to be released. What a change as he 
wings silently over the grass, his round 
yellow eyes peering into the shadows of 
every tuft and stone. Now he is proving 
himself one of our best allies in the war 
on pests. Almost four-fifths of his food 
consists of mice and harmful insects, and 
as he makes up in numbers and appetite 
what he lacks in size—he is really quite 
common even in our larger towns and 
cities—we can be glad that one of the night- 
birds has been partial to the companionship 
of man. 
CAPTURING 
THE STARLING 
By S. G. R. 
1 fie habits of the starlings in England 
and the north of Europe is to build under 
roofs, in stone walls, or along high cliffs 
with cracks or caves in them. If the star¬ 
lings were to build in nest boxes I would 
let the hen go ’til she started to sit, then 
catch her at night and break the nest up. 
As the cock generally sings near the nest, 
he could be brought down with a catapult 
or air-gun.—A .22 rifle is liable to do dam¬ 
age, in confined spaces, to roofs, etc. 
They are very fond of roosting in 
swampy places on bullrushes, alder, willow, 
etc. They do considerable damage to cher¬ 
ries and grapes. In Australia, so I under¬ 
stand, they spoil great quantities of ripe 
apples and pears by punching holes in 
them. 
It may be mentioned, however, that 
the wing feathers of these birds are very 
delicate and much in demand by fly 
tiers. 
A way to get birds at night time is to 
throw a small bright circle of light on the 
wall on the inside of an out-building; all 
the rest of the building must be in com¬ 
plete darkness. The light wants to be from 
the edge of the floor up and 2 or 3 feet 
from the wall so as not to make too big 
a patch. Use an old-fashioned bull’s-eye 
lantern or a stable lantern covered up so 
as to let only a small streak of light ex¬ 
posed. 
It takes one person to watch the light 
and catch the birds, and another to rout 
them out—they fly to the light. This will 
do for English sparrows as well. 
But catching them with the light might 
be a dangerous thing for the inexperienced, 
as if there happened to be tree sparrows 
or native American song sparrows nearby, 
the}' might be mistaken for English spar¬ 
rows and killed. 
I have always heard that starlings were 
not good to eat, but if on trial they proved 
to be, and they were not protected by law, 
that ought to help keep their numbers 
down. 
No other bird is more destructive to 
small game 
