Majestic. Powerful. Fearsome. Birds of prey inspire awe and admiration.
Most of them do anyway. Then there’s the little owl. Take a look at one and the first adjective that springs to mind is…comical. Their default expression is a grumpy glower: nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll go and eat worms (and other large invertebrates, plus the odd small mammal).
One of these pantomime villains hangs around our local farm in West Yorkshire. Sometimes, I spot it scowling down at me from a barn roof; other times, I’ll find it watching me from the woodpile with a face like thunder. Its favourite vantage point, though, is on top of a dry stone wall, where it leans forward with a disapproving stare, like a crotchety old man opening his front door to a cold-caller. Irritatingly, it’s just slightly too far from the public footpath to allow me to get a decent photo, even with my telephoto lens maxed out to the limit.
Today, though, things are different. The little owl has chosen a perch on a wooden post right next to the footpath, meaning I’ve got the opportunity to get much closer…assuming Mr. Grumpy doesn’t fly off in the meantime.
Now, owls have a clever trick. They can swivel their heads around through about 270 degrees – an alarming extent that would cause other animals, including humans, to throttle themselves. So our little owl is contriving to have a panoramic look round while keeping its body stationary on the post.
I decide to try a trick of my own, borrowed from Yorkshire wildlife photographer Paul Miguel. When we were photographing a diving great crested grebe, Paul suggested getting surreptitiously closer to the bird by moving rapidly forward each time it plunged under the water, then standing still again when it resurfaced.
The little owl swivels its head away from me: I trot forward. The little owl turns its angry glare back in my direction: I freeze on the spot and take a furtive photo. We repeat the process again and again.
I feel as though pantomime music should be playing while the audience yells: “He’s behind you.” But, after a few clandestine forays, I’ve got within a few metres of my truculent target – much closer than I’ve managed before.
Elated by my success, I crouch to get a lower angle. That’s it…I’ve pushed my luck too far. No more photos…the owl flies off in a huff.