Nature Calls for 2018

I’ve always wanted to create a wildlife calendar. Last year’s came close, with half of the images, plus the cover. This year fulfills the dream, mostly meaning that I was out among winged and furry beings enough.

My friend, Paul Bannick, really is the inspiration for this. When I was looking to improve my photography, he got me hooked on birds and taught me essential lessons about noticing patterns and being deliberate about setting up shots, not to mention being a stickler about ethics. We even were together (see photo) for one of the images in this year’s calendar, the one of the long-eared owl on takeoff.

GlennandPaul copy

Paul Bannick and the author.

But, alas, I did a calendar, and all Paul did was publish a sensational book, “Owl,” that has won awards and should be on your holiday gift list.

Making calendars is not a business for me. I started a few years ago b

ecause some friends asked me to. I make them the way I like them – with nice paper so the images pop and I can actually write on them. Also I just changed printers to Printing Center USA, and my work not only looks better than ever, the calendars are bound

and look like you bought them at a (high-end) store.

I just figured out how to lower my price to $25 each. I learned that the calendars cost a lot to send – I get sturdy containers to protect them and the postage is ridiculous – so I need to charge $5 more for shipping. You can avoid the shipping charge if you can meet me for delivery at least as close to me as Columbia City in Seattle. So … $25 apiece if you are collecting them in person; $30 apiece if you need them mailed.

Deadline for orders is December 8. I will order the calendars on that day, so they can get into your hands by the holidays.

PayPal is the best way to do this; my account is my email address: gnbuzz @ (without the spaces, of course). Please include the address to which you want the calendar(s) shipped. That’s $35 each, if shipped. To do this, you don’t need an account, just go to PayPal, click on “Send” at the top of the page and follow instructions. If you know me, please send to “friends and family”; the other way deducts a fee.

If you want to pay another way, email me, but understand that this will add time to when you will receive your calendar.

Click Here to View Photos in the Calendar

Cuckoo Over Owls

Long-Eared Owls rarely range west of the Cascades.

Long-Eared Owls rarely range west of the Cascades.

It once roosted in a thicket the size of a two-car garage, amidst wetlands and diked agricultural fields near Stanwood. The brush was so thick, the Long-Eared Owl must have felt unassailable. Long-barreled photographic devices proliferated and trained at it like arms in a cold war. The birders and the avian paparazzi jostled and bickered and shoved like football fans queued for playoff tickets. With Mount Baker gleaming in the background, hunters boomed rifles, dogs sniffed and barked and, just across a flooded field, a battalion of construction workers jack-hammered and backed loudly beeping trucks.

Yet, all the while, the object of everyone’s desire might crack open one of its impossibly large eyes but otherwise appear to not give … a hoot.

The people did, for sure.

The nocturnal birds of prey with the long, distinctive ear tufts prefer shrub-steppe habitat in Eastern Washington, making their presence on the other side of the mountains a “thing,” the way a new iPhone is a “thing.” The resultant mobbing of the Long-Eared Owls at one point regressed into panic that one literally had been loved to death. Those fears proved unfounded, but the episodic two months provided yet another cautionary tale about unchecked human interaction with one of nature’s more sensitive species.

One of the Long-Eared Owls, at dusk.

One of the Long-Eared Owls, at dusk.

Almost more than any feathered creature, owls will bring out the cuckoo in birders.

“Owls become like religion for people,” said Dr. Kevin McGowan, a professional ornithologist and educator at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, one of the global authorities on birds.

“They are more people-like — like cats. Those round heads and flat faces — it ticks something in the brain that other birds wouldn’t inspire.”

On Dec. 8, Mitchell Von Rotz of Woodinville made one of those sightings that sends feathers – and people – flying. He posted to Tweeters, a local birding email list processor, or listserv, that he was “80-85” percent certain he’d spotted a LEOW (birder’s shorthand for Long-Eared Owl) near Stanwood. He also noted, “it may be a quasi noteworthy sighting,” which may have been an understatement along the lines of, “Houston, we’ve had a problem.”

So many birders subscribe to instant alerts that reports like Von Rotz’s are tantamount to firing a starter’s pistol. The race certainly was on after Ryan Merrill of Kirkland made the state’s first-ever confirmed sighting of a Wood Sandpiper in 2011. Just before posting a report online, Merrill warned Harley Soltes, the owner of the Edison, Wash., farm on which the sighting was made: “You might need help to manage the crowds.” Shortly after Merrill hit “send” on his phone, the cars started lining up along Bayview-Edison Road, according to Soltes.

Merrill’s transmission was made over Tweeters, which was established by Dan Victor in 1992. Victor’s preceded another bird-themed social network, Twitter, by 28 migrations or 14 years, depending on how you mark your time. Closing in on 3,500 subscribers and read by countless others on the Web, Tweeters is a place to chirp about anything bird related. Cats eating birds is the all-time, “hot-button issue,” according to Victor. The most ubiquitous sightings-only tool is eBird, an online data-collection program launched by the Cornell Lab and National Audubon Society in 2002 that can be accessed via smartphone applications.

The aftershocks of Von Rotz’s report didn’t really hit until the holidays, when crowds and emotions began to escalate. Mayhem seemed an inevitable consequence. Belinda Rotton, who manages the Skagit Wildlife Area for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, received reports of as many as 20-30 cars at the site, stretching from a parking lot that holds about six. The demise of one of the Long-Eareds was incorrectly reported more often than Morgan Freeman’s. When photographer Bryce Yamashita of Bothell returned to the site in February, he felt such a chill from birders, he skipped looking for the Long-Eared Owls because he “didn’t want to get beat up or yelled at by anybody.” Even hunters felt squeezed out by the raptor-triggered mosh pits.

The WDFW posted signs and increased its presence.

The WDFW posted signs and increased its presence.

The place ended up looking like the high-school football field the morning after senior prom. Large parts of the thicket were trampled and strewn with waterfowl carcasses and garbage. Sammy Catiis of Arlington says she found a knife sticking out of a tree where branches were cut away. Someone went joyriding in a four-wheeler and chewed up sections of the adjoining farmland. The WDFW eventually plopped down signs and increased its enforcement presence.

McGowan of the Cornell Lab listened to a detailed account of the commotion near Stanwood and offered a figurative shrug. He noted that Long-Eared Owls generally are plentiful and far from threatened. The same could not be said of people inspired enough by birds to help protect the environment. “People who are in the business of protecting the well-being of a species are all about populations and habitats,” McGowan said. “Everything else is a distraction.”

The Washington Ornithological Society weighed in late with a release warning against aggressive behavior by humans viewing and photographing the Long-Eared Owls. The WOS posited that there are “telltale signs that a roosting owl has been disturbed,” an assertion disputed by bird and raptor experts. People tend to project their own anxieties on the birds, McGowan and several local avian experts said, and the fact that the owls remained near Stanwood as long as they did tells the tale more than anything else.

“They have wings, don’t they?” one local authority asked, suggesting the owls could easily have moved if genuinely harassed. For that matter, the legions of outraged birders and photographers had the same choice. After all, numerous birding listservs and forums, even the American Birding Association, discourage reporting the location of sensitive species, which certainly include owls, particularly the dislocated.

Barb Deihl of Matthews Beach once had been posting on Tweeters as much as several times a week about the Long-Eared Owls. Her reports included links to photos and description of the owls’ behavior. Increasingly, the posts contained complaints about the expanding human circus, which she now fears she may have contributed to arousing.

“I have vacillated between feeling guilty about doing this,” said the retired junior-high-school teacher.

The last post about the Stanwood site on Tweeters was a response to another by Deihl on Feb. 24. Hers included nary a mention or photograph of the owls. There weren’t many people in her photos, either. She’s since moved on to another longtime love, the Merlin, a falcon that she volunteers to monitor in Seattle neighborhoods that barely notice its presence.

A Long-Eared Owl, striking at prey.

A Long-Eared Owl, striking at prey.

Most of this story appeared at

For More Owl Photos: Click Here.

Duck on Branch (Be Prepared)

A male Wood Duck at Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge.

A male Wood Duck at Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge.

NISQUALLY, Wash. — During winter, I usually am toting my long lens and often run into hunters.

“Big lens,” many will comment.

“Big gun,” I usually reply.

Though a lot of birders and wildlife photographers bristle, I enjoy my encounters with hunters. After all, we’re both looking for the same thing, and we’re both going to shoot it, albeit me with a camera. We also both usually have gathered intelligence the other can use.
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