okay, i had some help.  some extra hands on friday and saturday, qualified pencil technicians on two of the nights, fresh apple pie last night.  oh, and before i forget…thank you dave and anne and judy and john and joan for the above-mentioned contributions.  but mostly, joan for the apple pie.

the overwhelming nature of owl migration continued last night.  i think the cynicism/sarcasm readjustment  yesterday afternoon, achieved from the heights of mount oberg was good because upon darkness, i was busy enough that those two….ahhh…”tendencies” did not surface.  plus, there were 6  kids under the age of 8 with me  and whenever the owlman is able to spell out profanities for the adults, he is in full charge of his functions.  

the kids all got to see a saw-whet close up and got to look at an owl’s ear and got to exude youthful wonderment about something they had never seen before.  the older kids couldn’t quite make out why i was spelling out so many words.  

it was good because you gots to edumacate ’em while their still edumacatabel.

179 owls in three nights. many talon punctures and me with an afternoon of salsa and sauce making on tap.  i can tell you up front that garlic and onion and aji crystal peppers in a  puncture wound f-u-c-k-i-n-g hurts. 

at this point, i am running a long race.  i try to keep steady.  pace myself.  don’t worry about sleep.  eat healthy.  avoid intoxicating beverages.  laugh at life’s follies. emphasize real work.  ignore the neighbor that shot off 300 rounds yesterday.  revel in the fact payback is a bitch.  ignore all the yuppy bastards on the shore right now. don’t piss me off . enjoy the fact that on this little bowl of land, i am at the epicenter of biology at its finest. 

focus.  exhale.  enjoy the apple pie.

if nothing else, the fall colors and autonomous trip to the top of mount oberg serves as the perfect petri dish for the reinvigoration of my sarcasm and cynicism. 

as of noon this afternoon, they have been revived. 

damn, i missed them.

there were so many people that the mandatory oberg lake and moose mountain overlooks were wait-in-line crowded, similar to the line in front of the world’s best donuts when word travels  that “they changed the grease.”  

there was the expected blend of outdoor and designer brand name outerwear, a curious mix of body odor and perfume,  and when a blue jean and unshaven gang of nefarious youth passed, i may as well have been at a bob marley concert.  

i also understand why lifeflight  has a red circle over oberg on its “places likely to induce a cardiac arrest on the north shore.”   and to think i made it to the top without my walking poles and cliff bars.

okay…i feel better now.  the onslaught of owls continued last night, but was halted by the passage of winds, right around 2300.  thirty eight more owls and now, i can officially say my hands are sensitive, which makes them the diametric opposite of me. 

i had a small group from north house folk school helping out, holding and making smarmy, laura erickson like comments about cuteness and endearment  and animal love and owl sadness.  they were having fun, so as a biologist, why would i want to correct them on the irreversible evils of anthropomorphisms? 

might be another big night tonight, but i don’t care.  like it matters.

thank you fall colors.

the strigidaen cosmos aligned last night.  crazy.  overwhelming.  a frenzied lather of feathery, footy little owls. 

second year, male boreal owl

i knew right away, shortly after unfolding my nets, that non-chalance had been thrown out out the louvered window.  there was no time for contemplation, no time to solve the world’s problems and bemoan the lack of enlightenment for every one who doesn’t think like me. 

there was only time for reaction. 

i told you it was coming and i told you it would be big.    

big big.  like the world in a kid’s eyes. 

but then, after all the commotion and incredulity and owler’s blood, it stopped on a dime.  right at midnight.  right after the tawdry moonlight cast emaciated shadows across the landscape.  

it was perfect timing. i was spent and frazzled, yet satisfied that of the 85 owls extracted and handled and measured and released, there were no owls that were not handled and released with care and attention. it’s an owler’s creed to place the owl above the needs and daliances of the owler. 

we ain’t shit.