Photo courtesy Ned Smith Center for Art and Nature’s Saw-Whet Owl Research Project.
It felt like a mysterious meeting of a secret club.
One of the first rules? We had to arrive before sunset. Seven of us gathered in cabin No. 4, deep in the woods of northern Dauphin County. There was a full moon rising.
It was Oct. 10—the first meeting of the season—and there was excitement in the air. But the big question: Would there be owls in the air that night, too?
The all-volunteer group laid the groundwork to find out. They assembled four “mist nets,” each one measuring 30 feet long and eight feet high, creating a nearly invisible wall in the forest. Three rows of pockets neatly lined the nets.
Time for the lure. One of the volunteers pressed “play,” and the high, whistled toot of a male northern saw-whet owl filled the air. Pennsylvania’s tiniest owl got its name from this sound—similar to the sharpening of a saw. OK, many of us don’t have that frame of reference. Here’s another: It also sounds like the warning “beeps” of a truck backing up.
Two small speakers, aimed at the treetops, broadcast the audio lure in 30-second increments on a continuously looping, battery-powered MP3 player placed in a small lunch cooler to keep it insulated from the rapidly dropping temperatures.
Back inside the cabin, tools were readied—rulers and a scale for measurements, tiny silver tracking bands and pliers, an eye color chart created from yellow Benjamin Moore paint chips, and a giant data log where tonight’s weather conditions were meticulously recorded.
All set. Now it was time to wait.
For the Birds
One of the smallest owls in the world, the northern saw-whet is about the size of a soda can.
“Saw-whet owls were once considered rare, because they’re so secretive and elusive, being nocturnal,” said Sandy Lockerman of Harrisburg, project leader.
Lockerman, a retired Wildwood Park environmental educator, has volunteered with the Ned Smith Center for Nature and Art’s Saw-Whet Owl Research Project since the beginning.
“The center heard about a project in Wisconsin, catching saw-whet owls migrating in October and November,” said Lockerman. “At the time, Pennsylvania’s documentation said they didn’t migrate.”
That’s because the little owls were a big mystery. Researchers didn’t know their numbers or migratory patterns. But they had a theory.
Could saw-whet owls be migrating through northern Dauphin County, along Pennsylvania’s primary migratory corridor—the Kittatinny Ridge?
“There were six of us who started the project. It was primitive at first. We put out a net and a boom box with the call, up on Mahantango Mountain above Millersburg,” Lockerman said. “We caught 27, and that got us all excited.”
The following year, the project shifted to Berry Mountain, then to Small Valley—where we were tonight—a Girl Scout camp with a Halifax address.
What attracts volunteers to staff the research project, seven nights a week, from sunset past midnight, every October and November?
It’s the Little Things
“I’m excited to get connected to nature again, hands-on,” said Elizabeth Hanson of Harrisburg. She’s a land steward for The Nature Conservancy, but she previously worked in zoos and animal sanctuaries.
Hanson came prepared—with a heated vest—since the cabin itself wasn’t heated.
“It’s exciting to be part of the biggest project on this species in the country,” said James Harbert of Halifax, a five-year volunteer. He has two connections to nature—his position with the Pennsylvania Game Commission and his wife Kayla, sitting next to him.
“It’s really rewarding to see how many owls are out there and to be part of a research project,” said Kayla, manager of three northern Dauphin County parks, in her day job. “The look on someone’s face when they see an owl for the first time—it’s priceless—you just have to smile.”
That’s a sight that us newbies hope to see tonight—myself, along with brand-new volunteer Erin Conway of Harrisburg.
“I’ve actually done mist-netting before, in the Galápagos with finches,” said Conway, an educator with the project’s sponsoring Ned Smith Center. “I’m excited to learn how to handle the owls and to see Sandy at work, since she’s been doing it so long.”
Over the years, Lockerman and lead investigator Scott Weidensaul created a protocol and established two additional central Pennsylvania sites—Cumberland County’s Kings Gap and Schuylkill County’s Hidden Valley Golf Course.
The project has swelled to 80 volunteers from all walks of life. Some, like Lockerman, are trained “master banders” licensed by the federal Bird Banding Laboratory. Today, Weidensaul is co-director of Project Owlnet, which links saw-whet owl data gathered from 125 North American sites, including Small Valley.
What have researchers learned about this elusive, enigmatic species, from their late-night studies?
Plentiful in PA
“The Game Commission originally listed the saw-whet owl’s status as ‘undetermined,’ but once we got rolling [with the project], they changed the status to ‘common, but seldom seen,’” Lockerman said. “We proved they existed in Pennsylvania—and in greater numbers than originally thought.”
Every fall, volunteers harmlessly catch and release between 200 and 300 owls at Small Valley. Some birds already have bands from previous sites, as far north as Canada.
“This information goes out worldwide and fits into the conservation piece of our mission,” said John Booth, executive director at the Ned Smith Center, a nonprofit dedicated to honoring the legacy of renowned wildlife artist, naturalist and writer Ned Smith.
All told, volunteers have banded a total of 11,000 owls across central Pennsylvania’s three sites in 25 years. From Dauphin County, they’ve taken flight into Georgia, Alabama, even Texas.
“I’m absolutely blown away by how small, beautiful and delicate these owls are, but also how feisty they are, clicking their bills. They’re really exciting to see,” Booth said. “To stand over Sandy’s shoulder as she’s taking all the readings and measurements—it’s an experience in education, but you also see how cute these owls are. I had no idea these birds were around, and I’m sure most people don’t.”
By the time you’re reading this, volunteers are likely catching and releasing four or five owls, every night—except, it turns out, for nights like Oct. 10, when the moon is full.
“We’ve gone back through the data, and it shows that, on nights with fuller moons, we have fewer owls,” Lockerman said. “We’re thinking that maybe because it’s so bright out, the smaller owls aren’t flying because larger owls [like great horned and barred owls] will see them, catch and eat them.”
Still, every hour, we strapped on headlamps and hiked through the woods to check the nets. The group’s hope and anticipation waned through the night, until our final check at midnight. There would be no tiny owls that night. But it was apparent there was a great deal of devotion for the project—along with a growing body of research—starting to solve some of nature’s best-kept secrets.
And so, we called it a night. It turns out we were the only night owls, that night.
To learn more about Sandy Lockerman’s fascinating experiences with owls, tune into TheBurg Podcast’s November episode, available on Friday, Nov. 11. For more information on the Ned Smith Center for Nature and Art and their Saw-Whet Owl Research Project, visit nedsmithcenter.org.
If you like what we do, please support our work. Become a Friend of TheBurg!
