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I spend a lot of time at airports, but usually not like
this — crouching next to a taxiway at Philadelphia International
Airport, trying to keep a snowy owl from being killed.
Working with the USDA’s APHIS-Wildlife Services program and the
Pennsylvania Game Commission, I was hoping to catch a snowy that had set
up housekeeping at the midst of this enormously busy airport. Snowies
love airports — the flat, open landscape must look like their Arctic
home in an alien world of trees and hills, and many airports are close
to coasts, rivers and marshes that provide a lot of owl food.
That’s how Steve Ferreri of the Game Commission and I came to be
sneaking along the edge of a taxiway last Thursday, crouching beside the
slowing moving truck of Wildlife Services technician Jennifer Dzimiela
Martin.
The truck hid us from the owl, which sat on the far side of the
taxiway beside the main runway, unperturbed by the immense noise of 737s
landing every few minutes just yards away from it. We set up our
bownet, slipped into the truck, and Jenny crept back about a hundred
feet while I played out the trigger line to the trap.
Which the owl ignored, completely, for the next three hours. Birders
often assume that snowy owls are diurnal — and they are, in the middle
of the Arctic summer when there’s no darkness. In winter, however, they
prefer to hunt after dark, and it wasn’t until the sun sank behind
orange clouds and dusk settled in that this bird began to show some
interest in its surroundings.
Still, it took another 45 minutes to lure the owl into the net; it
kept zooming past the lure but not landing, and at one point, in a fit
of nerves, I triggered the trap too soon and had to walk up to within 20
feet of the bird to reset it.
But eventually we were successful, and back in the quiet of Jenny’s
office we banded and processed it. Opening the wings, which spanned
almost five feet, we could easily see that this was a young owl, hatched
this past summer — there were no contrasts between old and new flight
feathers as would appear on an adult.
The owl was lightly marked, with spots rather than bars on the
secondaries — suggesting it was a male, which its relatively small size
(just 1,543 grams) confirmed. We took feather samples for DNA and
chemical isotope analysis, and then carefully fitted him with a GPS
transmitter.
Releasing him at the airport might well be a death sentence. Snowy
owls have been killed by plane strikes at some airports already this
winter, and the risk to the planes (and their crew and passengers) is
not insignificant, either. The FAA National Wildlife Strike Database
shows snowy owls rank in the top third of species hazardous to aviation
operations, based on damage to aircraft and negative effects on flight.
That’s why SNOWstorm collaborator Norman Smith, with Massachusetts
Audubon, has already relocated more than 50 snowy owls this winter from
Logan International Airport in Boston, a task he’s been fulfilling for
more than 30 years — a win-win for the airport and the owls.
So Steve and I transported the owl — which we’re calling Philly —
about 40 miles northwest of the city, to the rolling, open farmland of
eastern Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Norman usually moves the owls he
catches 20-40 miles, so it seemed like a safe bet.
The area where we released Philly has already been hosting several
snowies this winter, and we hoped he’d find it to his liking. But when
his transmitter (programmed to send data every third day) checked in for
the first time on Sunday, we realized that Philly was very much a
creature of his namesake city.
The first two days he lingered around his release site, then Saturday
afternoon he moved to a recycling center off Rt. 322, and the top of
the nearby Lancaster landfill. After dark, he was off — flying back to
the southeast at about 35 mph, stopping every few miles to perch on
Amish barns before taking off again.
By midnight he was flying along the Pennsylvania Turnpike, resting
briefly on an office building, and later on the E.N. Pierce Middle
School in West Chester. By daybreak Sunday he was sitting on a huge
townhouse complex on Carriage Drive, just northeast of West Chester,
where he spent the day.
Sunday night, though, Philly was on the wing again, and his last
recorded position, when the transmitter made its upload at 7:30 p.m.
that evening, was on top of a store at the Lawrence Park Shopping Center
in Media, Delaware County — just 8.5 miles from the airport where we
caught him.
His transmitter won’t check in again for a few more days, and our
fingers are crossed that, instead of returning to the taxiway at the
airport, he’ll fetch up somewhere farther down the Delaware River, or
even move south along it to the safe, wide salt marshes of the Delaware
Bay.
But that may be a false hope. You can take a snowy owl away from a
dangerous airport, but you can’t make him stay away. We’ll continue to
work with USDA Wildlife Services and the Game Commission to relocate any
snowies that are in harm’s way at the airport — including, if we have
to, one very persistent bird.