By Connie Thompson That bright wintry day morning started off the day with a startling entrance. The sky was an almost impossible shade of blue and the sun rose over the horizon with a fierce intent. As the sun's rays hit the seeming endless fields of white snow, the beams of light transformed a dreary landscape into a million points of glittering intensity. High above the white fields, silhouetted against that perfect blue sky, sat a clump of white feathers at the top of a bare-branched aspen. A light wind skittered across the tops of the snowbanks, making mini tornadoes out of errant snowflakes and a few leftover fall leaves. That same wind whistled up through the trees, rattled the skinniest of the branches and proceeded to fluff the body feathers of that gorgeous snowy owl sitting up there. Snap! Its piercing yellow eyes opened in a flash at the rude arrival of the winter's breeze. Although it was not cold in the least, it had been dozing and soaking in the sun's warmth until it felt the touch of the wind. Its large black irises quickly narrowed in the bright sunlight and it decided to look for some breakfast as long as it was already awake. Snowy Owl - Image by: ©barbeau birder Chippewa County / Winter 2003-2004 Without a sound at all, the owl swiveled its head quickly to the left, then to the right, surveying the landscape below it for any type of furtive movement at all. Every little twitch, snap, rustle or scurry was noted and either studied intently or dismissed as insignificant. The nearby highway emitted large quantities of noise and movement, all of which was of little consequence to the owl sitting at its great height. Some cars stopped nearby and it even watched as some of those two-legged creatures emerged and made all sorts of babbling sounds. All of this was no worry to the owl, as it knew it was unattainable. Although they were a bother, there were many more perches available and it could leave any time at all if it wished to. Sometimes the stopped vehicles caused some prey movement, so it kept a close eye on the surrounding snowy fields. All was still for awhile and the owl was wondering if maybe it shouldn't look for a meal in a better place. Without a warning, the snowy leaned forward, snapped open its wings and flew out four or five feet, before dropping suddenly towards the ground. It veered up just short of the ground, flaring its tail feathers out and executed a perfect hairpin curve in the air. Its flight seemed to stall for a very long second, then it spread its wings out to the side and slowly started to fly forward. Its feet were tucked up loosely into its belly feathers, and its wingtips just barely cleared the snows' top as it flapped slowly across the field. Its eyes were furiously scanning the snow below it for any kind of telltale movement. Each little clump or bump of snow was approached with the owls' feet lowered and a slower-than-usual flap of its wings. Then another flap, feet back up and it was moving towards the next snowy clump with hardly a break in its forward momentum. The snowy owl searched and searched, quickly covering a half-mile of snow-covered field. After about 10 minutes, the owl decided to rest. It dropped its back wing feathers, raised the front of its wings up and ascended up a few feet to the top of a fence post, where it gracefully perched with long practiced ease. There it sat for a few minutes as it scrutinized the fields it had just flown over for any residual rodent movement. Sometimes even just its shadow overhead was enough to send those furry little lunch packets scurrying into deeper cover. Because of the extensive hay fields, large open areas and the high numbers of available prey, the snowy returned to this place near Rudyard every winter. In another month or two the weather would turn warm and it would start its journey north once again. Today, though, a fence post, tree top or utility pole top was its preferred location. Snowy Owl photo copyright of Connie Thompson, barbeau birder. Title banner created from a photo courtesy of Jo Goldmann and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. All text copyright of Connie Thompson January 2004 To report any bird sightings or anecdotes, please call me evenings at 906-635-5336 or write to: 14488 S. Ridge Rd., Dafter, MI 49724