Occasionally, however, a flamboyant individual can cause more of a stir. When some startling news broke that a ‘giant owl’ had swooped down on the head of a bald man in Exeter city centre in the Spring of 2016, the local South West news presenters Ian and Kylie announced it with well-honed smiles. Nobody took much notice. But the story caught the attention of my owl-radar. It was the beginning of April and many people took the story for a Fool’s Day spoof. A Twitter profile for the bird appeared and owl jokes proliferated. Meanwhile, more and more people reported being bruised and scratched by a mystery owl swooping down from the city sky. Victims claimed to be startled at first by a ‘booming hoot’, then a downdraught from massive wings; those not alert enough to duck were ‘whomped’ and worse, scratched by a set of outstretched talons.
The local rags and news stations finally cottoned on that it was a real owl, and that it was not going away. They began to spread the story of the outsize owl mysteriously on the loose in Exeter and people started to get nervous. The comedy-bald-man angle faded as other innocent passers-by, people with a thick head of hair or wearing a hat, were randomly assaulted by the terrifying bird roaming Exeter city centre and its suburbs at night. On the local news people were warned not to approach the owl. Some less scrupulous national papers joined in, and further fomented fears: could this threatening King Kong of an owl be large enough to be ‘dog-eating’ and ‘cat-snatching’? The more trustworthy local news went to the experts, and the Devon Wildlife Trust concluded that this was most likely to be an escaped captive-bred owl, not a wild specimen, and unlikely to snatch larger pets. On further investigation it was decided that this was Bubo bubo, the Eurasian Eagle Owl.
In Britain the Eagle Owl appears in two forms: the harmless, secretive feral community, known to be in existence since at least 1996, and the captive ones. These last when mishandled are far more dangerous than the wild specimens. And as far as we know, the captive owls vastly outnumber the wild population. Since the friendly letter-delivering owls in the Harry Potter films they have become more popular in falconry displays and even fashionable as pets. Owl clubs have become more popular and widespread, and you actually can buy an owl and all the required equipment online. If my local ‘Owl club’ is anything to go by, there may be upwards of one hundred in captivity just in the south-west of England. Could the Exeter Eagle Owl have been a hungry escapee on the rampage or was it possible that it was wild?
Some believe the Eagle Owl never truly vanished from our isles. Some believe it has been here all along, visiting from Scandinavia or continental Europe and breeding in very small numbers. Was this a native bird that had just been keeping a low profile all along, hiding in dense forest and desolate moorland? There are old words for it in Cornish, Gaelic, Manx and Welsh, suggesting it might have been a rare but more recent and familiar part of our avifauna. Experts maintain that the science shows the Eagle Owl died out in Britain when rising sea levels following the last period of glaciation meant that there was no longer a land bridge to the Continent. According to this school of thought, there is little or no chance that this sedentary bird, which normally sticks to a relatively small territory of around 14 square kilometres, would risk leaving its home on the Continent and fly far over water to the British Isles. In fact, this owl is not found on many islands at all. The sea is too great a barrier, so no Eagle Owls have been recorded in Corsica, the Balearic islands, Sicily or the Greek islands either.
However, Bubo bubo appeared in the British Ornithologists Union (BOU) lists as a scarce or occasional visitor until 1996, at which point it was removed. Opponents to the Bubo bubo-as-native theory are convinced that these owls could not or would not cope well with a daunting sea crossing; the bulky size of the Eagle Owl would require far too much energy to fly for so long without landing, and any adventurous or foolhardy vagrants would probably run out of steam and ditch in the sea. So it could be considered highly unlikely that any wild specimens would arrive naturally.
In 1996, following reported sightings and reports of Eagle owls in the wild, the BUO compiled an extensive dossier looking into its status. They found seventy-nine reports of Eagle Owls living in Britain since 1684, but there was some mystery surrounding their origin. It has never been clear whether the owls were being introduced by humans during the seventeenth century, when recordings of sightings begin, and subsequent owls found since then have also been introductions. Expert conservation organisations such as the RSPB and the BTO have suggested that this is the case. More recently, many hundreds were registered as pets between 1994 and 2007, and of the 440 registered birds in the UK nearly a third have been reported as escaped and ‘not recovered’.
In 2016 the RSPB recognised the presence of a small number of Eagle Owls living wild in Britain, but reiterated that their origin was difficult to prove, and that ‘there is no evidence that birds other than from released stock have bred in Britain in recent times’. To be considered native, the bird must have been endemic or indigenous for several generations, without being reintroduced, so it must be more than simply born in the wild here after a captive release has bred successfully. Indeed, if this happened, and the population spread, it could possibly be considered ‘invasive’.
What fascinated me, as I began my research into this formidable raptor, is how little people know about it. The Eagle Owl occurs naturally in continental Europe and across Asia. In Scandinavia where it is shy and frequently persecuted it is on the decline, but until the emergence of the Exeter owl it had not been present – or appeared not to have been present – in Britain within living memory. Could it have travelled unaided across the Channel or the North Sea? Other owls do make this journey, as we have seen, but none so big and heavy, as far as we know.
Part of me longed for the Exeter renegade to be a wild owl. I wanted to believe in this magnificent wild creature’s resilience and ‘survivability’. For me, this might be a story about the resourcefulness of a species, a sign of hope, that in spite of natural challenges such as dangerous sea crossings and human threats this animal could possibly make it here. It is living in the wild in many places all over Europe, often adapting to live close to towns and even within cities, but it inhabits a strange grey area; it is a huge predator that is rarely seen. Of course there are the owl sanctuaries that allow us to come close to the creature and to learn about it. But here they seem to be presented as fascinating marionettes, performing on cue in flight displays once a week, as if they were semi-domestic creatures. But they are predators, one feather-breadth away from a proud, savage and well-lived existence, dignified, living a life for which they evolved. Keeping an independent and powerful creature on display, what would happen to our experience of the wild?
On the other hand, our wonder when allowed close to owls can create miraculous responses. In 2014 an Eagle Owl helped Polly Weston recover when her sister had died aged twenty-two, and in the shock and grief of her loss she had not been able to leave the house ever since. But shortly before she died, Polly’s sister had won a falconry experience in the New Forest. Polly decided to go along in her loved one’s place and perhaps learn how to fly the birds. There was an array of beautiful animals, Polly reported, and the Eagle Owl was so strikingly heavy and so cold, she said: ‘the weight of the bird was the first thing that brought me back down to earth again.’ Somehow, the visceral contact with this owl had brought her back to herself, and had helped with the grieving process. Other stories of humans being helped toward recovery by birds of prey abound. There must be something about this privileged contact that lifts the veil of separation between ourselves and other species, and helps to heal us, and bring out our sense of connectedness.
On the other hand, not all the stories are good, especially for the owls. Falconers have tried to train owls to add a touch of drama to wedding ceremonies. To create a fashionable Harry Potter-esque flourish, owls are hired to silently and romantically float in with the wedding rings at the appointed moment. Unfortunately, being owls, they often have othe
r ideas, and delay procedings by going to perch in the rafters for a nap, or even flying confusedly into the large stained-glass windows, inflicting irreparable damage on themselves and necessitating expensive repairs to the church.
It is not rocket science to assume that in captivity these owls might make noisesome, vocal and antisocial night-hooting arias. Their copious aromatic and messy excretions, and extremely specialised needs mean that they make exceptionally demanding pets. When they reach adolescence and move into sexual maturity, these owls can begin to behave very differently from the sedentary, biddable owlets they once were. Barred from their natural behaviour, they become noisy and can lash out. Eagle Owls may score high on charisma but zero for cuddliness and people soon realise what a challenge they are to keep. These nocturnal trouble-makers can frequently become aggressive, or decide to shirk their jesses and fly off on their own. They can become lost easily, especially if their aviary is not secured with double doors or they are not ringed or fitted with a tracking device. Sometimes they are recovered by their owners, who should (but do not always) know how to keep a valuable raptor safely. But it is not always easy to locate, attract and trap an escaped owl. Many of these pet failures are held captive in sanctuaries, or worse – in the case of Eagle Owls – they might even be illegally released into the wild where they cannot necessarily feed themselves or survive. They might even cause trouble for local wildlife, and for humans, as in the case of the Eagle Owl in Exeter. Perhaps more serious is that they may affect the local fauna, predating whatever they can and potentially upsetting the balance of ecosystems.
My friend the Eagle Owl owner and psychologist Anita, who works with captive owls and lives on the Wirral, had an interesting contribution to the Exeter mystery. She had heard from her local police that Eagle Owls have been taken up by drug dealers in some areas in and around Liverpool, and are used instead of threatening dogs. Since an aggressive owl probably is the avian equivalent of a pit-bull, this would seem like a handy accessory to have in a situation in which you need to intimidate people. Had an irresponsible owner in a less than salubrious career found his or her threat-pet too challenging to care for and simply abandoned it in or near Exeter?
The Exeter Echo published the story of a plucky young boy who had been able to get close enough to snap a photo of the errant raptor. No harm befell the young photographer; he had a good head of hair and was small enough to be unthreatening, so had not been a target for the Notorious Swoop. The picture showed the outlaw owl glaring out of the upper branches of a city conifer, ear tufts erect, its white throat patch clearly visible. When the owl uttered its hoot, the throat patch puffed out, the boy said. Was it displaying, calling for a mate, or its lost owner? The subtleties of its behaviour were beyond most people: ‘I’m trying to revise for my exams but: “hoot hoot hoot” #exetereagleowl’ tweeted one harassed university student.
Research shows that in the breeding season the male Eagle Owl can hoot on average 600 times per night. And it is loud. The owl has a big pair of lungs, possibly to carry its voice through forests or amongst cliffs, and its booming two-tone hoot can be audible from 1.5 kilometres away, and even, exceptionally, up to 4 kilometres. In a town at night, you would not miss it, even if your duvet was wrapped around your ears. This owl, in its wisdom, had picked a rooftop roost on a street full of university digs. Students are notorious for being up all night, studying, writing essays, socialising etc., so they were able to present a running commentary on the owl’s doings. Pictures of the owl were taken through attic bedroom windows and garrets as it peered menacingly in through the glass, pointed ear tufts silhouetted like horns against the neon-lit night sky. Having chosen its roost on an attractive rooftop cliffscape around the back of the Odeon cinema it continued its siege.
Nightly, the tweets flooded in from unsettled and distracted students unable to revise for their exams, often accompanied by vivid, panicked photographs. The owl did not appear to be ringed, or wearing any sign of captivity, and it continued to pounce on people who ventured into its territory at night. People with hats, bald men, and anyone distinguishable by bright head parts could fall prey to its ferocious whims: often it struck from behind, worryingly, as if it was attempting to sever the neck vertebrae, as it would with its normal prey. A tall, willowy postgraduate student of mine, Rebecca, who has long blond hair, reported being genuinely whomped whilst returning home from late shifts at work. She only avoided injury by ducking at the very last minute as the threatening hoot rang about her ears.
The owl remained unclaimed by any former owner – but perhaps there was no one out there to claim it. Had it come here of its own accord? Some, watching other raptor migrations (the Short-eared Owl from Norway and Sweden; the occasional Snowy Owl from the Arctic), believed it could have made a sea crossing. My ornithologist friend Emma thought perhaps it could indeed have flown the distance from France, or even braved the North Sea searching for a mate or new territory? Wanderers often happen. In the summer of 2015, a rare lammergeier, or bearded vulture, was seen crossing the sky over Plymouth. Later it was reported heading on over to south Wales. This was an extreme and powerful example, but rare vagrant birds have often been seen drifting over Dartmoor in this way.
The Eurasian Eagle Owl’s European distribution ranges from the taiga forests of Scandinavia to southern Spain. In their natural habitats of cliffs, rugged gorges and forests they occupy the same territory all year round and for their whole lives, never ranging far – making it extremely unlikely that the Exeter owl was a wild one that had wandered here.
After a while, the Eagle Owl of Exeter story vanished from the news, and from the Oxford Road student digs by the football stadium; the owl had vanished from the roof of the Odeon cinema. It left something of a cavity, a shadow settled into the memory, a question mark, a bird that disappeared. Perhaps it moved on. Perhaps this is how it should be. And maybe we’ll never know.
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Depending on who you speak to, the Eagle Owl in Britain could either be considered a menace or a majestic raptor making an epic comeback. In 1993 a nest was found in the Derbyshire Peak District and the presence of a pair of breeding Eagle Owls was discussed on national television by BBC Natural World. There was a mixture of excitement and consternation in response. Conflicts arose. What effect would these powerful birds have on the fragile ecosystem, particularly on populations of other birds of prey? Top predators frequently do not tolerate other top predators, and this was the habitat of the rare hen harrier (with perilously few pairs left) as well as Tawny, Long-eared and Short-eared Owls. Anything crepuscular or nocturnal sharing the Eagle Owl’s nesting territory and night-time hunting would be in danger. To address this, a risk assessment was carried out, concluding that an increasing population of Eagle Owls might indeed pose a threat to species of conservation concern like the hen harrier. The RSPB, however, pointed out that Eagle Owls are not the reason for the absence of hen harriers across large parts of the UK’s uplands, and that this is probably due to persistent persecution by gamekeepers on moorland shooting estates.
The World Owl Trust, in the owls’ defence, suggested that they were a natural part of the ecosystem that had once been hunted to extinction and that they should be protected. Renowned owl expert Heimo Mikkola also agrees that these owls died out in Britain due to extermination by humans, after which the land bridge to the Continent disappeared, and the birds never recolonised. But due to concern over the protection of other raptors like the endangered hen harrier, the owls were cautiously watched. In the ten years from 1996 to 2006, monitoring showed that they had produced around twenty-three chicks.
In the Forest of Bowland in Lancashire, the breeding pair had hit the headlines when they began, unusually for this species that normally prefers to avoid humans, to attack dog walkers when they took a path that passed close to the nest site. Following the 2006 BBC television documentary, somebody took the law into their own hands: the female was shot. There was uproar at this news from the wildlife-lov
ing public but the anonymous perpetrator was never found. Clearly the appearance of a large predator on a small, densely populated island raises some hackles and the contentious desire of some to have a wild predator at large is not shared by all.
Meanwhile, in November 2016 at an extremely hush-hush moorland location in the north of England, BBC television pictures were shown of three healthy-looking Eagle Owlets, alive and well on the nest; the parents were arriving with plenty of prey in the form of rabbits, and the small family of owls was thriving.
Debates rumble on about the Eagle Owl’s right to reside, and meanwhile the birds themselves quietly continue to breed. By this time the three wild chicks that were filmed in the secret location will have fledged. With careful monitoring it has been found that the owls here sometimes lay up to three eggs per year and many of these young have successfully flown. But some years at the Forest of Bowland nest monitors have found that the eggs are abandoned; the owls are highly sensitive to disturbance and will desert the nest if it is interfered with during incubation; even worse, it looks as if on some occasions their eggs might have been stolen.
The story of the Eagle Owls raises wider questions about the ecology of the relationship of humans to the wild: how do we adapt to manage the limited fauna that is left, in a crowded country purged of its large predators? Advocates of rewilding say that we are poorer without these creatures in the wild, but the role of these vanished predators is complex: should they remain confined to the imagination, to picture books, to wildlife documentaries, to fiction, and to zoos, or should we welcome them back into our shared natural space, as a matter of principle?
For me, the curious incident of the night-time Exeter Eagle Owl was a case in point of humans failing in their duty. At these moments, the most damage can occur. Wretched creature. If it had escaped, why had it not been claimed? These birds are valuable, but also vulnerable. It is their vulnerability that hurts the heart. If the owl had been deliberately released as pest control, to hunt the local seagulls, widely seen as a noisy, messy aggravation, why was it then not claimed when it had done its job? The owl was reduced to a misfit, pathetically confused, either mistakenly hunting, looking for a mate during the breeding season, or chasing people away from city streets, a battle it could never win.
Owl Sense Page 20