After reading the title of this article, you might think that I have started writing fables or even fairy tales for children. Or perhaps you are shaking your head in disgust and thinking that I have turned to writing zoological tabloids? Well, I also thought I was going crazy when I recently experienced a story that I would like to share with you. So sit back and let the tale of the owl and the wicked jay begin.
It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, just right for a trip out of town for photography. But where do you want to go when it’s almost 5pm? By the time you get dressed, say goodbye to the kids, finish your fourth cup of coffee, get on the bus, and the metro spits you out somewhere on the outskirts of Prague, it will be so late that you’ll only be able to photograph owls. Which is not a bad idea, right?
When I arrived at a small park on the outskirts of the city, the evening sun had already begun to paint the trees with warm tones. The park pulsed with life. Mothers pushed their strollers along the only paved path. Dogs walked their owners. Runners ran back and forth like caged lions, because the park is really quite small. And right in the middle of the park stands a forester’s lodge and a mighty oak tree.
In that oak, which is old enough to remember the Middle Ages, there was a Tawny Owl living for several years. Well, to be particular, the oak tree doesn’t remember anything; it died some time ago, so there’s only its torso. And the Tawny Owl no longer lives there. He has moved to another oak tree 30 meters away, which remembers the Industrial Revolution but maybe nothing older than that.
To my surprise, as I approached the oak, I heard an owl hooting from a distance. But it sounded strange. A vague combination of a male hoot and a female call. I looked at my watch, and it wasn’t even 7pm yet. Strange. The sun was still shining. Had the bird gone crazy? I mean, it’s an owl, with really typical owl-like nocturnal activity. No daylight flying, like a short-eared owl.
I run to the spot, look around, and nothing. No sign of the owl. Oh well, maybe I’m the one who’s crazy and just dreaming. At least I have the time to think about where I’m going to shoot from when the sun truly sets. I set up my tripod and get into position. I stand and wait, looking through the Nikon Z9’s display and the 200-500mm f/5.6 lens into the hollow to see if I can spot a piece of an owl’s head.
Suddenly, there’s that weird hooting again. And very close! What on earth is that? I look up, and there’s a jay sitting right above my head. She was the source of the hooting, would you believe it?
So I stand under the canopy of a mature oak tree and can’t believe my eyes. This wily jay clearly tries to lure the owl out of its daytime hiding place, using the same trick as most birders. She imitates the bird’s voice to lure it out into the daylight. Incredible! This behavior requires a much higher level of mental skill than just “seeing food → eating it.” (I often fall into this mindset myself.)
This clever jay in the canopy above me hoots quite convincingly. Little by little, she approaches the cavity. And when she’s less than a meter away, she jumps to the edge of the entrance. She takes a deep breath and, in an instant, switches from fluent Owlish to her native Jayish, bombarding the resting owl with a barrage of the worst jay insults, and then flies away.
This scene repeats itself day after day. I visited the same spot two weeks later, and nothing had changed in the jay’s behavior. Hooting, then cursing, then flying away. Hooting, cursing, flying away…
That jay must hate the poor owl. Maybe he ate her grandmother once? Who knows.
If I were the owl, I’d think about changing my address. But it’s not easy to find a suitable place to live in Prague these days. Neither for an owl nor for humans. And so he takes the vicious jay attacks with stoic calm. At dusk, the jay’s attacks cease, and the owl can finally leave the hollow in peace. He hoots a few times, and the park becomes his hunting ground for the whole night. Who knows if the wicked jay will live to see the next morning?
Amusing story and delightfully told, Libor. The British children’s writer E. E. Milne wrote of Owl, one of the characters in his beloved Pooh stories, and purportedly very wise. Owl (his full name) had just redecorated his home (a tree cavity), and bursting with pride, invited all his forest friends to see it–including at his doorway a special sign with his name, spelled WOL.
Thank you for your kind comment, Art. Frankly, I’m not sure how wise owls really are. Each of their eyes is the equivalent of a 58mm f/0.95 Noct lens (I don’t mean the focal length, but the ability to transmit light to the retina/sensor, and more importantly, their bulk). If I put those lenses inside my own head, there wouldn’t be much room left for my brain. Whoooo :-)
Bien belles photos, je suis scotché pour certaines à 1/30s !!!! Bravo Libor pour cette maîtrise!
Alain
Thanks a lot Alain, luckily I had a sturdy tripod and a motionless owl at my disposal.
Brilliant photos and an impressive story. Thanks for sharing. The intelligence of corvids is famous. Here in Southwestern Germany we collect packaging waste from food products in yellow plastic bags, which are collected seperatly. My neighbours own some dogs and sometimes you can see raven crows destroying the bags on the street to get the meat leftovers from dog food cans. ..
Best wishes from Lake Constance!
Hi Rainer, you are right that the corvids are capable of incredible mental feats. Although even small birds like tits aren’t stupid at all. British tits and their ability to open aluminum lids on milk bottles have entered the textbooks. Greetings to Lake Constance, I drove by a few weeks ago.
Triffic, brilliant, hilarious.
Thank you very much, Aitch :-)
A couple of years ago, on a bright Spring afternoon, I witnessed a Jay sitting in a solitary tree mimicking a buzzard. I was shocked that the call was almost identical to a buzzard’s, just a little softer.
After a few minutes of this, the Jay suddenly took flight straight towards a copse of trees and continued it’s buzzard calls, only now sounding much more ferocious. All the little birds nesting in the copse were spooked and the adult birds took flight in all directions. The Jay then ransacked a nest of baby birds, now helpless without their parents.
Needless to say, this experience proved to me that Jays are indeed both clever and wicked!
Very interesting observation, Elizabeth. You’ve accurately described the quality that distinguishes the jay’s interpretation of the buzzard’s voice from the original. It’s softer! That’s exactly right.
Jays are smart. What is it? They can remember most of the 3,000 acorns they bury. And some they deliberately leave in the ground – after all, you don’t get acorns without oaks.
Imagine the size of a bird’s brain, and the food it takes to feed it.
Now imagine what goes into building some thing of AscI* and the power it takes and CO2 emitted.
* A so-called I.
Which is the real brains?
Bird brains have had more time to evolve than ours and it shows. Birds have been around for over 100 million years, but we humans… Where the hell are my keys? Oh boy, I almost forgot to pick up the kid from school! These big brains of ours, they’re a pain.
Thanks for sharing a great story, and such beautiful photos. Total reading enjoyment!
I really enjoyed your kind comment in return, Rob. Thank you very much.
VR 200-500mm @700mm? What is it with overseas birds? They all look down the lens with the most grumpy of faces. Maybe it’s because they have their head and body jammed into a tree who is dead but has green leaves and yellow splodges of inspiration attached. Is it a zombie tree? Brains,brains,brains it cries at midnight on the full moon. Then before dawn it regenerates into a dead piece of zombie wood
Most likely the 700mm focal length there is due to Libor using the 1.4x teleconverter!
That’s right. I’ve never used it on a DSLR, but the autofocus on the Z9 works even with such an unusual combination. Of course, it’s not for anything that moves more than a (motionless) owl in a tree.
Great story, I love it. I remember a similar story:
On of my neighbors had a long time visitor that brought a little dog. It was cute, but didn’t like the free roaming cats and used to chase them away with a lot of barking. A few days after the dog and owner had left, I could hear someone barking just like the little dog, but it came from a different direction.
When I searched for the source of the noise, it turned out to be a magpie. I could not see, if it was really barking at a cat, but it would not have surprised me.
Some of these birds from the raven family are actually quite good at imitating sounds and they are quite intelligent, too.
This is a beautiful demonstration that birds are not only masterful at imitating voice, but also at selecting and using it appropriately from the wide variety of voices around them. After all, why show the neighborhood cat the sound of running water when a dog’s bark is far more effective?
When I saw the title of the article and who the author is, I decided to first grab my favorite snack and juice before consuming the article. It did not disappoint!
I am so glad that my articles whet your appetite :-) Likewise, I made a good cup of coffee before I read your comment. It’s called shared joy. Have a nice week.