“C’mon,” I muttered to myself, “Throw me a bone.”
I had been out for hours combing the woods when I stumbled across another birder sitting on a rock. I stopped to exchange the usual pleasantries. After several minutes, she pointed up in a tree behind me and whispered the magic word…”owlet.” I whipped around. “Where?” I tried not to shriek. Sure enough, there was a Great Horned Owlet sitting on a stout branch. It followed our movement with its eyes but didn’t budge, blink or otherwise seem to care.
Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Whooooeeee, as bones go, that is a juicy one.
Have you ever driven for hours to a birding hotspot and there is nothing around or been out looking for a specific bird that everyone has seen; that is suppose to be right, THERE but isn’t or you miss the 8 Blackpolls down by the bridge because you were looking in the wrong tree? (I’m not bitter, really.) But you end up seeing something unexpectedly terrific. (A Blackburnian bathing, for example.) I call that the birding bone. It doesn’t happen often but when it does you will know it.