On the Trail of Barn Owls
It’s safe to say that being limited to my local patch by the UK lockdown has opened my eyes to the nature around me. It has also only strengthened my love of photographing the natural world as a means of escaping the drab, travel-free days. And so, with camera in hand and the biggest lens I own, I set out to see what could be found.
I decided to head out on the Cinder Track, a more than twenty-mile stretch of disused railway line now fitted out for walkers and leisure-minded people alike, as a comfortable means of leaving town and heading into the countryside. Not only is it a peaceful breakaway from urban life, but it’s also rife with wildlife. Birdsong is the essence of the Cinder Track. It follows your every step. At this time of year, in late winter, robins are commonplace and remarkably tame along the sidings. Blue tits and chaffinches add dashes of colour to the wilted winter landscape. Crows, rooks and jackdaws caw among the top branches. But I had really come to see one thing. Barn owls.
One of the friendly robins I encountered along the Cinder Track. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth
A friend of mine, and fellow photography enthusiast, had told me of his sightings out over the fields south along the Track. My only previous sightings had been a near miss with the car over the North York Moors and a strange experience of one flying in perfect sync with our minibus on a snowy Cairngorms drive. It’s safe to say neither of these sightings were ideal.
I stopped along the track as a song thrush came to rest on a bare scrub not two metres from me. Behind the speckled bird, the fields stretched out to the coast, dotted with the occasional herring gull. As I lifted the camera, another gull flew into view. Its head was a little stockier and its feet hung below its body. I didn’t think much of it from this distance. The first thing that caught my eye was the grace. Gulls have a bullish tendency to their flight, short, powerful wing-strokes, but this was different, almost gliding. As it approached, the details became obvious. I pulled the camera back to my eye and focussed in. And there it was. My first, proper barn owl sighting.
The resting song thrush that caught my eye. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth
I panicked. Desperately I flitted to catch focus and snap some good shots as it flew within a few metres of the Track. By the time I’d captured some let’s say tolerable photos, it had passed me by and was making its way over the fields, doing its evening rounds. I chose to sit and wait, hoping it would come back or make another pass. I got lucky. Almost an hour passed, and the owl emerged from over the hedgerow. An unfortunate mouse now hung from its talons. I watched in awe as it smoothly swooped over a farmhouse and back into the roof of one of the barns.
The owl heads out on its hunt. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth
Patrolling the fields. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth
Turning back, and making note of the spot, I made my way along the Track, guided by a setting sun towards town. Luck was on my side and the beauty of this wild coastline truly showed itself to me, if not necessarily to my camera.
The return flight after a successful hunt. © Matthew Walsh / Finding Earth
