One never knows what awaits you on a trip to Hart-Miller Island.
Saturday, September 29 started out as every other Saturday bird survey on
the island. Five of us were out for the day --- Doug English, Kevin Graff,
Bill Sefton, Bob Ringler and me. We walked along the road paralleling the
two woodlands, picking up whatever passerines were out of the wind on the
leeward side of the trees. We reached the ramp to the cross dike and
proceeded to the top where we counted the birds in the west embayment of the
South Cell impoundment. After logging all of the waterbirds, fate stepped
in and altered the day.
It was at that moment that Bob Ringler said "Is that a raptor in the marsh?"
I looked with binoculars at what appeared to be a log sticking up out of the
marsh on the remnant of old Hart Island. I switched to my scope and clearly
could see that the log was an outstretched wing. Bob had sighted a Great
Horned Owl that appeared to be in distress. The owl was at the edge of the
north woodland at the interface with the saltmarsh. We could see that the
owl appeared to be entangled in some type of line or cord. After a brief
discussion about the dangers of attempting to handle a Great Horned Owl, the
five of us headed down the ramp to the lower road. Bob said that it would
probably be very wet crossing the small arm of saltmarsh between the road
and the woodland. I said that it would probably be fairly dry due to the
lack of rain. Kevin gave his usual comment that he would be covered with
ticks if he went off the road. I told him that it was the end of September,
not May, and that American Dog Ticks were no longer out.
With all that said, I put on my cotton gloves, Bob grabbed his trusty
pocketknife, and all five of us headed off the road through the shrubby
vegetation into the field of Phragmites. Amazingly, the Phragmites was 4
feet taller than Bob Ringler, but we proceeded onward with Bob in the lead.
Bob said that we were leaving the Phragmites and entering cattails. I said
"So much for my theory about staying dry!" Once into the cattails, we were
knee-deep in black water and ankle-deep in marsh muck. The fetid odor of
sulfur engulfed us. Eventually we reached the marsh/woodland interface and
located the owl.
The Great Horned was hanging suspended by his outstretched right wing that
was entangled in kite cord. One of our party recovered the kite end of the
cord, another recovered the other end of the cord, and Bob and I went in
after the owl. As we approached the owl, it began clattering its beak. It
appeared to be very alert to its surroundings. The owl was grasping some
cattails with his talons. That was good, giving him something to hold onto.
I grasped the two legs with my right hand, being cautious of the talons, and
grasped the belly and chest with my left hand. I was a bit surprised at how
small the owl seemed in my hands. Great Horned Owls seemed so much more
massive in flight. Bob grabbed the kite end of the cord and cut it free
from the kite. The owl keep looking at Bob and me, turning it's head almost
360 degrees. It occasionally clattered its beak, but offered very little
resistance. At one point, Bob put his porkpie hat over the owl's head to
help keep it calm. Bob unwound the cord once from around the right wing and
once from around the neck. It was at that point that we realized how
entangled the right wing was. Having been suspended from the tree, the owl
must have been like a tether ball and kept wrapping its right wing over and
over again in the cord. The cord was wrapped very tightly at least ten
times around the wing. You could see that the cord had cut through the skin
in a few places. Although you could see the impressions of the cord in the
feather of the wing, it was very difficult finding the kite cord amongst the
feathers. Eventually Bob cut all of the segments of cord free from the
wing. The right wing was not broken but it just hung limp. The left wing
also hung down a bit. This was another indication of just how weak the bird
actually was.
The five of us headed back out of the marsh, When we reached the road we
called the Hart-Miller Island Dredged Material Containment Facility offices.
Steve answered the phone and came around to meet us with the pickup truck
and a box to put the owl in. The various members of our party offered up an
old t-shirt to place over the owl's head to calm it, two towels to wrap
around the owl's body and wings to immobilize them, and a portable seat
cushion to tie onto the Utz potato chip box since it was open on top and on
one side.
I decided to stay with the owl. Doug, Kevin, Bill, and Bob continued with
the weekly bird survey. Steve drove me to the office building where I got
on-line to locate a rehabber from the MD-DNR website. Then Steve drove me
to boat dock where he and Amber piloted the boat delivering me and the owl
to the mainland.
Once on shore, I drove the owl to the Bel Air Veterinary Hospital. The owl
was so weak that when the veterinarian placed it in a cage, it did not have
the strength to grasp the log perch. Instead it just laid on the bottom of
the cage. Unfortunately the owl succumbed after about an hour.
Gene
Gene Scarpulla
Millers Island, Maryland
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