One campground host would have campfires every night. He also turned on a large electric light. The light and fire attracted large insects which, in turn, attracted a mated pair of barred owls. Above is one waiting by the campfire to catch one of the insects. When they captured one, they would take it back to their nest to feed their young. When I tried taking their pictures using a flash, the bright light greatly disturbed them. One flew over my head, raking my hair with his talons. I got the message and switched to available light and my night vision video camera. The photos weren't as great, imbued with a green tinge, but I was fortunate to get this close. One lighted on an empty chair next to where I was sitting. I could have touched him.
A year after our first encounter with the barred owls around the campfire, we returned to that campground. We arrived later in the winter, and two chicks, pictured above, had left the nest. Their parents were still feeding them and teaching them how to hunt. They lived in towering live oak trees covered in Spanish moss. They blended in with the gray moss making it difficult to spot them and to get good pictures. Like their parents they were not afraid of people, more curious about us than anything else.
The following year we arrived at the campground later than the previous year, and the two new young chicks were larger, more selfconfident and funny. The one above sat on our television antenna for several minutes examining it closely. Another one perched on a windowshield wiper and peered in at us. He left, however, when I approached with my camera. The two chicks hung out together, hunting insects, toads, mostly on the ground often within ten feet of us.
The following year has no accompanying photo. The owls had left for a simple reason: someone had shot and killed one of the mated pair. We could hear the survivor's distinctive call, but it was always well away from the campground.
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