I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face as a flurry of fluffy white feathers engulfed me. A thick downy coat makes taxidermying any owl rather troublesome, but snowy owls take their feathers to the extreme. The bird in front of me unfortunately met its end last winter but would live on in education programs. I struggled to part the dense tangle of downy feathers, working hard just to get down to the skin.
One of the fluffiest legs in the animal kingdom dries next to the wing after an evening of taxidermy.
The snowy owl’s feathers may seem excessive to me, but the insulation is a necessity in their arctic home. They breed in far northern Canada and Alaska where the average temperature is below freezing. The satellite image of Banks Island looks cold and barren. But this northern island is home to a thriving community of plants and animals adapted to the harsh climate. Arctic fox and polar bears, snow geese and lemmings, and a snowy owl or two might be visible on the satellite map if we could zoom in even closer.
This tundra scene was home to a particular snowy owl last summer. A bird named “Pettibone” was banded in North Dakota in February and fitted with a solar-powered tracker. Researchers found that he spent the summer on Banks Island where he maintained a small territory and possibly a nest. He has recently found his way south again and settled in an agricultural area in central Saskatchewan.
“Pettibone’s” movements from North Dakota to his breeding territory on Banks Island in northern Canada, and back south in central Saskatchewan.
But why would this bird, so perfectly adapted for bitterly cold arctic winters, travel south each fall? Why do we occasionally spot snowy owls in Wisconsin? These charismatic birds don’t follow a regular migration pattern. We rather see bursts of snowy owls appearing in the United States (sometimes as far south as Texas!) in some winters but not others. We figured these “irruptions” must be caused by a lack of food (primarily lemmings) in the arctic. Without a food source, these starving owls are forced to travel long distances to search for dinner.
Through banding, however, researchers are finding that owls like Pettibone are not starving. They tend to be in good body condition, indicating that their trips south are not a last desperate attempt for survival. The current leading theory is almost the opposite. A good year for lemmings on the breeding grounds means lots of snowy owl chicks hatch and many of them survive. With such an increase in population, they simply need to spread out more at the end of the summer when young birds have left the nest.
On my birthday a few weeks ago, I was able to take off from the office early to go in search of these magical birds. Two snowy owls had been reported in Ashland and it was a thrill to find both of them, even though they were not new to my life list. What used to be a relatively rare sighting has become increasingly common. Snowy owl irruptions tended to happen every 3-5 years, but we’ve seen 5 big irruptions in the last 7 years. Since I started owling 5 years ago, I’ve found many snowies from Duluth/Superior and Ashland to Maple Grove.
A snowy owl, probably a two-year-old male, in Ashland.
While it is wonderful to have snowy owls in our backyards where birders and non-birders alike can connect with them, their regular movements south may be an indication of a system out of wack. Last year, snowy owls were listed as Vulnerable to Extinction by the IUCN RedList with possible population declines of 64% since 1970.
Like any bird, snowy owls face numerous threats including car and airplane collisions, entanglement in fishing line, and starvation. I examined the beautiful white creature on the taxidermy bench, sad that this one probably met its end by electrocution. But the largest effect on this population may very well be climate change in the arctic. Earlier springs and changes in snowmelt affect plant life, lemming populations, and apex predators like the snowy owl.
As I sewed up the owl’s wing and pinned it out to dry, I realized too late that I was wearing a fleece jacket. Downy feathers stick to fleece like velcro and so many clung to my jacket that I almost looked like a snowy owl myself. Despite losing so many feathers, the wing looked as fluffy as ever. I imagined the audiences at raptor programs that would ooh-and-ahh over the beautiful white wing and, more importantly, hoped that these birds will continue to persist as an important player in the arctic ecosystem.
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