As DW and I drew closer, I could see some people walking through the field of cut-down corn stalks. Yet, I could then make out a white object, perched upon an abandoned piece of farm equipment, and my heart sunk. I'm not going to be able to get close enough to take a good photo, I thought but didn't say to DW, who was in the passenger seat. I had my peg leg with me but I didn't think it would support me in a snow-covered field.
We pressed on, anyway. As I drew up behind one vehicle on the side of the road, I saw one photographer making his way from the field, toward the road. He seemed to be walking on top of the snow, his boots not even sinking in past the top of his sole. I could make out footprints in the snow, none of which appeared to look deep.
"Do you think you can handle it out there?" DW asked, seeming to sense my thoughts.
"I can try." I knew, in the back of my mind, that we would be trespassing by walking into the farmer's field, but I continued, accepting whatever consequence would await. Sometimes, you have to cross a line to get a shot. If you're respectful and intend no ill will, it won't protect you from the letter of the law but it may help with the spirit of it.
Out of the car, DW helped me down the sloped side of the road and over the ditch, which was packed with compressed snow. There was no fence to keep us out of the field, though the evidence showed that this was private property.
Once into the field, the base of my peg leg sank a little further into the snow, but I felt firm ground beneath me. I could make out where the rows of corn once stood, the severed stalks poking up a few inches above the snow. The closer to them I stepped, the firmer the ground became beneath me.
I just had to watch where I stepped so as to not trip over a stalk.
A wire fence ran through the field in a north-south direction, leading us in the direction we wanted to go. A couple of hundred metres down the fence, I could see the owl, still perched atop the farm equipment. Three or four photographers where about three or four metres away, their cameras aimed for the large male snowy owl. Far over, in the next field, more photographers seemed preoccupied. I couldn't see what they were focused on but I had been told by a work colleague that at least two of the owls were in this area.
The wind from the last couple of days had created small drifts of snow, and it slowed me down in those spots. As I lifted the peg leg up, it scooped snow onto the top of its base, where my foot should be. At one point, my foot sank nearly a foot below the surface and I lost my balance. DW was close by and I held her hand as I pulled myself upright. We decided to take our time and avoid other drifts.
Two women came up from behind and passed us. I feared that there would be a large crowd and that the owl might get spooked. The last thing I wanted was to get up close, just to see the owl fly away.
And that's exactly what happened.
I was more than two-thirds of my way toward the snowy owl when he hopped off his perch and flew over the next field, a couple of hundred yards away, near where the other photographers were set up. He alighted upon a wooden fence post and seemed to be holding court for the distant photogs.
As we approached the first set of photographers who were near the farm equipment, I could hear one of them explaining that the owls will move toward anyone who may have food. Someone had been feeding the owls mice.
I hesitated. I knew it was wrong to feed the owls. I didn't want to participate if the owls were being baited into hanging around for photographers. Years ago, I had chided a woman for feeding the geese on Bate Island, reminding her that there were signs that backed me up.
Perhaps I should continue. If I saw anyone baiting the snowy owls, I would speak up.
Some of the photographers that were at the farm equipment started moving to the male owl's new spot, but the last thing I wanted to do was cross another field, only to have the owl fly away again.
"Do you want to turn back?" DW asked.
"No, let's do this. If it takes off a second time, then we'll turn back." I didn't come out here for nothing, and though the snow slowed me down a bit, I wasn't tired enough to call it quits.
I stopped every ten or so metres into my trek, snapping photos as we got closer. If the owl decided to take flight again, at least I would have something. I tried to include photographers in the frame, so that I could account for why the owl was so far away if I came up empty-handed.
I was also looking for signs of anyone feeding the owls.
By the time I reached the fence, at least nine photographers had moved up to the owl. Its head moved back and forth, as though he was a model at a shoot for all of these people. Someone would seemingly take a shot and then the owl would look at the next photographer, and keep moving, allowing everyone to capture its bright-yellow eyes.
Fortunately, no one was trying to feed him. But I couldn't help feel that he was allowing us to get close because he felt there was a possibility that he would be fed.
He looked at me, as though saying, "God, not another one." He seemed unphased by DW's and my appearance, and he remained on the perch for a good five minutes, while I fired away.
Wearing my Aircast out in a farmer's field, with temperatures near –20°C, doesn't allow me to stay still for long. It is built with many vents and there are air pillows on either side of my foot. Just imagine yourself wearing a thin sock with a sandal for footwear: now, imagine wearing that in the middle of winter. In an open field.
My toes were starting to freeze, so DW and I made our way back toward the road. As we started moving away, I turned back to take one more shot of the group of photographers. I captured them but saw that the owl was no longer on his perch, had fluttered to the next field.
I shared a couple of photos on Instagram when I first returned home (after I thawed my toes). I shared more a couple of days ago, for Wordless Wednesday. But I saved the best for my Photo of the Week. The sun was getting low in the sky, behind us. An overcast sky was behind the owl, a farm, blurred to oblivion, in the distance. The contrast of blue and white, with the warmth of the sun, was perfect.
If you're looking for these beautiful creatures to photograph, remember to be respectful of the surroundings, and especially be respectful of these wild birds. Don't feed them.
Happy Friday!
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