About the Owl and the Wicked Jay

1 week ago 6

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After reading the title of this article, you might think that I have started writing fables or even fairy tales for children. Or perhaps you are shaking your head in disgust and thinking that I have turned to writing zoological tabloids? Well, I also thought I was going crazy when I recently experienced a story that I would like to share with you. So sit back and let the tale of the owl and the wicked jay begin.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, just right for a trip out of town for photography. But where do you want to go when it’s almost 5pm? By the time you get dressed, say goodbye to the kids, finish your fourth cup of coffee, get on the bus, and the metro spits you out somewhere on the outskirts of Prague, it will be so late that you’ll only be able to photograph owls. Which is not a bad idea, right?

When I arrived at a small park on the outskirts of the city, the evening sun had already begun to paint the trees with warm tones. The park pulsed with life. Mothers pushed their strollers along the only paved path. Dogs walked their owners. Runners ran back and forth like caged lions, because the park is really quite small. And right in the middle of the park stands a forester’s lodge and a mighty oak tree.

In that oak, which is old enough to remember the Middle Ages, there was a Tawny Owl living for several years. Well, to be particular, the oak tree doesn’t remember anything; it died some time ago, so there’s only its torso. And the Tawny Owl no longer lives there. He has moved to another oak tree 30 meters away, which remembers the Industrial Revolution but maybe nothing older than that.

To my surprise, as I approached the oak, I heard an owl hooting from a distance. But it sounded strange. A vague combination of a male hoot and a female call. I looked at my watch, and it wasn’t even 7pm yet. Strange. The sun was still shining. Had the bird gone crazy? I mean, it’s an owl, with really typical owl-like nocturnal activity. No daylight flying, like a short-eared owl.

I run to the spot, look around, and nothing. No sign of the owl. Oh well, maybe I’m the one who’s crazy and just dreaming. At least I have the time to think about where I’m going to shoot from when the sun truly sets. I set up my tripod and get into position. I stand and wait, looking through the Nikon Z9’s display and the 200-500mm f/5.6 lens into the hollow to see if I can spot a piece of an owl’s head.

Suddenly, there’s that weird hooting again. And very close! What on earth is that? I look up, and there’s a jay sitting right above my head. She was the source of the hooting, would you believe it?

So I stand under the canopy of a mature oak tree and can’t believe my eyes. This wily jay clearly tries to lure the owl out of its daytime hiding place, using the same trick as most birders. She imitates the bird’s voice to lure it out into the daylight. Incredible! This behavior requires a much higher level of mental skill than just “seeing food → eating it.” (I often fall into this mindset myself.)

This clever jay in the canopy above me hoots quite convincingly. Little by little, she approaches the cavity. And when she’s less than a meter away, she jumps to the edge of the entrance. She takes a deep breath and, in an instant, switches from fluent Owlish to her native Jayish, bombarding the resting owl with a barrage of the worst jay insults, and then flies away.

This scene repeats itself day after day. I visited the same spot two weeks later, and nothing had changed in the jay’s behavior. Hooting, then cursing, then flying away. Hooting, cursing, flying away…

That jay must hate the poor owl. Maybe he ate her grandmother once? Who knows.

If I were the owl, I’d think about changing my address. But it’s not easy to find a suitable place to live in Prague these days. Neither for an owl nor for humans. And so he takes the vicious jay attacks with stoic calm. At dusk, the jay’s attacks cease, and the owl can finally leave the hollow in peace. He hoots a few times, and the park becomes his hunting ground for the whole night. Who knows if the wicked jay will live to see the next morning?

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