Bird watching can be a trying experience at times. The subjects hardly stay still long enough for us to identify them, are too far away, or are just too darned fast as they zip by us. The opportunity to observe an uncommon species close at hand, for a long period of time, is a rare and special gift I have received twice in my life.

When I say uncommon, I mean it in the sense of the likelihood of seeing it for any length of time, rather than its distribution or population numbers. The two species I observed are quite common. In fact, potentially there are many nearby most of the time, at certain times of the year, and in certain habitats. They are owls.

My first close encounter occurred in Blue Hill during my first winter in Maine. It was around 9 a.m. and I had just returned from town with my load of laundry. I don’t know what it was that made me look out the window – it might have been the racket the chickadees were making – but there on a limb 20 feet away sat a barred owl.

The owl seemed quite unconcerned by the mob of chickadees that surrounded it. Every once in a while, it would swivel its head around at the little black-capped sentinels, but otherwise made no move. I marveled at its beautiful plumage and its dark, fathomless eyes. I sketched it as the chickadees hopped from branch to branch in outrage, doing their level best to create as much pandemonium as possible. After 30 minutes, the owl flew away, much to the relief of the chickadees.

My second experience took place in Orono. I woke one morning to the frenzied calling of many birds. Crows, blue jays, chickadees and nuthatches were directing their attention toward a clump of cedars in the yard. I imagined a large bird of prey – a barred owl, maybe even a red-tailed hawk – perched there. It had to be something big to cause such alarm in the other birds, I reasoned. I crept outside to take a look.

It was a saw-whet owl, a species smaller than a blue jay. It remained still as I approached, so I dared going closer – but not much. I didn’t want to scare it out of its hiding spot, since I knew these small owls can fall prey to larger raptors.

The elfin owl looked for like an annoyed person who is disturbed from a nap. It sat there with half-closed eyes, occasionally turning its head and snapping its beak if a jay happened to get too close. I watched it for quite awhile, intrigued by its lemon-yellow eyes, which closed to mere slits once the birds left it alone.

The mobbing of the barred owl and of the saw-whet by smaller birds, in some cases, serves to call attention to any predator, whose greatest hunting advantage is surprise. Owls may eat other birds if the opportunity presents itself, although they mainly feed on small mammals, amphibians or insects. The great horned owl is an exception. Well known for its fierceness, it will go after birds like the great blue heron or other owls, such as the barred. It will also take rabbits, skunks, porcupines, domestic house cats and hawks.

Besides the three mentioned above, other owls common to Maine include the long-eared, short-eared, snowy, and eastern screech owls.