Strix Nebulosa

As the mosquitos hatched during the sunset on the banks of Hope Lake in the Anaconda Pintlar Wilderness, I set up my tent near the inlet stream.

As i dozed off, some of the rising cutthroat trout sought cooler clearer water and scuttled up the shallows at the foot of my tent. After the first dozen, I became accustomed to the splish-splashing sounds and began to tune it out as I needed some sleep after crossing the continental divide on such a hot and mosquito ridden day. A furor outside was replaced with a rapid heart beat pounding in my ears as I tried to remain stealthy in my tent and seek out shadows in the night. A splash much louder than those created from the fish jumping over the log downstream had awoken me and the noise was followed by deep womphing and an erie methodical sound of tearing flesh. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I scanned the bank for silhouetes of large carnivoires; noting the location of my bear spray. More womphing resembled heavy footsteps and the creature continued eating its prey. I wavered between staying still while suppresing my heavy breathing in the futile confines of my tent and revealing the shadow with my headlamp. After five minutes, I shot a beam of light to the not-so-far side of the bank 10 feet away and saw remnants of a dead fish at the zygodactyl feet of a two foot tall great gray owl; Strix nebulosa. It remained unfazed for about a minute under my spotlight; its rounded, earless head shifting from side to side before it explained the womphing sound as it took off exposing its five foot wingspan.
         Camped at the base of a talus slope, the next night I was lulled to sleep by a mild thunderstorm and awoken by the quaint "meep" of pikas. The rest of the trip included blooming beargrass, black morels, and fields of glacier lilies, spring beauties, tall shooting stars, and alberta penstamon.

Next weekend I will be in the Welcome Creek Wilderness.