Having a barn owl for a neighbour leads to sleepless nights in Mayo

COUNTRY FILE

I HAVE a friend close by whose entire focus is to keep me awake at night. Dressed in white, she glides around the woodland like some kind of siren, giving no more than a glimpse of herself in the gloaming. Her eyes, dark and round in a heart-shaped face, appear near-bottomless pits.

I go to find her and stays at the far end of the woodland. Unable to resist the urge, I pull on my boots and trudge through the wet. She hears, of course, and keeps her distance.

When impending darkness sends me home she comes to haunt the house, shrieking to keep me from sleep or piercing my dreams with her desolate cries. And occasionally, just now and then, she appears before me in silent perfection. Her stare is cold. She knows neither love nor pity. She is unaware of her grace.

Such is life with a barn owl for a neighbour.

There were young owlets here back in summer. I often heard them crying to be fed, hunched up in thick ivy beyond the reach of my flashlight.

There were at least two and probably three, but these have now dispersed and we are left with one adult. Is it the female? I don't know how to tell the sex of barn owls from a distance, but I know a man that does. I shall find out more.

This particular owl makes occasional hunting flights over the starling roost, which holds far fewer birds this year.

I find it hard to understand why such a ready source of food is not visited far more often. Perhaps the owl prefer small mammals and only resorts to taking birds when hunting for these is poor. I don't know.

Those nocturnal raids must be terrifying for the starlings. There they are, trying to sleep close to the top of the reeds, when in the dark of night a huge, ghostly shape appears without warning.

The flight of the owl is virtually soundless due to the clever construction of its flight feathers which have a soft, furry surface. This creates a cushion of air between the feathers proper and the air through which the owl flies.

The leading flight feather (the 10th primary) is also endowed with a number of tiny fibres (like feathers upon feathers) which break up the air flow as it passes over the wings.

The owl's eye is packed with light-sensitive cells, helping it to see in near-darkness. But it is the level of contrast those eyes perceive that make the bird such an efficient hunter.

The slightest movement will attract attention, while anything motionless is likely to be passed by.

So our owl, looming so suddenly over the heads of the starling horde, startles these smaller birds enough to disturb them. They must be easy pickings. No wonder most of them have gone elsewhere.

The barn owl is crepuscular rather than nocturnal. It likes to hunt at twilight rather than in darkness, so the best time to see them is just as the light begins to fade, or first thing in the morning as the sun creeps over the horizon.

Occasionally, and especially so if the weather has been poor, the barn owl will resort to hunting through a dry day.

Her feathers are not waterproof, as is the case with most birds, so she will stay asleep at home until conditions improve.

Shakespeare had Julius Caesar note the owl as a bird of portent: 'And yesterday the bird of night did sit / Even at noonday, upon the marketplace, / Hooting and shrieking… I believe they are portentious things…'

We know what happened to him. The owl is always welcome here.