On Prowl for Owls : Scientists Set Out to Count Spotted Cousin of the South

Shortly after sunrise, a procession of biologists led by Lazslo Szijj marched into the pine forests of this ski region in the mountains above San Bernardino carrying live mice that wriggled nervously in the chill morning air.

The mice were to become breakfast for the southern spotted owl, a subspecies of the rare northern variety that has sparked lively debate over the merits of protecting endangered species. The scientists’ goal on this recent day: to lure the mottled creatures down from the treetops and outfit the owls with radio transmitters so ornithologists can track them over the next two years.

“When the owl comes down to nail the mouse, we nail the owl,” said Szijj, a Cal Poly Pomona biology professor who heads the Southern California Spotted Owl Advisory Committee.

The group’s findings will help federal officials decide whether to grant endangered status to the southern spotted owl, which biologists say has been largely overlooked until now. There are only 30 known pairs of this rare bird, which nests deep in the cool, old-growth forests of Southern California’s mountains.

Already, the bird’s cousin--the northern spotted owl--has provoked what may be one of the most intense political battles in the history of the 1973 Endangered Species Act. Timber interests and environmentalists are squaring off in what some say rivals the controversy over the infamous snail darter, a three-inch fish that held up construction of Tennessee’s massive Tellico Dam in the late 1970s.

With each new species proposed for protection, the dilemma of balancing environmental preservation against economic interests clicks into sharper focus. In the case of the northern spotted owl, the protection of 1,000 or so known nesting pairs could mean the elimination of 28,000 logging jobs, or 14 jobs for each owl saved. Scientists say that each pair of spotted owls ranges over 2,264 acres, and that large swaths of timber territory would have to lie dormant if the northern bird is protected.

Experts say there is no neat formula to determine when the preservation of plant and animal life--which is disappearing worldwide at a rate of 1,000 species daily--outweighs the need for economic development.

“How do you price the spotted owl?” asked Sheldon Kamieniecki, an expert on wildlife protection and vice chairman of USC’s political science department. “Like a good Van Gogh, it’s probably priceless. Once it’s gone, you can’t replace it.”

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is expected to rule on the northern spotted owl this month. In the meantime, attention is beginning to focus on the bird’s southern cousin.

“Nobody knows anything about the southern bird, but we suspect they’re in even greater danger than the ones up north,” Szijj said. “It’s just that no research has been done to document that.”

Lighter in color than the northern bird, the southern subspecies is endangered mainly by skiing, dirt-bike riding and target shooting, Szijj said. His committee will track the owls in the Angeles, Cleveland, San Bernardino, Inyo and Los Padres national forests. In about two years, the group will report to federal agencies on whether it wants to seek protection for the bird.

The matter is so preliminary that recreational interests in the mountains and forests of Southern California have not yet geared up for battle, although they do intend to follow the owl affair closely.

“It’s too early to go raising alarms, but it would seem to potentially impact a whole raft of activities. If recreation is going to be affected, I hope they’ll be seeking input from us,” said Eric Lundquist, a legislative affairs specialist with the American Motorcyclist Assn. in Columbus, Ohio.

Other special-interest groups say the survey is news to them.

“This is the first I’ve heard about it,” says Jean Corcoran, president of the Wrightwood Chamber of Commerce. The region is home to several ski resorts whose expansion might be threatened by any protection afforded to the southern spotted owl.

Michael Horn, a Cal Poly Pomona graduate student working with Szijj, has found nine nesting pairs of the birds in the forests around Wrightwood.

The 27-year-old biology student has spent two years in this mile-high community studying the southern spotted owl. Horn often rises at 3 a.m. to track the nocturnal creatures.

At 5:45 on this morning, Horn hiked through the underbrush, stopping every 20 or so seconds to let loose a full-throated “whoo, whoo” that attracts owls. “They’re fairly moody,” he said. “Sometimes they just don’t answer at all.”

This time, a reply ricocheted off the hills within seconds and a large male spotted owl landed about 25 feet up in a nearby Douglas fir.

The birds, which weigh from 1 1/2 to 2 pounds, are fluffy creatures with huge brown eyes. A holdover from the Ice Age, when forests covered much of North America, the southern spotted owl prefers old trees in dense canyons where temperatures tend to be cooler than on upper canyon slopes.

“They’re difficult to spot,” Szijj said. “Most people have never seen one.”

Unlike the great horned owl, which thrives alongside humans and will eat anything from rats to cats, skunks and kitchen scraps, the spotted owl eats only wood mice or pack rats and retreats further into the forests with each encroachment by man.

“Last week some poachers came up here and were wandering around just up the road from a spotted owl nest,” Horn said. “When the rangers caught them, they said they had been shooting at some ‘chicken-like birds.’ ”

Horn prepared to release a mouse under the owl’s solemn gaze. He grabbed the rodent, attached a string to its neck and let it scurry around frantically on the ground.

But Strix occidentalis was playing coy, preferring to watch the mouse from his perch. The excursion seemed doomed, when suddenly the owl’s mate fluttered into view, landing on a low branch.

Stealthily, Horn approached the female bird with a jury-rigged fishing pole outfitted with a noose, which he slipped over its head.

Then he tightened the noose around the bird’s neck and pulled the bewildered creature toward him.

Horn worked swiftly. First, he tied the bird’s talons together so it would not claw him. The inch-long talons can inflict serious wounds, as Horn found out when he was clawed earlier this month and had to get a tetanus shot.

Next, Horn pulled a sock over the owl’s head because raptors, or birds of prey, feel more secure when hooded. He then strapped a tiny backpack onto the owl--containing the transmitter that will allow him to track the bird’s movements in coming months.

After measuring the bird’s leg, beak, wingspan and tailfeathers, Horn strapped a tag around its leg and released it. The owl flew off into the forest to sulk and Szijj and Horn congratulated each other on a job well done.

But capturing the birds is the easy part of their work. Persuading federal authorities to grant protection to the southern spotted owl will be much more time-consuming and difficult.

“Obviously we can’t demand that everything be shut down,” Szijj said. “There must be a balance. . . . But we have to ask ourselves, at what point should the needs of humans be outweighed by our need to protect the ecosystem?”