Throughout our many photos and memories of special times photographing nature, we all experience a few “magical moments.” It’s these stories that we recall time after time that reminds us why we chose nature photography as our passion. Sometimes, those special moments don’t even produce our best photographs, but their images are burned in our mind.

	© Randy Centner, Field Contributor Article and Images by Randy Centner posted March 12, 2003

In my neck of the woods I am always thrilled to have any sighting of an owl, which usually consists of a fleeting glimpse of a great horned owl, barred owl, or maybe an eastern screech. But last winter the Ohio Valley received an opportunity of a lifetime, the rare migration of a snowy owl to southwestern Ohio.

The snowy owl, Nyctea Scandiaca, is a large raptor which calls the arctic tundra its home habitat during the summer months. In the winter months, however, the owls are forced to migrate south to find more available food supplies, but occasionally prey becomes scarcer, and they are forced to migrate even farther south. Apparently, and fortunately for southwestern Ohio, just such an event may have lead this owl to our region.

I found out about this bird one afternoon at the counter of my photo lab. They informed me that an adult female or juvenile male (debatable) snowy owl had migrated nearby. At first I thought they were just sending me on a wild–“owl” chase since who ever heard of an owl in this area. But, it was true, a snowy had decided that the large bare cornfields and pastures in the predominantly treeless countryside just south of Wilmington Ohio passed as a suitable substitute for the tundra. For perspective, Wilmington is a rural town located about 45 miles northeast of Cincinnati. With an abundant bird and rodent population to satisfy the owls’ appetite, she set up her winter residence, rarely if ever venturing outside of a small central area.

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© Randy Centner

Fortunately, in a way, depending upon which part of the muddy (thawed) or frozen field was chosen as a parking space, she was rarely more than 300 to 400 yards away. This was very accommodating to me and other photographers, since big lenses are heavy and cumbersome, but it also invited the uninformed to get a bit too close. On almost any weekday, dozens of cars traversed the area in hopes of a sighting, with the weekends bringing upwards of 100 vehicles.

I recall one fine, cold day spending more than 3 hours sneaking closer and closer to her. During my advance, two other photographers were on each side, also with tripods and big glass. We had gotten to within 30 feet of the snowy with her complete and unconcerned knowledge. Every so often she would glance our way but for the most part our movements were slow and quiet and she viewed us as no threat. She preened and preened; sleep a little, then preened some more. I was thrilled to be that close, and view her behavior, but slowly I was starting to get numb. Not only was it cold, but my knees were starting to lock from kneeling so long. But, I was where I needed to be. From that vantage point, I experienced much more of her behavior than all of those hundreds of visitors that spent mere moments with her would ever encounter. Plus, I was in a position to get a great lift off shot when she decided to fly. It was worth every second and every ache that I would feel the next day. Until the loud talker showed up.

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	© Randy Centner

Eventually, in mid–February she did head north. Hopefully she made it past all the man-made structures and obstacles that we have created in her way but unfortunately, I have no way of knowing her fate. I hope for the best.

Over her visit, I stood, sat, knelt, and laid in the snow or mud and shot probably 35 to 40 rolls of film. Naturally more than a few didn’t make the first edit, but fortunately, many more did. I still enjoy looking at her image, but overall I feel a certain special connection with this creature.

Her presence represents the beauty and survival of all that is wild. For weeks I enjoyed her company, while bundled in multiple layers with numb toes and fingers while she faced the wind and accepted the cold without complaint and was better adapted to these new lands than I ever could be. I know I’m richer for having observed her daily routines, whether stunning or ordinary and hopefully many others felt the same. Simply put, this is why I love nature photography.

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