Winter Wanderers: Short Eared Owls

On gray winter afternoons in the Pacific Northwest, I find myself drawn to open fields and wetlands. Anytime is great but just after dawn or before dusk are the times I mostly aim for. Not just because of the light, but also because of their behavior.

That’s when the vast landscape of grasslands in front of me starts to feel alive. With a little patience, and the light just right, you might notice a shape gliding low over the grasses. At first glance, it could be a harrier or a hawk, though around here short-eareds are mostly neighbors with harriers. But then you catch those uniquely shaped wings, the pale face, and the steady, silent, fast flapping flight, and you know you’ve just spotted a short-eared owl.

Short-eared owl making it’s rounds at dawn

Unlike their forest-dwelling cousins, these owls belong to wide-open spaces. They’re wanderers of prairies and marshes, hunting where voles and mice tunnel beneath the grass. Their flight is distinct from that of other raptors. They are light, buoyant, almost like a moth, unpredictably slicing through the air. I’ve stood there watching them in awe, realizing how rare it feels these days to witness such a natural aerial dance in a landscape that hasn’t yet been swallowed up by houses or pavement.

Why They Matter

Short-eared owls depend on healthy grasslands. As those habitats shrink, their future becomes more uncertain. Here in Washington, they’re already considered a species of concern. They prey mainly on the voles and moles in the grasslands. They depend on the health of those voles and moles. Afterall, we are all only as healthy as our diet. When the rodents are poisoned, so are the owls.

And the truth is, when grasslands disappear, it’s not just owls we lose. It’s everything else that depends on those open spaces: native wildflowers, pollinators, meadowlarks, coyotes, harriers, even the quiet water systems that keep everything in balance.

The short-eared owl, making a sharp turn towards its prey

A Moment of Wonder

There’s a kind of magic in the way a short-eared owl tilts its head mid-flight, or drops suddenly into the grass. For me, this is another moment that reminds me that nature isn’t something separate from us. It’s a living, breathing story happening right outside our door, if we take the time to notice. To me, it’s more sacred than any religious manmade building. It’s about watching and witnessing the unseen yet obvious creator’s work firsthand.

A Small Ask

If you’re lucky enough to see these owls this winter, give them space. Watch from afar, let them hunt in peace, and remember that every acre of open field we save is an acre where they can return next year.

Because protecting short-eared owls isn’t just about saving a bird. It’s about protecting nature, us, and life itself.