The elusive Cape eagle-owl

Posted on 10 July 2013

We rolled slowly along a track through the hardeveld scrub, deep in the northernmost reaches of the Western Cape. Dawn was glowing on the edges of everything and the shapes of giant granite boulders became clear. We were about 40 kilometres west of the little Namaqualand town of Bitterfontein and searching for the Cape eagle-owl, the most elusive of South Africa’s owls (rivalled in shyness perhaps only by Pel’s fishing owl of our riverine worlds). I’d been looking for this owl on and off for more than 15 years and this scrub habitat was the perfect spot for my expedition with a small group of fellow birders.

The Cape eagle-owl is found mostly in rocky, mountainous country, usually with dense woodland or bush nearby, but in the Western Cape it inhabits montane fynbos right the way down to sea level. The large owl, with big, powerful talons, is solitary and a nocturnal hunter. By day, it sits tight in a secluded roost in a cave or on a ledge (less often a tree). It hunts from a perch, swooping in silence onto prey that includes young dassies, mongooses, genets, smaller birds such as francolins, helmeted guineafowl and doves, and its favourite meal: hares.

It’s sometimes difficult to distinguish from the rufous form of the common spotted eagle-owl. Both have eartufts and look superficially similar to the unprepared eye (the eartufts aren’t ears at all, but rather elongated feather-projections that might have evolved for a number of reasons: to mimic a mammal and appear more frightening; to aid species recognition through the distinctive silhouette; and to assist in camouflage). You have to look carefully at the size of the feet, which are much larger in the Cape eagle-owl, and confirm that the markings on the breast, belly and flanks are boldly blotched black and chestnut, as opposed to a fine barring. You could also make the distinction by the calls of the two species, which are very different.

On this particular expedition on an unforgettable autumn morning, we’d seen movement in the dark before a bird alighted on a fence post. Our light held it like a rope, all shiny and bright, and we watched as the wide-eyed owl lifted, then settled again on a big, round rock. We crept out of the car with our tripods and scopes and zoomed in for detailed views. It was perfectly still and the moon and the early sun shone together as an illuminating team for us. A moth flitted past with celebratory flaps, a cricket sang, and we had found our prize at last: the Cape eagle-owl.

When the sun dips away at dusk, it’s not the end of a birdwatching day – it might be just the beginning. A new way of understanding the landscape is revealed through the birds of the night. If you’re very lucky, and a little patient, an owl might glide across the sky and hide the stars just long enough to make a wonderful memory.






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