The owl man: saving the incredible bird you've probably never heard of
It’s not easy studying an endangered species few people have ever heard of: it’s difficult to raise money, build awareness, or quite simply get people to care. But still, – one of the world’s only experts on the massive, salmon-eating, frog-devouring Blakiston’s fish owl – insisted there are upsides.
“I had a conversation with somebody at a party and they said ‘oh what do you do?’ And I said ‘I work with Blakiston’s fish owl.’” When the party-goer admitted they’d never heard of the bird, they did what most of us do today: they Googled the owl on their phone.
“And what comes up is a picture of me holding an owl ... It automatically makes me the guy,” said Slaght.
And the picture that comes up of Slaght is badass: backdropped by the Russian taiga, Slaght is heavily bearded with closely shorn hair and an expression so grim one is reminded of 19th-century family photos. Still, in his hand he protectively cradles – almost like one would a child – a big, burly owl.
Blakiston’s fish owl is the world’s largest, and in the Russian forests, where Slaght conducts his research, it cohabits with a lot of big names: the Ussuri brown bear, the Amur leopard, the Asiatic black bear and, of course, the grand-daddy of them all, the ever-popular Amur Tiger.
The owl and the owl man
When I meet Slaght for lunch, there’s snow on the ground and the trees are bare. We’re not in southeastern – where Slaght chases down his big birds – but in Minneapolis, Minnesota at a bar-cum-bowling alley. The interview over pub food and beers is punctuated by the sounds of bowling balls hitting their mark.
Today, Slaght is a project manager with the and a co-founder of the along with Russian ornithologist, Sergei Surmach. But his first run-in with a Blakiston’s came in 2001 when he was a Peace Corps volunteer in Russia. At the time, all he knew about the species was from a tattered bird book more than 40 years old, including an “inaccurate, terrible” illustration of Blakiston’s fish owl.
“[The picture] looks like this trash can, grumpy looking. And the species description was one of the shortest in the entire book, you know: biology almost entirely unknown. Eats fish. Rare.”
Although an avid birder, Slaght never expected to actually see one of these things. He was told the owl was so rare that even seasoned ornithologists rarely saw it. Yet one day, hiking in the forest with a friend, he had an encounter that changed the course of his life.
“Something enormous flies away from us and lands close by and it’s just this big owl.”
He assumed it was a Eurasian eagle owl – which can be found across the entirety of Eurasia, from the coast of Spain to that of Primorye – but took a few photos just in case.
“My brain wouldn’t believe it was this mythical thing.”
Although little known, even in Russia, Blakiston’s fish owl is actually the world’s biggest owl – at least on average, according to Slaght. There has been one record of a Eurasian eagle owl weighing 4.7 kilograms, which beats Blakiston’s best by 0.1 kilogram. Still, most Blakiston’s females (females are always bigger when it comes to raptors) outweigh their Eurasian eagle owl counterparts. They are so large – standing 0.75 metres high – that Slaght and other researchers say they are commonly mistaken for a person, another animal, or something out of a dream: when flying their wingspan almost reaches two metres.
A few weeks later, though, Slaght gets his pictures developed and takes them to a local ornithologist.
“He says: ‘don’t show anyone this picture; this is a Blakiston’s fish owl.’”
Slaght doesn’t follow the advice and shows the photos to another naturalist. This naturalist asks to borrow the pictures just for a few days.
“That guy got on a bus, went to Vladivostok and got together ornithologists and said ‘I have found a Blakiston’s fish owl,’” said Slaght, who noted that this was the first ever sighting in that specific Russian county and the southernmost record of the species in a hundred years.
“He took my discovery for his own.”
But in the years since, Slaght has got his revenge. He has become one of the foremost experts on the great owls and continues to find them where people thought them vanished – and this time he gets the credit for it.
But it’s required sacrifice: he spends several months every year away from his family, including his four-year-old son. His study site is so remote it takes 15-20 hours to reach from the Vladivostok airport. Once there, he lives in a van – literally down by the river – with Sergei Surmach and a small cadre of Russian men tracking birds by day and night.
He does it all for the love of an owl.
Fish and frog eater
Blakiston’s fish owl are not just distinguished by their size. They are also especially evolved for fish hunting. Blakiston’s have a less defined facial disk than most other owls, i.e. feather configuration on its face, which means that their hearing is probably not as sensitive as many owls.
“They don’t need to hear a mouse flitting through the understory,” explained Slaght. Instead, the owls perch on a rock in the middle of the river waiting for a fish or walk along the bank looking for a good place to kill some fish for dinner, even during the interminable Russian winter. They are stupendous hunters, able to bring in salmon or trout that are sometimes two-to-three times as heavy as they are.
Owls are famous for their stealthy, near-silent flight. But Blakiston’s, lacking the special feathers that muffle flight, are loud. Again, this is probably due to the fact that they are catching fish, which don’t hear nearly so well as rodents or rabbits. The big birds also spends a lot of time on the ground and never go far from the rivers where they feed, not something you’d expect with most owls. Yet they have largely avoided sightings – even by locals – by only coming out at night and occurring only near water and at low densities.
While we talked, Slaght showed me a picture of a Blakiston’s fish owl pellet on his computer: a tiny pile of slight, white bones. Blakiston’s, like so many raptors, regurgitate the indigestible bits of their food into ‘pellets.’ But while most owl pellets are densely packed with fur, Blakiston’s are more like tiny ossuaries for its furless victims: fish and frogs.
Although, the owl largely depends on fish, it also takes advantage of a superabundant food source in the spring: frogs. Slaght believes that they time their breeding to coincide with frog season, so that when there is a new, very hungry mouth to feed in the spring they can just scoop up frogs en masse.
The God of Hokkaido
While Slaght studies his birds in Russia, they are also found in a remote region of China, possibly North Korea, and, most famously, on the Japanese island of Hokkaido. The bird on Hokkaido is a distinct subspecies separated by hundreds of thousands of years from its mainland relative.
Japanese researcher, Takeshi Takenaka, is one of the owl’s champions here. And, like Slaght, it was an encounter with a bird that led him to his current path.
In the 1990s, Takenaka was studying water quality in Hokkaido when “suddenly one huge bird flew over me and stopped on the branch in front of me. I was stunned. He gazed me with his yellow eye a moment, then flew away into the forest.”
Takenaka said in that moment he “met god” – and he means that quite literally: the Blakiston’s fish owl is considered a divine being by the island’s indigenous Ainu people.
When Takenaka saw his first Blakiston’s in the flesh, it was nearing extinction in . At the time, conservationists believed only around 40 pairs of the subspecies survived – after facing decades of logging, agricultural development, dam-building and unsustainable salmon harvests across the island – and around 10% of these showed signs of inbreeding.
Today, however, the birds are beginning to recover. Nest boxes, supplemental feeding, better protections and less development have brought the latest population count to 54 pairs. The birds, however, are still threatened by car collisions, electrocutions on telephone wires and over-zealous tourism, according to Takenaka.
“The Japanese government put their backs into fish owl conservation,” said Slaght of the owl’s burgeoning recovery on Hokkaido. He notes that what happened to fish owls in Hokkaido in the late 20th Century – a flood of development projects – is a cautionary tale for what’s occurring in the southern Russian Far East today.
The IUCN Red List currently classifies Blakiston’s fish owl as endangered, with a global population of around 1,500-3,700 birds. While the species inhabits a wide range, it lives at very low densities and requires very specific conditions in its habitat.
The best way to safeguard fish owls would be to set up new parks, according to Slaght’s Russian collaborator Surmach. But he added that new reserves are “unlikely” at this time given “the creation of new reserves is a long and political process” and the region already has a number of reserves for tigers and leopards.
Unprotected forest in the region is now largely under the management of logging companies, which have been building roads at a furious pace. Over the last 30 years, the kilometres of roads in Terney County, where Slaght and Surmach work, has jumped from 228 to 6,278 kilometres, an increase of more than 2,700%. But so many news roads means more people exploiting the forest.