One never knows what awaits you on a trip to Hart-Miller Island.

Saturday, September 29 started out as every other Saturday bird survey on 
the island.  Five of us were out for the day --- Doug English, Kevin Graff, 
Bill Sefton, Bob Ringler and me.  We walked along the road paralleling the 
two woodlands, picking up whatever passerines were out of the wind on the 
leeward side of the trees.  We reached the ramp to the cross dike and 
proceeded to the top where we counted the birds in the west embayment of the 
South Cell impoundment.  After logging all of the waterbirds, fate stepped 
in and altered the day.

It was at that moment that Bob Ringler said "Is that a raptor in the marsh?" 
I looked with binoculars at what appeared to be a log sticking up out of the 
marsh on the remnant of old Hart Island.  I switched to my scope and clearly 
could see that the log was an outstretched wing.  Bob had sighted a Great 
Horned Owl that appeared to be in distress.  The owl was at the edge of the 
north woodland at the interface with the saltmarsh.  We could see that the 
owl appeared to be entangled in some type of line or cord.  After a brief 
discussion about the dangers of attempting to handle a Great Horned Owl, the 
five of us headed down the ramp to the lower road.  Bob said that it would 
probably be very wet crossing the small arm of saltmarsh between the road 
and the woodland.  I said that it would probably be fairly dry due to the 
lack of rain.  Kevin gave his usual comment that he would be covered with 
ticks if he went off the road.  I told him that it was the end of September, 
not May, and that American Dog Ticks were no longer out.

With all that said, I put on my cotton gloves, Bob grabbed his trusty 
pocketknife, and all five of us headed off the road through the shrubby 
vegetation into the field of Phragmites.  Amazingly, the Phragmites was 4 
feet taller than Bob Ringler, but we proceeded onward with Bob in the lead. 
Bob said that we were leaving the Phragmites and entering cattails.  I said 
"So much for my theory about staying dry!"  Once into the cattails, we were 
knee-deep in black water and ankle-deep in marsh muck.  The fetid odor of 
sulfur engulfed us.  Eventually we reached the marsh/woodland interface and 
located the owl.

The Great Horned was hanging suspended by his outstretched right wing that 
was entangled in kite cord.  One of our party recovered the kite end of the 
cord, another recovered the other end of the cord, and Bob and I went in 
after the owl.  As we approached the owl, it began clattering its beak.  It 
appeared to be very alert to its surroundings.  The owl was grasping some 
cattails with his talons.  That was good, giving him something to hold onto. 
I grasped the two legs with my right hand, being cautious of the talons, and 
grasped the belly and chest with my left hand.  I was a bit surprised at how 
small the owl seemed in my hands.  Great Horned Owls seemed so much more 
massive in flight.  Bob grabbed the kite end of the cord and cut it free 
from the kite.  The owl keep looking at Bob and me, turning it's head almost 
360 degrees.  It occasionally clattered its beak, but offered very little 
resistance.  At one point, Bob put his porkpie hat over the owl's head to 
help keep it calm.  Bob unwound the cord once from around the right wing and 
once from around the neck.  It was at that point that we realized how 
entangled the right wing was.  Having been suspended from the tree, the owl 
must have been like a tether ball and kept wrapping its right wing over and 
over again in the cord.  The cord was wrapped very tightly at least ten 
times around the wing.  You could see that the cord had cut through the skin 
in a few places.  Although you could see the impressions of the cord in the 
feather of the wing, it was very difficult finding the kite cord amongst the 
feathers.  Eventually Bob cut all of the segments of cord free from the 
wing.  The right wing was not broken but it just hung limp.  The left wing 
also hung down a bit.  This was another indication of just how weak the bird 
actually was.

The five of us headed back out of the marsh,  When we reached the road we 
called the Hart-Miller Island Dredged Material Containment Facility offices. 
Steve answered the phone and came around to meet us with the pickup truck 
and a box to put the owl in.  The various members of our party offered up an 
old t-shirt to place over the owl's head to calm it, two towels to wrap 
around the owl's body and wings to immobilize them, and a portable seat 
cushion to tie onto the Utz potato chip box since it was open on top and on 
one side.

I decided to stay with the owl.  Doug, Kevin, Bill, and Bob continued with 
the weekly bird survey.  Steve drove me to the office building where I got 
on-line to locate a rehabber from the MD-DNR website.  Then Steve drove me 
to boat dock where he and Amber piloted the boat delivering me and the owl 
to the mainland.

Once on shore, I drove the owl to the Bel Air Veterinary Hospital.  The owl 
was so weak that when the veterinarian placed it in a cage, it did not have 
the strength to grasp the log perch.  Instead it just laid on the bottom of 
the cage.  Unfortunately the owl succumbed after about an hour.

Gene

Gene Scarpulla
Millers Island, Maryland