Here in western Pickering last night, around 9 p.m., I could clearly hear two Barred owls calling in the woodlot across the street. This woodlot is near the Rouge Park. One of these owls had a lower pitched call than the other. The owl with the higher pitch "hoo-hoo" was the most vocal. Sometimes they called in quick succession and sometimes they hooted simultaneously. The baritone seemed to be perched closer to the ground than the alto. If it wasn't so cold this morning, and if I wasn't so adverse to it I would attempt to explore that section of the woodlot. I recall the woodlot being so dense with tangle that negotiating any part of it in the past seemed a trial of endurance. Doing so reminded me of my father's description of the"bush" in northern Ontario where he went moose hunting in the 1960's as being near impenetrable, especially whilst carrying a rifle and the heavy burden of expectations. Should I venture forth with a camera and the more contemporary burden of anticipation?
