A Mysterious Affair at Amherst, Epilogue

Forgive me for I have committed a cardinal sin. I started a series of posts and then left them floating in the webosphere as I dropped off the face of the Internet. St. Jerome, Patron Saint of Sarcastic Bloggers, pray for me.

I'd keep this pithy "whodunit" going a while longer, but I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure where I was going with it in the first place. It started quite by accident, a silly mood brought on by one too many drinks, one too many good birds on a (then-recent) trip to Canada, and long-standing love affair with Agatha Christie novels.

I suppose this would be the part where Hercule Poirot gathers all of the suspects in a room and, after employing the little gray cells, exonerates everyone except the guilty party, the one person or duo we never dreamed of suspecting. I didn't give out many (any?) clues, so there was nothing to figure out - sadly, I don't have Ms. Christie's talents, particularly planning and forethought, so I will spare any attempt to gracefully dig myself out of this.

So, some explanations. Who were the victims? Two cousins, Aegolius funereus and A. acadicus, known to their friends as Boreal and Northern Saw-whet Owl, and their buddy Asio otus, or Long-eared Owl. The killer? Strix varia, a.k.a. Barred Owl (No way! I'd never have guessed!). And what in the Sam Hill was going on at Amherst? Elementary, my dear Watson.

But first, what is Amherst? In this case, an island situated in the northeast portion of Lake Ontario. No bridge connects it to the mainland, a ferry is the only way to get back and forth. If the ferry stops running, you're quite cut off from civilization - sounds like a set up for The Mousetrap or And Then There Were None, mua-hahahhaha! Sorry, we're done with that now, aren't we?

You're not really cut off. It's a 15-minute ferry ride, every hour on the hour. There are no public restrooms, but there is a Bed and Breakfast. And the wonder of Amherst Island, to birders, is the wintering population of raptors, especially owls, and especially in irruptive years. You're likely, even guaranteed, to come across birders as they patrol the roads, searching the fields for Snowy and Short-eared Owls, Rough-legged and Red-tailed Hawks, American Kestrels, Northern Harriers, and (fingers crossed!) a Northern Hawk-owl or Great Gray Owl.

The star of the island is a grove of conifers, cedars and pines, mostly, known as "Owl Woods." A short trek from the road and you are surrounded by needle-laden branches, any of which can hold a Long-eared, Northern Saw-whet, or Boreal Owl. Getting to be a pretty good day list, right? No wonder it's an attraction for birders. But what's the attraction to owls?

In the fall they migrate south, in some years, those with food shortages in the boreal forest, they arrive in high numbers. The birds have no problem flying over land to southern Ontario, they easily handle the short moat between the mainland and the island. But then they're faced with the lake, miles of open water which they're reluctant to cross. So they stay put, settling in for the winter. As long as the rodent population holds things are wonderful for everyone involved.

We planned a trip for early February to explore the Kingston, Ontario area and make a day trip to search for owls on Amherst Island. Here's a tip: if you're going to take an almost-five year old birding, owls are a great target bird, especially ones that are perched low and are disposed to stay put when stared at.

Anyway, while checking the Ontario listserve I found some depressing reports. The number of individuals residing in Owl Woods was steadily dropping. Mid-December reports counted three Boreal Owls, which soon dropped to two, then down to one. Reported numbers of Long-eared Owl were also decreasing, as were Northern Saw-whet Owls. Carcasses of both Boreal and saw-whets were found by birders trudging through the woods. And shortly before all of this happened the population of Barred Owls increased, from zero to one. Because it's a small area and there's virtually no migration off the island until spring, the interpretation was the Barred Owl was depredating the smaller owls.

Makes for a nice mystery, if the Barred Owl didn't enter the picture with a reputation of preying upon smaller owls. Maybe if it was another, more innocuous species, maybe a handsomely-attired Snow Bunting. Who knows, perhaps something like this inspired Ms. Christie to start writing mystery novels. I know your interest is piqued: what did we see on our trip? Did we find the Barred Owl? Any carcasses? Were any smaller owls left at all? More shortly (I promise!).

By the way, here are some alternate names I thought about using, along with their original titles. Got any others I should have considered?

Murder Most Fowl (William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene V)
Evil Under the Moon (Agatha Christie, Evil Under the Sun)
The Owltrap (Agatha Christie, The Mousetrap)
The O.W.L. Murders (Agatha Christie, The A.B.C. Murders)
And Then There Were None (Agatha Christie, And Then There Were None)

-

A Mysterious Affair at Amherst, Chapter II

The cloudless sky allowed the light of the waning gibbous moon to illuminate the fields. The killer was awake, nerves heightened by the upcoming hunt, but he remained steadfast in his methodology. Though he had rested through the afternoon, through the evening, he had remained preternaturally alert to any outside disturbances.

He casually watched a family of deer walk within a few feet of his hiding place, browsing on the cedars. He had already spotted his next victim. She was beautiful by all accounts, most remarked on her eyes. They were expressive and wide, giving the air of wisdom. Some were amused that she perpetually appeared surprised.

She shook off the wind with a shiver, an extended flourish. Even her involuntary, physiological movements were graceful. He never hesitated, not a moment of appreciation as he attacked. It was over in a heartbeat, she had never even heard him coming.

Her mutilated body was found the next morning, again by a hiker. This time the killer was not watching the discovery, he had fled shortly before dawn. He wasn't far, it wasn't a large island, but he remained comfortably out of sight and away from possible disturbances. The killing didn't affect him, he possessed a steely coldness not only about the process, but to the stir his activities were causing in the local community. In fact, he was completely indifferent to the follow-up investigations and the media coverage, aspects most serial killers vigilantly pursued. He could not have cared less.

Ultimately, four bodies would be discovered over twelve days. If he had cared to comment he would have shrugged it off. After all, what will they say when they find the others?

-

A Mysterious Affair at Amherst, Chapter I

The north shore of Lake Ontario is frigid in the winter months, January the coldest month of all. The strong south wind, cooled by the ice-covered lake, blew onshore with near gale-force gusts. The woods provided enough shelter that it was actually comfortable within the grove of evergreens.

Alex stared at the body, mortified at the sight. The state of the body made it clear it was no longer alive. The internal organs were fully exposed, the head bent at an unnatural angle. The ferocity of the presumed attack was almost frightening. Alex pulled off his backpack, eyes never leaving the frozen victim.

The killer sat silently, watching Alex approach the body. Slowly turning his head, he surveyed the area. Satisfied they were alone in the woods he turned his attention back to the scene unfolding before him. He was content to watch, leaving the newcomer to investigate and hurry off through the woods a short time later. He closed his eyes to rest, knowing the urge to kill would come again, sooner than expected.

It always did.

-

A Mysterious Affair at Amherst

The Beginning
Stepping carefully, snow crunching under his insulated Timberland boots, the lone hiker made his way through a stand of leafless aspen and birch trees. The layer of ice beneath the new-fallen snow required a shorter gait, one necessitating a short slide after placing each foot. This is more like skating than hiking, he grumbled, knowing winter's icy grip wouldn't acquiesce anytime soon.

Emerging from the woods he paused to scan an open field, eying the patch of evergreens at the far end. He fervently hoped the tightly-packed trees would mean easier walking once he ducked under their overhanging branches. Before starting across the field he noticed the quiet. The chickadees and jays from the woods had moved elsewhere, only his breathing broke the silence. He carefully started across the field.

Where the trail met the woods it split into three directions. He pondered each as he scanned through the trees, envisioning paths that would allow minimal disturbance. He started off to the west. Minutes later he turned a slow circle, thinking how easy it would be to get lost if you weren't paying attention. Bread crumbs and pebbles crossed his mind.

That's when he noticed the body.

To be continued . . . .

-

Pigeonholed

With few exceptions, bloggers are writers. One non-birding blog I like, Whiskey River, involves no original writing, just quotes. Very novel, and if done well (which it is), the quote says all that is needed.

But the rest of us express ourselves through a combination of words and images, and, stating the obvious, no two blogs are alike. Similar, yes, but not alike, and that property leads to the singular question, "What are the different types of nature-blog writing and, by extension, the writers? Can we all be pigeonholed?"

It'll take someone with more insight and experience than me to do this. That, and to a degree it's already done. Nature bloggers are very much like travel writers, and Tim Patterson has already defined the six personalities of travel writing. Why not piggy-back on his observations?

While there is little I enjoy more than opining and compartmentalizing others, I won't. Not here, anyway. Check out his article and classify yourself, and feel free to report back and comment on your "writing personality." Hey, it's just between us, so invent a new one if needed.

My self-analysis: personality-wise, I've been called a "Naked Introvert" on more than one occasion. I suspect that carries over to my writing, too.

• Rock Pigeon image © J.M.Garg

If I Had a Million Checklists

Milestone alert: in December eBird, the online checklist program run by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, received its one millionth checklist. As this press release notes, it wasn't that long ago when the project was receiving 5,000 checklists per month; now it's up to 50,000 per month.

This milestone is great news for a lot of reasons, but one of the serendipitous sides was who entered the checklist: none other than the author of one of my regular stops in the blogosphere, John of "A DC Birding Blog." You can read how surprised he was to find out the news, and that a new pair of Zeiss was on its way, on his blog post.

Congrats, John! Now, when will checklist 2,000,000 come in (and who will submit it)? You've got to play to win! Visit eBird and contribute, no checklist is too small.

• Information about birds can be found at All About Birds | Bird Guide
• Post title credit: If I Had $1000000 (1992), Barenaked Ladies.