Things That Go Hoot in the Night

Every Halloween, the birds come out to play. Owls watch from haunted trees. Ravens perch beside witches. Crows gather ominously on fence posts, and vultures circle over places we would rather not investigate.

It is a strange reputation for animals that are simply going about their lives. But I can see how these stories started. I have heard some of these birds in the dark, watched others do things that seemed impossible, and encountered a few that looked as though they came dressed for Halloween.

The truth, it turns out, can be every bit as spooky—and a lot more fun—than the legends.

It was just after midnight, and I was getting ready for bed when I heard something strange outside. Was that a baby crying?

I opened Merlin to help identify the sound. A Great Horned Owl! After searching the darkness, I found him perched at the top of a pine tree in my backyard. My first Great Horned Owl, right outside my bedroom window.

Of course I wanted a photograph. I opened the window, raised its retractable screen so there was no glass or mesh in the way, and pointed my camera toward the tree. The result was basically a black blob. But it was *my* black blob.

I knew long exposures were possible, even though I had never really tried them. So out came the tripod. I started experimenting with the camera settings until the owl slowly emerged from the darkness. Then I switched to video and tried something else I had never done: changing video settings in real time to pull more light out of the night.

In that recording, you can hear the owl calling—and the clicks of my camera wheels as I work out the settings. The picture begins almost completely black. Then, little by little, there he is. I spent nearly half an hour with him, all from my bedroom window. By the time I put the camera away, I was far too excited to sleep.

I plan to share a short edit of that video here. Turn up the sound: the owl appears only after you have heard him.

For centuries, people have heard owls calling unseen from the darkness and wondered what those voices meant. Some traditions treated owls as warnings; others made them symbols of wisdom. I did not need an omen that night. I had something better: my first Great Horned Owl.

Whoever decided owls should say “hoot” clearly had not spent much time listening to Barn Owls.

I was camping in Idaho with my sons and a youth group when we heard what sounded like banshees screaming outside our tents. Barn Owls. If you have never heard one, forget the cozy hooting sound from cartoons. Their harsh, raspy shrieks sound like they belong in a ghost story.

Now add a pale, heart-shaped face and wings that can carry the bird through the night with remarkably little sound. No wonder people came up with supernatural explanations.

Those ghostly features have a very practical purpose. A Barn Owl’s facial disk helps direct sound toward its ears, and specialized feathers make its flight exceptionally quiet. It can listen for prey without the noise of its own wings getting in the way.

Knowing how it works is fascinating. Hearing those screams outside a tent, though? Still pretty unsettling.

Ravens and crows have their own place in Halloween decorations, but you do not have to invent much to make them mysterious. They already seem to know more than they should.

Edgar Allan Poe made the raven famous for repeating “Nevermore.” Here is a fun twist: when he was thinking through the poem, Poe considered using a parrot before settling on the more ominous raven. Real ravens can imitate a surprising range of sounds, too.

I learned that firsthand in Alaska. We spent a few minutes trying to find what sounded like dripping water from a leaky pipe. It was not a pipe at all. It was a raven making the sound. I am not sure who was more entertained, the raven or us.

Crows bring a different kind of creepiness. They recognize individual human faces and can remember people they associate with danger. They also gather noisily around dead crows, behavior sometimes called a “crow funeral.” Researchers think those gatherings help other crows learn about threats. A murder of crows holding a safety meeting? That may be more unsettling than the folklore.

If you want a closer look at these brilliant birds, our Corvids guide explores what makes ravens and crows so remarkable.

After a cruise, I rented a car through Turo so we could explore the Florida Everglades. We drove around spotting some amazing alligators. Then we reached a place that announced itself before we even understood what we were looking at.

We smelled it first. Death. And it was not subtle.

A massive flock of Black Vultures was tearing apart an alligator carcass. We had set out hoping to see alligators, and here was one being eaten by birds. Not exactly the postcard version of the Everglades.

Vultures have an unfortunate reputation because they show up around death. But they are not bringing it; they are cleaning up after it. By consuming carcasses, they recycle nutrients and help remove decaying animals from the landscape. It is an essential job, even if the dining room leaves a little to be desired.

Black Vultures often find food by watching other scavengers. Turkey Vultures, on the other hand, have an unusually keen sense of smell for a bird. Their ability to find carrion is impressive, even if I would rather not follow my nose to their next meal.

For more on these fascinating scavengers, visit our Vultures & Osprey guide.

So far we have met birds with ghostly voices, suspicious intelligence, and a taste for the dead. But Halloween has room for one more kind of bird: the one that looks as though someone already got it a costume.

Meet the Andean Cock-of-the-rock. Is it a bird? A Muppet? Some kind of orange alien? And where, exactly, did its beak go?

I flew to Ecuador for a quick business trip, and my host graciously arranged for me to spend a full day exploring with a local birding guide, Roberto. While preparing for the trip and looking through photos of possible birds, one ridiculous orange creature shot straight to the top of my wish list. You guessed it.

Roberto knew just where to go. A friend of his had told him about strange noises coming from the forest near her property. Every morning and every afternoon, at about the same time, the racket would start. She had no idea what it was. Roberto knew exactly: an Andean Cock-of-the-rock lek.

A lek is a place where males gather to display and compete for the attention of females. Roberto and his friend had created a viewing blind tucked into the mountainside, giving us excellent views while keeping us hidden from the spectacle.

Roberto said the boys would come out in the morning and again around four in the afternoon to do their thing. And they did not disappoint. From the blind, we watched the brilliant orange birds call and perform their elaborate courtship show. I wish I had video of this one. A still photograph captures the outrageous crest, but not the whole performance.

Some birds need centuries of legends to earn a place in a Halloween story. This one just needs to show up.

An owl calling outside my bedroom window. Barn Owls screaming by our tents. A raven imitating a leaky pipe. Vultures turning an alligator into dinner. An orange bird performing from a hidden stage in the Ecuadorian mountains.

What do they have in common? They all remind me how wonderfully strange birds can be. Some inspired legends because people could hear them but not see them. Some seemed to know things we did not. And some look like imagination got completely out of hand.

So this Halloween, listen for the hoots, keep an eye on the crows, and give the vultures a little credit. The real birds are often better than the spooky stories we invent about them.