WEST CENTRAL MISSOURI — Most of the day hadn’t been very good. The fencerows were empty for miles and miles. There wasn’t even one Harris’s Sparrow. A few American Tree Sparrows skulked and scattered. The stockyards were empty of blackbirds. The pines at Schell-Osage didn’t even yield a kinglet, let alone Red-breasted Nuthatches or Long-eared Owls. On the other hand, we (Charley and I) saw plenty of Red-headed Woodpeckers doing their dramatic aerial displays.

Aside from the thousands of Snow Geese at Schell-Osage (an wondrous sight, don’t get me wrong), waterfowl were scarce. We couldn’t find a single Ross’s Goose, and ducks were limited to a few of the most common species.

Raptors were uncooperative too, except for the eagles at Schell-Osage. The lone rough-leg was in the sun and flying away. The lone Prairie Falcon flew fast and straight and never allowed us good looks, despite our speeding after him down a gravel road. And for all we knew, there wasn’t a Golden Eagle for 500 miles.

We ended the day at Prairie State Park and decided to stay and look for Short-eared Owls. As the sun set, a few prairie-chickens flew overhead.

We parked by the side of the road and got out to wait for owls. The prairie was full of harriers. Apparently there was a roost on the prairie over a hill from us, and they kept arriving and circling. I don’t think I’d ever seen that many in one place before.

Then something different appeared. The wingbeats caught my eye first of course; the stiff, odd rhythm is decidedly un-harrierlike and identified the bird at some distance. The owl came closer — pale, big-headed, mothlike — and zigzagged across the prairie. More short-ears arrived, and Charley and I took turns following them with the scope and watching with our binocs.

I happened to look down the road and see a Great Horned Owl sitting in a tree. One of the short-ears saw it too and wasn’t happy. The smaller owl kept flying over and diving at the GHO, uttering its strange barking call. The GHO never budged.

Meanwhile, the crepuscular hunt continued. Sometimes the owls executed dramatic sweeps, turns, and dives down into the grasses. Sometimes they flew closer and closer, almost toward us. The frustrations of the day faded and softened. Darkness descended, and the great dance went on.

And so another year was gone.

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