Owl Documentary - Fascinating Facts About Owls (New Documentaries)

It's early morning, a summer's day in Austria's Weinville. This idyllic landscape owes its existence as much to man as it does to nature. Wild creatures adopted fields and woods carefully crafted over the centuries. Some play in the bright daylight. Those in the shadows stay out of sight. Hare, deer and pheasant are familiar figures in our lives. But one creature remains a mystery, hidden by a veil of darkness. The owl, emblem of wisdom, reclusive and silent hunter. Many old farmsteads in the Weinville no longer serve a purpose. Abandoned. Plants and animals quickly find a use for their aging angles and niches. These old walls are just another opportunity for ivy to reach the sunlight. And inside, another guest has made its home in the gloom. A barn owl. These birds are well named, they need these retreats. Barns are an ideal substitute for the caverns and cliff sides these owls once inhabited. But old wooden barns are increasingly rare. And the future of this most reclusive of owls is in danger. In her shadowy world, the barn owl depends on super sensitive hearing. Her face funnels sound to ears hidden under her feathers. But there's no need for acute hearing now. The owl senses the danger and leaves her home for the last time. There's simply no place for animal lodgers in today's agro-industry. The owl is unharmed, but what now? A modern steel construction will be erected here. No place for a barn owl who still needs a safe retreat. She must find a new home. And so begins a journey. A journey, an uncertain future. Barn owls prefer to stay close to where they were born. These are no wanderers. But where can she live now? Bare fields destroy shelter, pesticides decimate prey. And another threat rears into the sky. Turbulence from the rotating blades can upend the strongest flyer. Just after the wind farm is one of the greatest bird reserves in Europe. Lake Neusiedl National Park. This hardy, ancient breed of cattle once trekked all the way to Spain every year. The wide skies and soggy terrain are not for the barn owl. But they're perfect for the robust cattle on Austria's Hungarian border. If the owl finds no shelter here, it's due in part to the horses. Grazing free, they keep the vegetation down. Only the giant reed beds withstand their appetite. Trees are scarce. This European roller defends one as its lookout, a place to eat insects and frogs. Its bright feathers have been the birds undoing. They were ruthlessly hunted. Today, here at least, they're protected. In many regions, they've been wiped out. The avocet is actually a wader, more at home on Europe's North Sea coast. But in summer, so much water evaporates from the shallow, warm pools, they're almost as salty as the sea. Perfect for avocets raising their young. They scoop up insects, crabs and worms with their curved bill. Mother shows the way. The sun-baked wall of an old sandpit is home to an even rarer bird. The bee-eater. Despite its name, this bee-eater has caught a dragonfly. The large insect will make a meal for one of its chicks. Most of the young have already taken their first flights, but they'll stay close to home for some time. A young sea eagle is on the prowl. After much searching, our barn owl has found shelter in a tree just in time. Sea eagles are birds of prey, but seizing a small owl protected by dense branches demands too much skill from a still novice hunter. The eagle abandons its attempt and warps away on the wind. Our traveller's next encounter is with another owl. At first sight, it looks like a barn owl, but this is a short-eared owl, slightly darker plumage and a larger head. And it's hunting for mice. Short-eared owls, unlike barn owls, are nomads. They like wetlands, but they move from place to place. The short-eared owl poses no threat, and so the barn owl ventures out to join it in the hunt. Barn owls would normally hunt after dark, but hunger can force a homeless bird out in broad daylight. But there's no time for mice. There's double danger nearby. A stealthy golden jackal and a noisier threat, a combine harvester. The golden jackal beats a retreat. The short-eared owl was lucky. Her nest lies at the edge of the field. But another bird of prey is already circling. A harrier. To distract him from her nest, the short-eared owl attacks. Both birds are exceptional flyers. Finally, the harrier concedes defeat. The owl returns to her nest victorious. Her young remain safe and undetected. The mother stands guard, ready to defend her chicks at any moment. She doesn't have to wait long. A stork. Its diet is not limited to frogs and mice. Again, attack is the best form of defense. Wisely, the stork gives up and retreats. Unobserved, the hungry jackal returns to the meadow. What meets its eyes is one of the most impressive dance routines on the Pannonian plain. The courtship display of the great bastard. These birds grow up to one meter tall and can weigh as much as 15 kilos. They're the heaviest flying birds in the world. To attract the female's attention, the male contorts into such extreme shapes that his head eventually disappears from view. For the jackal, a fully grown bastard is simply too big. He heads off in search of a more manageable meal. It's also time for our owl to move on. She can't remain here. She wasn't made for life in steppe and wetland areas. Her odyssey continues. Still searching for a suitable dwelling, she investigates a small town. Drawn in by welcoming street lamps, our barn owl arrives at her destination. Church towers draw bats, birds of prey, and that's a tempting opening. But at the last minute, our owl turns away. Other birds have set up home in the tower. A pigeon has built a nest. Many birds are attracted to bell towers. And even if the bells are in operation, the deafening reverberations won't bother the tenants. Something that still remains a mystery. This cast iron piece, however, hasn't rung for years. The pigeon is not alone. Another owl has claimed the tower as its home. These young barn owls are waiting hungrily for their parents, huddled in a corner below the belt. Barn owls don't build nests, instead preferring the protection of nooks and crannies. What they need is a roof over their heads. But our barn owl has been forced to spend the whole night outdoors. In the morning, she surveys her surroundings and lands in the territory of a young, long-eared owl. She expresses her displeasure, sending out a clear warning signal, making herself as big as possible. But her thoughts are on her next meal. Owls treasure cemeteries, as here they can find mice that feast on the berries and seeds in the many wreaths and floral arrangements. The long-eared owl will not share. There's nothing for our barn owl here. Her decision to depart is welcomed. Owls, birds of the night, have long been associated with death. And it's not just their connection with cemeteries. Curiously, their dark association with the deceased is due to the light. The pale light of the candles that lure insects. Where there's prey, predators are never far away. And these night-time hunters cannot be heard. The legendary silent flight of most owls is due to a masterpiece of evolution. On the outermost edge of the wing feathers are fine teeth that break up the air into multitudes of tiny streams and so soften the sound of the wings. Not even the faintest hint betrays their approach. When a candle burned beside an open window at night, it meant that someone had died. The deceased were once laid out at home before being buried. With the approach of dawn, the mourners headed to their own beds. The little owl senses food. Owls owe their reputation as harbingers of death to a misunderstanding. The beetle would beg to disagree. The accidental association of owls with cemeteries and the dead had serious consequences. Demons, messengers of evil, winged banshees. No animal attracted as many negative labels as the owl. Portrayed as the creature of darkness, they were believed to bring plagues and terrible misfortunes. Pagans held them in high regard as wise and clever allies of man. No more reason for the church to decry the innocent owls as accomplices of the dark powers. This led to drastic and violent measures to ward off evil. Owls were not the only nocturnal creatures that drew the suspicion of man. The calls of other animals, too, fueled human fantasy and fear. And so wolves, and by association the golden jackal, were hunted down and killed. The relentless persecution almost spelled the end. Not only for the owls. It was feared that the golden jackal would attack farm animals. When the howl of the golden jackal and the eerie call of the eagle owl cut the still of the night. This was the chorus of evil. Golden jackals are omnivores, but few working animals rank among their prey. Nevertheless, sick and dead animals are a welcome addition to their menu. A fallen sheep, for example. In many regions, the numbers of wolves and golden jackals have yet to recover. And owls have struggled even more. This is in part down to the mice, their main prey, whose numbers have been falling for decades. Grains are efficiently harvested by machines. No seeds are left in the fields for the mice to eat. Some species are critically endangered. The loss of the mice, in turn, decimates owl populations. In her search for a new home, our owl flies over a woodland area. What will she encounter next? She inspects her surroundings. Old, hollow trees provide bees with a safe place for their hive. And the ancient and part-decayed giants are not only a home for insects, but a nesting site for many types of bird. It's practically a primeval forest. Huge, fallen trees decorated with glistening bracket fungus. The perfect refuge for endangered species. Here, our barn owl comes across another relative in the undergrowth. A ural owl. Once eradicated from vast areas of Europe by trophy hunters, in recent years, dedicated experts and owl fans have worked to return it to its former haunts. At this breeding station, the young birds are acclimatising to life in the open, before being released into the wild. Ural owls that have already returned to the wild watch the next generation. To date, more than 120 birds have been bred and released in Austria. The aim is to accelerate their recovery in Central Europe, while being careful to avoid inbreeding. Such intensive programmes could never be realised without the support of volunteers. A severe shortage of funds brings the need for improvisation. Too proud to breed in a bin? No. In this original and above all cheap nesting box, adult ural owls are happily bringing up their brood. The Austrian Federal Forestry Department and the Institute for Wildlife Ecology have successfully raised the ural owl population in this part of the world. And this isn't the only state intervention. In neighbouring Hungary, this long-eared owl was injured. It's one of many being cared for and prepared for a return to the wild. These two are almost back to full health. They're waiting to be fed. And they're no longer surprised by the unusual colour of what they're served. The birds are furnished with rings, so the researchers can check how they've managed in the wild. They show no signs of fear. They're used to human contact, and so far they've had no reason to be afraid. Releasing the birds is an exciting and proud moment for the handlers. This barn owl has also been nursed back to health and is about to regain its freedom. Once free, the birds often fly straight back to their old territories. Others are in less of a hurry. These brown owls, for instance, became independent shortly after hatching. But they're still a long way from taking flight. As if they had all the time in the world, they huddle together. They're still too young for a nocturnal excursion. With the arrival of autumn comes rain. The trees offer scant shelter. The temperature drops, and human compassion for our fellow creatures grows. As the thermometer falls below zero, sacks of food are hung from the branches of trees. Battles soon break out for the tasty treats. Great tit versus blue tit. Hunger outweighs kinship. But there's enough for everyone. The mouse is making an easy living from the fallen nuts. But it needs to be careful. Because it is food for our hungry barn owl. She takes her chance. A vital meal for our traveller. The last sunny autumn days in the Weinviertel cannot hold back the looming mist shelter from the cold. The doors of an old barn are an open invitation. Once inside, she checks whether she's safe. She doesn't know that the barn is already occupied. A little owl got there first. It warily observes the intruder. This building is an excellent winter retreat. These owls can tolerate one another in the same location. They just need time to get used to sharing. And there's no shortage of food. The little owl and barn owl clearly have an untroubled winter ahead of them. Two thousand years ago in Roman times, there were many little owls in Europe. Oak trees were abundant, as were stag beetles. And open air feasts were common. They often attracted uninvited guests. The stag beetle lands directly in the line of sight of a hungry little owl. Yet it can't pounce on its prey. It's tethered. In ancient Rome, the little owl served as a source of amusement to the wealthy citizens. A fellow little owl overhead is free from such restraint. The stag beetle, now recovered from its fall, is making the most of a nearby apricot. Meanwhile, wasps join the party. Magically lured by the scent of red wine. Animals were quick to profit from the legendary bounty of Roman feasts. There was always more than enough to go round. But the sweet temptation of the celebratory banquet can spell danger for the wasps. Here, there's no safe place to land. The little owl decides to follow its compatriot to freedom. But that's not possible. A stag beetle is showered in alcohol. While the pet little owl consoles itself with a local delicacy. Owls may be carnivores, but melon soaked in wine is a rare treat. Winter takes a firm hold in the vine fertile. But one owl species is not bothered by the coldest months of the year. The Ural owl is untroubled by the harshest of weather conditions. It hunts in the forest where the snow is less deep and the ground isn't completely frozen. It knows that sooner or later a mouse must venture out. Silently and majestically, Europe's heaviest native owl zeroes in on its prey. Nevertheless, only one attempt in ten ends in success. Sometimes even the mighty Ural owl comes up short. When the temperature plummets, some owls head into the cities. In the Serbian town of Kikinda, long-eared owls perch in the trees just like Christmas decorations. It looks magical, but there's an entirely practical explanation. In town, it's a few degrees warmer than out in the countryside. And when the snow is cleared from the streets, the mice are easier to catch. The owls use the trees day and night. Each bird knows its place and knows life is better here than exposed to the full force of the big freeze. Winter begins to retreat in the vine fertile. With the lengthening of the days, the imperative for the owls changes from simply staying alive to breeding. Our two owls have both survived the winter in their barn. At one end, our barn owl, and a safe distance away at the other, the little owl. He suddenly hears the call of arrival. He has to get out and draw the female's attention to him. It's mating season. The arrival of spring in the vineyards has enticed many animals out of their winter dwellings. Pheasants race across the snowless meadows in search of seeds and berries. The cock takes up position in his territory to attract his hens. Which ones will join his harem? Spring also awakens the wanderlust of our barn owl. She rocks from side to side, readying herself for takeoff. The warm weather is inviting. Everywhere, animals are busy mating. But she is still alone. So, once more, she resumes her journey. Brown hares chase across the field. But their game doesn't last long. Pumped-up males are soon squabbling over the attentions of a female. From the edge of the forest, the owl follows the buzz of spring activity. It's high season for bees and bumblebees. They collect nectar and pollen for themselves and their offspring. Their efforts not only guarantee the production of honey for their own survival, man and nature also profit from their invaluable pollination. Bees are the first to come out in the early days of spring. By vibrating their chest muscles, they generate the body heat required for flight. She is still looking for a suitable summer residence. She glides down a forest pathway that seems somewhat familiar. Owls are able to memorize their routes and the locations they led to. Her odyssey may be at an end. With the village in sight, the church tower cannot be far away. The perfect dwelling. Yet every potential opening is blocked. And so she returns to the garden of the old vicarage as her new home. But it's not hers alone. A variety of animals have found refuge in the overgrown garden. Like the spotted flycatcher on its favorite perch, an expert at catching insects in flight. Both parents are responsible for feeding, while brooding is the task of the female alone. European starlings bring up their young in the hollow of an old tree. The little owl is also preoccupied with parental duties. Its offspring peeks out into the open. It still has to get used to the pesky flies. As the mother joins her young under the roof, heat is detonated in the nearby quarry. A ural owl also hears the blast. The owl takes to the air, but not through fear. It knows that the explosion is the ideal opportunity to pounce on the many small animals frightened from their hideaways. The ural owl is excited. Its throat quivers, flees from the explosion. Precisely in the direction of the bird of prey. The time has come for the young little owl to make its maiden flight. The first stop is a bath in the sand to cleanse its plumage of parasites picked up in the parental nest. The mother little owl watches her offspring. But from now on, the young owl is on its own. In the meantime, our barn owl has been making a more thorough inspection of the newly discovered rectory. Watching as a swallow flies through an open window. Swallows are true masters of precision flight. At 80 kilometers an hour, they navigate effortlessly through the bars. For their young, it's not a second too soon. Filling their hungry beaks is a full-time job. These nest visits trigger the predatory instinct of the barn owl. Although she's much bigger than the swallow, she doesn't flinch at the chance to slip through the bars and discover what lies within. For the mice in the larder, conditions are perfect. But they're merely fattening themselves up for the benefit of others. The swallow calls out in panic. But she's safe. The owl is enjoying her spoils. The swallow parents continue their clamor. And eventually, it has the desired effect. There's plenty more for the owl to explore. A domestic cat hears the ravenous cries of the young spotted flycatchers. But she's lazy and well-fed. The owl must finally find a place for herself. Not here, though. She continues her search. One floor higher. An attic that ticks all the boxes. Quiet, dark. It seems she's finally found her dream home. Curling her talons into a fist is a sure sign that she's relaxed. Time to take a nap. The owl's eyes gleam in the dark. She can see in extremely dim light. But in pitch darkness, even she cannot make anything out. The attic seems to have enough food for all its inhabitants. The first at the dining table are the mice. They're unaware that they're being watched. And not by one barn owl. But also by a second. A youngster. He's still too clumsy to catch mice. Meanwhile, the mice have hit the jackpot. Bags of nuts suspended high above the floor. To keep them away from hungry mouths. But this proves no obstacle for the mice. Boldly, they skip along the narrow walkway. Despite there being no room for error. Sensing something else, our barn owl leaves the mice in peace. An Aesculapian snake. The owl is too big a prey for the snake. And the snake is too big for the owl. Both keep their distance. The owl gives a clear warning and steps back. And the snake retreats. Our owl is soon distracted by other noises. The unmistakable call of the young of her own kind. From an owl breeding box. Put here by ornithologists. The mother is busy delivering mice for her brood. She ignores the presence of the newcomer. The young were born a few days apart. So they're all different in size. The oldest is almost a decade old. The youngest is a teenager. While the smallest has yet to shake off the remains of its shell. Outside the nest box. Older offspring are rehearsing for the day when they will have to fend for themselves. For now, they stay close to their brothers and sisters. But as soon as they're able to fly, they will go their own way in the wild. The future of all owls depends on an abundance of mice. On dedicated breeding programs. On human tolerance. And not least, on a safe place to live. Our barn owl has found a place to live. Perhaps she will soon have young of her own. With one of the young males about to take flight. And follow their mother into the wild world that awaits.