I visited my family in Norfolk, England in late November-early December. This was our first time together since before the pandemic. It was really good to see everyone. Most days I did some birding. I found Cettie's warblers and a Great egret-both birds that were much harder to find in Britain when I left in the nineties. Dad and I flushed a little owl out of a barn near Fiona's house. I heard stacks of tawny owls near her home, and eventually got views of one bird in flight. A barn owl that briefly called near her house remained elusive and I never saw it.
I had decided to visit Morocco as part of the trip. Maghreb owl has recently been split from Tawny owl, and the Pharaoh Eagle owl had been separated by Clements into two groups, "Pharaoh" from North Africa, and "Desert" from the Arabian peninsular. I had found the "Desert" form in the Emirates, but the "Pharaoh" form would be a lifer for me. The other draw for me was to look for the northern race of Marsh owl, which is now an extremely rare bird.
December 6th. Dad and I got up at the ungodly hour of 3am on a cold frosty morning. We left my sister's driving across Norfolk, Suffolk and into Essex to reach Stansted airport a bit after 5am. I said goodbye to Dad and entered the chaos of the terminal. My flight was with Ryan air, and they lived up to my low expectations-I was charged 55 Euros because I hadn't checked in online. The plane was bus-like, and I was trapped trying to hold my bladder that wanted to burst like a balloon by a snoring lady in the aisle seat. I arrived in Marrakesh three hours later, and rushed across the sunny asphalt to the terminal, finding sweet relief in a cool tiled toilet. A half an hour later I was driving a little white rental car out of the airport.
Thanks to Google maps I made it out of Marrakesh without getting lost. The highway crossed a stony plain, then rose through some piney foothills, and finally into the High Atlas. There was a ton of road construction, and it was hard to make progress. I was motivated to make it to my destination, Boumalne Dades, at the Northern end of the Sahara before sunset. I pressed the little white Kia hard, and did my best to pass the old Mercedes minibuses that lumbered over the passes. Eventually I descended across the far side of the Atlas. I stopped for a quick meal of beans and bread. Then the road opened up into the desert. I called Mustapha, a guide at Riad Dades Birds http://www.riaddadesbirds.com/ . This is a hotel that also runs guiding services, mostly specializing in the local desert species. I let Mustapha know that I should be there before sunset. The hotel was at the end of a maze of little walled dirt roads. Mustapha was waiting for me. He was a young energetic Berber guy, raised out in the Sahara. He tells me to hurry, as the owl lives half an hour away and it's getting late. We sped along the highway as the sun descended over the Anti Atlas. We pulled onto a rough piste and parked next to a ruined building. Mustapha walked quickly across a rocky plain to a wadi. We followed the sandy wadi to an open canyon, and then started searching white-wash splattered rocks for pharaoh eagle-owl. Soon Mustapha spotted the owl, perched on a ledge. The beautiful, big, orange-eyed owl stared down at us from it's sandstone perch. Compared with the bird I had seen in the Emirates, I was stuck by it being more intensively marked below, being less orange, and more sandy-colored and probably smaller. Fortunately the bird flew several times, eventually up onto the lip of the canyon, a perfect place to sing from. Soon, it was singing, a single hoot, given several times per minute. Like a great-horned owl, it sung from a horizontal position, with it's throat puffed out, and it's tail cocked, like a giant wren. The sun had long since set, and it was very beautiful standing under this vast desert sky watching the big owl sing.
Happy we drove back to the hotel. In town the streets were full of celebrating men and boys, crowds reached out to touch our passing car. Morocco had beaten Spain in the world cup. The Spanish have long fucked with Morocco and still hold enclaves along the North coast. I am sure victory was sweet. After dinner of Tagine, (a sort of stew on a clay pot with a lid), I headed out into town to look for little owls. Walking the walled tracks, I did my best to avoid the barking dogs. Soon I heard a singing owl, and moments later found a bird on the wire. The birds here are a different race from little owls of Western Europe. From my brief views, they looked fairly normal, and not conspicuously pale.
I slept heavily reassured that there were no other regular owls to look for in the area.
Dec 7th. I woke and had breakfast before dawn, and then set out with Mustapha to the Eagle owl site again. Along the way we saw a flyby pin-tailed sandgrouse, a hunting long-winged buzzard and some lovely Temmink's larks. The owl had moved to a new location, deep in broad crack in the canyon wall, out of sight of passing ravens.
I really wanted to explore the area more fully, but had another 5 hour drive to the site for the Maghreb owl. I ran Mustapha back to the hotel and packed up and hit the road. Coming out of a small desert village, I got stuck behind a slow moving taxi. As the road straightened, I zipped past, and as I pulled in front of the taxi, I looked ahead and saw a policeman aiming a radar gun at me. A grinning young office dressed in gray waved me to the side of the road. After a short exchange he suggested I install the app Waze (which show speed limits). "You are free of a ticket" he told me, and happily I dove off. The rest of the drive was a bit less fun, knowing that I had to follow the speed limit. I tried to brighten it up by stopping and picking up some hitch hikers. Both sets didn't speak English, so I had to make do with a few words of French. I retraced by route back across the High Atlas, and near Marrakesh, I headed West into the Ourika Valley on the North side of the High Atlas. I pulled into a small town full of hotels and outdoor restaurants. I stopped at Auberge Le Marquis, a somewhat fancy, but completely empty hotel. I had been told that the Maghreb owl frequents a big pine tree in front of the hotel. I showed the desk clerk a photo of the owl, but he just smiled.
Once I checked in, I headed out to walk the main strip. My initial impression wasn't optimistic. The road was busy and noisy, and all the good trees are in the private grounds of hotels and restaurants. Still, I do my best to find the best looking trees. Most of the birds here are familiar, but African blue tit and Maghreb magpie were new. I eat Tagine, stewed in prunes. Once it's dark I head out, but it's so noisy and crowded, that I take a side valley and walk along a dried up stream bed, under some olive trees. The silence is beautiful, but alas I hear no owls. Next, I drove up to the grounds of the fancy Hotel Top Ourika. I pulled into the parking lot, opened the door, and heard a Maghreb owl singing from the hotel garden. I crept under the oaks trying to get closer. My heart was pounding. The owl fell silent for a couple of minutes. I waited. Then it started singing from down by the river. To get closer I had to climb a wall and sneak through someone's gardens, then climb down another wall into the flood plain. The trees are still in leaf, and when I turned on the flashlight all I see is a blaze of foliage. Eventually all the cracking of dry twigs underfoot flushed the owl, and I see it fly across a moonlit sky. It continued to call from behind another backyard, but there are people all around that yard and I decide to look for a different owl, in a better place.
I drove up the mountains to Aurocher Ourika (a mountain resort). I parked the car and started hiking up the road. Under the moon, this place was beautiful, with pine trees, old mud-walled farms and big stone bluffs. Across the valley a Maghreb owl sang. I hustled up the road, following a long hairpin bend, until I reached a spot near the singing owl. Eventually the owl took flight from the pines. Against the moon, I could see it's long wedge-shaped tail-an uncommon feature for owls. Eventually I found the fantastic owl perched very low in a pine tree from just 3 meters away. The owl gazed back at me with unflinching black eyes. Although similar to tawny owl, the differences are obvious, the song is lower pitched, the markings on the underparts are stronger, the upper parts are darker and the bird is larger. What a fucking brilliant bird, just so beautiful, and what a great place to find it. Happy, I walked back to the car and drive back to the hotel.
Dec 8th. This is my tough day. I had a 500km journey to Moulay Bouselham for marsh owl. Then I had to drive a similar distance back to Marrakesh in order to make my flight. The day started well, and I drove down out the mountains, across Marrakesh to the fast toll road for Casablanca. The weather turned, and it rained on and off. I worried about the rain. I picked up a hitch-hiker called Ali. He is a remarkably loud talker, and while I drove he showed me his brother's X-rays, which he had on his phone. He is visiting his brother in Casablanca. He asked me for money to help with his brother's medical bills. It's a bit early in our relationship, so I decline (several times). I dropped Ali off at the outskirts of Casablanca, and watched, alarmed, as he continued his journey on foot, seemingly oblivious to the honking cars speeding by ever so close. Between Casablanca and Rabat a big white dog ran across the road. I hit the breaks, and the small car skids a little and missed the lucky dog by a hair. It's mid afternoon when I arrived at Le Nid Du Hibou, a modest guest house in Moulay Bouselham. It's run by Khalil 212-663095358 (WhatsApp). Khalil was a fun, older guy, with a big voice and a passion for marsh owls.
After a quick mint tea we headed out to look for marsh owls. Immediately we get snarled up in bad traffic at the Souk (it's Thursday, market day). After all the driving today, I was itching to get out of the car. Eventually we passed the crowded souk, and made our way through some fields, down a sandy track to a large tree, where we parked next to a forlorn looking horse. At this place some intensive export-orientated agriculture (avocados, strawberries, raspberries etc) meets some rough pasture that circles a lagoon. With pieces of black agricultural plastic caught on every tree and fence, flapping like tatty flags, the place is more free trade than fair trade. Kahil talked with some boys and asked them if they have seen the owls. We walked about into some dense patches of reeds hoping to find some owls. After about an hour all we have found are a couple of quail, a marsh harrier and a sparrowhawk. Khalil explained that he had hope to find the owls in the more natural area, but they are likely in the farmland. We walk up to a small fallow area between fields of potatoes and new avocado trees. Almost immediately, one, then two then nine beautiful big tawny and coffee-colored owls flush up, flap for a few seconds, then drop down into some dense cover. It's shocking to find nine, I don't know the population of this bird in Northern Africa, but it's probably no more than 100. I didn't want to disturb the birds anymore, so we retreated. We decided to wait until dusk to see if we can observe the birds hunting. Khalil tells me his will pray now. As I dad of a boy with autism, I can appreciate a man who can multitask (over one with a laser sharp focus). I head to the lagoon to watch some shore birds between a couple of rain squalls. Down by the shore, the mud and salt water plants and singing Curlews reminded me of my early days birding the Solway Firth.
Khalil and I found each other and wandered back toward the fallow field the owls are roosting in. Magically one by one, they emerge. Some flew low, and start hunting the grassland around us. Others flew high overhead for places far flung, perhaps on the far side of the lagoon. After the ninth owl left, we head back content. Khalil has collected a bounty of great white mushrooms. Back at his guest house, his family has prepared a fish tagine. I ate the food hungrily, watched by a couple of skinny cats. I said goodbye and thank you to Khalil, sorry not to spend the night at his place. Reluctantly, I get back into the Kia and hit the road.
The drive back to Marrakesh was strange. Near Rabat a long-eared owl flew by the car. Then a semi pulled out in front of me going much slower, and I almost hit it. Then passing through a narrow construction zone another big truck honked and flashed it's lights, then passed so close, I was sure it was going to hit me. Then a couple of cars almost collided in front of me, one almost loosing control as it swerved into a coned construction zone. After Casablanca traffic became much lighter. Fortified by a black coffee, I pressed on and drove most the way to Marrakesh. I had hoped for a hotel, but was just too tired to search for one, and ended up sleeping in a truck stop parking lot, something I hadn't done since Columbia in 2009.
Dec 9th. I slept surprisingly well in the little Kia. Despite a late flight out of Marrakesh I made my tight connection in Madrid, running like a fool in my big boots through the terminal. A 13 hour lay over in Dallas rounded out a long, long journey.
