CREEKSIDE AT THE CIBOLO CIBOL
Immersing myself in nature for 50-plus years has provided many amazing encounters of the wild kind.
They don’t include wolves or bears or mountain lions — well, there was that one — but I have enjoyed encounters with winged predators from hawks and eagles to dragons, damsels and robbers ... flies that is.
The relationship I have built with one predator stands above all else. In 1975 or ‘76 I was granted the opportunity to attend nature camp at Springbrook Learning Center near Guthrie Center, Iowa.
I was beside myself with joy. That week introduced me to a world of naturalists and outdoor educators. Unbeknownst to me then, this would become my lifelong career path.
One cold night we went on an owl prowl. Our target was the great horned owl, though any owl would have sufficed.
While our naturalist called for the owl, I noticed he wore a hard hat. When asked why, he told the story of calling in an owl that dive-bombed him, leaving several talon tears on his scalp. I was mesmerized. That encounter sparked a lifelong interest in calling owls.
Fast forward through two college degrees, a marriage, two children and a few nature center jobs later, talking to Barred Owls began bearing fruit.
I would repeatedly call out “Who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you-alllll” when suddenly, they started calling back. The first time was as thrilling as the last, which occurred at the Cibolo Nature Center.
For several years during visits by my wife’s nephew, Ethan, we would head to Cibolo Creek to call the resident owls. Each time we failed, Ethan thought he was a jinx. This year, he was ready to try, but expected failure — again.
I explained that Barred Owls don’t call much during summer’s heat, so it wasn’t his fault. I told him this year would be different ... and so it was.
I began calling. First, a “whoooo-ahhhh” search call followed by versions of the typical call. No luck at our first two stops. At the third stop, with our luck seemingly fading like the light in the west, we heard “whooooahhhh” near our first stop.
I returned the call — nothing in response. Ethan asked if that was it; I replied maybe, maybe not.
We retraced our steps, and I called again — hoping that maybe, just maybe, the evening was not over.
After the umpteenth reminder about patience, two birds flew silently into our view — the owls were here!
Their calls revealed an exact location which allowed Ethan to come nearly noseto- beak through his new binoculars. Then the caterwauling began; in Ethan’s words, “It was awesome.” My thoughts exactly.
Eventually, a curious owl landed a mere 15 feet away, remaining there long enough for Ethan to Facetime his parents and show them the owl.
Imagine the memory Ethan will have of sharing the sight and sounds of a Barred Owl with his parents while they sat in a restaurant in Lubbock.
Never again will Ethan think he was the reason the owls wouldn’t appear. He’ll always have this experience to talk about — and talk he will.
Ethan’s experience is the reason nature centers like The Cibolo are necessary. They create memories. As in my case, sometimes those memories turn into careers.
I was heartbroken to discover that Springbrook closed in 2017 due to a lack of interest from local schools. The week I spent there forged my career as a naturalist and educator. Without it, who knows where the road might have led?
Last Friday put a wrap on another memorable summer of Cibolo nature camps, perhaps opening the door for a future naturalist. Having those experiences firsthand, the demise of my beloved Springbrook reinforces how important nature centers are to a community.
For one the size of Boerne, having a nature center is a rare gift. I encourage you to visit The Cibolo, explore its trails and share nature with your children or grandchildren.
Support the center for its contributions to the community. We never know how lucky we are until something is gone. Let’s make sure that never happens here, for memories are waiting to be made — and owls to be called.
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