A Great Gray Owl is Worth the Wait
- Don Toothaker
- Jan 7
- 5 min read
It is a New Year. I welcome 2026 with enthusiasm and optimism, but before I look forward to exciting, creative opportunities in the new year, I need to reflect on the past year. Specifically, one deeply personal, meaningful moment from 2025. Dreams are worth the wait.
In 1996, a Great Gray Owl took up temporary winter residence in Rowley, Massachusetts. The sighting of this owl in Massachusetts was a very rare event, drawing birders and photographers from all over the country. At the time, I had never seen one, anywhere, and knew little to nothing about them. One Sunday, shortly after the first sighting of the owl in Rowley, the Boston Globe featured a photo of this magnificent Great Gray Owl, its wings spread wide, in the snow after catching a mouse. The image, perfectly exposed, beautifully composed, and incredibly sharp, was superb. After studying the photograph for what seemed like hours, I came to the realization that everything in the photo was done intentionally. And with purpose. Over the next few days, fueled by that photograph, taken by Globe photographer Mark Wilson, spending time with that Great Gray Owl changed my life. Forever.
After seeing the Globe photo, my mom suggested we take a ride to Rowley to hopefully see the owl. We did, and we did. Along Route 1, we found the owl simply by locating the large crowd excitedly watching and photographing it. There, in a huge white pine tree in someone’s backyard, about 75 feet away, the owl sat perched on a dead branch. Despite standing a robust two feet tall, it seemed even larger to me. The details in its feathers, especially in its round face and bright yellow eyes, were astonishing. Its movements as it surveyed the snowy landscape for prey were precise and vigilant. Certainly, the owl was beautiful, but even more so, it was regal. I was used to seeing the wildlife of New England, including owls, but I had never seen anything like this Great Gray Owl. It was stunning. It was exhilarating. That night, at home, I could not stop thinking about the owl and its presence. Acting on curiosity, instinct, and impulse, I decided to spend time with that Great Gray Owl.
Over the next three days, after calling in sick to my job at Northeastern University, I drove to Rowley each morning, found the owl, and photographed it as much as my minimal film budget would allow. In 1996, I had already owned a good 35mm camera for a decade, but I was still quite inexperienced in my photography. At the time, I was shooting in Program Mode on my Nikon film camera, which often resulted in improper exposures, blurry photos, and poor compositions. I burned through a lot of film with little understanding of my mistakes or successes. I did not know any better. With no one to give me feedback on how to improve, my learning resources were limited to books, articles, and a lot of costly trial and error. While in Rowley, standing in front of that magnificent owl, I desperately wanted to create a photo as amazing and meaningful as Mark Wilson’s, but I did not know how. My photographs, in general, but especially so from my three days with that owl, paled in comparison. By the end of my three days, I was wildly eager to improve my photography, learn more about nature and wildlife, and be a good steward for all. An eternal fuse had been lit. I owe so much to that owl, that one newspaper photo, and to Mark Wilson. I quickly recognized the value in having someone to help me learn.
Several days later, reviewing my rolls of film and prints and seeing my many mistakes, I knew I had missed an extraordinary opportunity, one I may never experience again. I distinctly remember the sinking, empty feeling of failure in my stomach due to a lack of knowledge. From that moment on, I vowed to learn my camera, proper exposures, understand composition, and pursue meaningful photography. From watching the owl so intently, I learned the value of understanding your subject and how to behave around wildlife. Sadly, given the volume of others there as well, many of whom were baiting the owl with mice, rude to each other, and oblivious to private property, I also learned about bad wildlife ethics, inappropriate personal behavior, and selfishness. It was then that I had my first thoughts of helping myself and others like me.
Until those three days, I had not spent much time intentionally pursuing wildlife. I had always enjoyed seeing wild animals, mostly chance encounters in New England, but I had never dedicated time to observing or learning about them. For the first time, I wanted to know as much as I could about a species. My first important lesson was the value of time in the field. Experience is undoubtedly the best teacher. Getting out and doing something will always be better than reading about it. The second valuable lesson was the necessity of knowing your subject. It is easier to see and photograph wildlife, or any subject, if you understand them and their behavior. It was only three days, but what I learned by being in the field photographing and studying that owl was invaluable. Most significantly, I learned to appreciate that beautiful Great Gray Owl in its natural environment. The impressions left on me are as fresh today as they were so many years ago.
In October 2025, while leading a photography workshop in Yellowstone National Park, I once again stood in a field watching and photographing a Great Gray Owl. It had been thirty years since my first sighting and photographs, a long time to wait between Great Gray Owls, but every minute leading up to this moment has been worth it. As I photographed this owl, I was overcome with emotion. Thirty years earlier, I vowed to learn photography for myself and help others learn if I could. I also vowed to be a respectful photographer while encouraging others to do the same. There, in a frosted autumn field, standing in front of another magnificent Great Gray Owl, watching those with me respond as excitedly as I did 30 years before, I realized my life had come full circle.
When the owl left, everyone piled back into the van, ready for our next opportunity. While they talked excitedly about the Great Gray Owl, I needed a moment alone and stepped back into the field. The last lesson the Rowley owl, and one photograph from 1996, taught me is that dreams do come true.
Photograph What You Feel
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