Rescued from our garden having fallen out of an oak tree. Replaced in the crook of a branch about 10 feet up. Completely relaxed throughout (the owlet, I mean), and keen to retain my rescue glove as a souvenir.
PHOTOS: Keith Salvesen. A small secluded church in a deep combe close to where we live.
HOW THE TORTOISESHELL GOT ITS NAME
Amazing! Despite my rather feebly apologetic post bemoaning my own indolence in letting this site slide towards oblivion, erstwhile followers have kindly rallied round with some likes and comments. Completely undeserved, but for which many thanks indeed.
So here in return is Ebony, the very rare black barn owl that I was lucky enough to fly last summer. Definitely a top 5 experience for the year. Maybe it’s the start of a minor blog resurrection…
ROLLING HARBOUR GALLERY 