Now, settle in, because today’s tale is all about the *Pearl-Spotted Owlet*. Yes, the tiny, unassuming avian legend that’s seldom seen, but often heard. This pint-sized raptor with a call that sticks in your head like a catchy tune was, for me, the match that lit the flame for birding, photography, and a deep-seated love for all things small and wild.
It all began at Motsumi, a place nestled in the North West Province, where winter nights could have rivalled Siberia’s in frostiness. There I was, every night, wrapped in layers and serenaded by a soundtrack as rich and varied as a nature documentary: the fiery-necked nightjar, the Scops owl, and—let’s not forget—one of the Colonel’s 300 dogs, who was stationed in a tent nearby, lured out by some of the other students incessantly grooming himself. But as memorable as those sounds were, it was the call of the Pearl-Spotted Owlet that really lodged itself in my brain.
Now, this wasn’t love at first sight (since it’s usually heard more than seen), but oh, once you’ve been charmed by its unmistakable call, there’s no going back. On day two, the Colonel himself coaxed this little legend into a vocal reply, and, well, the obsession took hold. Armed with Isa’s camera, I stalked that elusive silhouette like a paparazzo after an A-lister, finally capturing my very first shot of it, yes, that tiny feathered hype machine that can get any birder’s pulse racing faster than the Colonel’s car on a mountain pass (which, at 80km/h, isn’t saying much). I was, to put it mildly, hooked. They say birding is addictive—whoever “they” are, they’re dead right
Fast forward some moons later. With a logbook needing signatures to kick off my next FGASA level, I found myself back at Motsumi to catch up with Bennet. Naturally, the Colonel showed up in true wizard fashion: precisely when he meant to, which, of course, was after a very leisurely drive. While waiting, I couldn’t help but listen for that call, my ears instinctively tuned to the familiar trill. And sure enough, I heard it, somewhere off in the bush. So, I did what any self-respecting owlet devotee would do: I replied with a call of my own. And, wouldn’t you know it, this time I was greeted not by one, but two Pearl-Spotted Owlets—a breeding pair, right there in broad daylight, as if they’d been waiting for me all along.
So yes, this whole write-up is dedicated to the Pearl-Spotted Owlet—official mascot of my bush nostalgia, the spark for my love of birding, and quite possibly the loudest little creature around. But don’t take my word for it. Head over to Motsumi yourself; Bennet’s got a few courses coming up that might just change your life—no binoculars required, but trust me, you’ll want them.
Wildlife Beyond the Lens 