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The owl that doesn't build a nest

And why is that not laziness?

The owl that doesn't build a nest

And why this is not laziness

Hello, photographers!
She is the largest owl in the Americas. And it does not build its own nest. The Jacurutu hunts opossums, flies in absolute silence and uses other people's nests. None of this is an accident.

It has a sound that, if you've ever spent a night in the countryside, you're probably familiar with. It's serious, rhythmic, and seems to come from everywhere at once: "huuu, huu-huuú, huuu, huuu."

This is Jacurutu's song. The largest owl in Brazil and all of the Americas.

It measures up to 63 centimeters, has a wingspan of five feet, yellow eyes that seem to see right through you, and claws that require 28 pounds of force to open. It is such an efficient night hunting machine that it has earned the nickname "tiger of the air".

The pirate of other people's nests

That's right. It does not build. It occupies.

When the breeding season arrives — in winter, when the nights are longer — the Jacurutu looks for abandoned nests of hawks, herons and other large birds. It also uses tree hollows, cracks in cliffs and, more rarely, a depression in the ground among vegetation.

And before anyone thinks that this is laziness or cleverness, the logic is different: the jacurutu is a top predator. The time and energy she would spend building a nest is best spent hunting and protecting the territory.

It's a matter of efficiency, not character

The flight that makes no sound

If there's one thing that impresses me about the jacurutu — and look, there are many — it's the silent flight.

Its feathers have a special structure that eliminates ultrasonic components of sound. When it dives from a perch on prey, the animal simply does not hear anything.

It is as if the air cooperates with the hunt. And this is the result of thousands of years of evolution adjusting every detail.

Generalist by necessity

The jacurutu eats practically everything it can master. Rodents, skunks (yes, she's immune to skunk spray), hares, ducks, herons, other owls, small hawks, frogs, freshly hatched turtles, spiders, scorpions, large insects, and even bats—which she captures in flight.

This versatility is what allows her to live in so many different places: from Canada to Argentina, from forests to deserts, from fields to urban areas with wooded parks

How to find (and photograph) Jacurutu

The jacurutu is more accessible than many people imagine. It does not need dense forest – on the contrary, it prefers forest edges, capons, pastures with isolated trees and even large urban parks.

Here are some practical guidelines:

To find:

  • Listen to the singing at dusk and dawn — it's the best "GPS"

  • Look for isolated trees in open areas — they are favorite perches

  • Keep an eye out for rooks making noise — it could be mobbing on a hidden guan.

To photograph:

  • At dusk: silhouette against orange sky, tele 300-600mm

  • In-flight: AF-C, tracking, 1/12500+ — flight is quiet and detection is the challenge

  • Prey: Rural areas with pastures are good for finding active game

  • High ISO without guilt: it's night, the light is low, and the photo is worth the noise

What to avoid:

  • Playback near the nest — owls are sensitive and can leave the site

  • Strong flashlight in the eyes — their night vision is impaired by direct light

  • Excessive approach in reproduction — the Jacurutu is aggressive in defense and can get injured

The Jacurutu is one of those species that we don't forget after witnessing it. The low song, the silent flight, the yellow gaze, the imposing presence on a perch at dusk.

It does not build a nest, it does not migrate, it does not hide. It simply occupies the territory with the calm of someone who knows it is the top predator.

The next time you hear a "huuu, huu-huu, huuu, huuu" on the field, stop. Listen and if you're lucky, you'll find one of the most fascinating birds that Brazilian nature offers.

If you've ever heard or photographed a jacurutu, tell me how it was. I love to hear about these stories from the field — and it may yield some next content here.

Every week, a new letter. None more important than the last; none less important than the next.

— Kacau
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