This is the cover of the October issue of the Journal for Evolutionary Biology, featuring my photo of a smooth newt. It accompanies an article about crest evolution in newts. This goes to show how valuable a tool photography can be to you if you’re a scientist. Not merely as a means of collecting data, but as a way to get your research on the cover.

Coincidentally, this is one of my photos on display in the Museum of Figurative Art. I wrote a post about how the photo came together previously. It’s one of my favorite images because it allows you a peak into the world of a newt from its own perspective. I’m continually amazed by the beauty that lies hidden in these small ponds, which seem nothing but dark and muddy from the surface. There’s a whole world in itself down there…

Sunlight reveals the silhouette of a garden spider sitting on the back of a leaf. Groningen, the Netherlands.

Autumn has arrived. Large garden spiders (Araneus diadematus) are a common sight throughout the northern hemisphere this time of year, trapping insects like wasps and butterflies in their webs. After mating, a female grows large with eggs inside. She will lay the eggs in a protective sac and guard over them until her death later this year. The eggs will hatch next spring, giving birth to a new generation of garden spiders.

Another development this autumn that I’m delighted to report is that I’ve been nominated for the National Geographic Emerging Nature Photographer Award. In connection with that some of my photos will probably appear in the next issue of the Dutch magazine, so keep a lookout if you’re a local reader!

As of this week I have a returning section in Universiteitskrant Groningen called ‘Joris Kijkt’ (which translates to something like ‘Joris Sees’), for which I portray employees of the University of Groningen. The first installment features Jordan van der Ziel, who is a facility manager and oversees mechanical engineering projects:

I’m particularly joyful today, not in the least because the annual Noorderlicht International Photo Festival has taken off in Groningen this weekend. It’s a visual feast that you do not want to miss if you take an interest in documentary photography.

This year’s edition, Metropolis: City Life in the Urban Age, examines the effects of urbanization on city life. It runs until October 9. Delve into the catalog embedded below for the full program and a taste of what’s to be expected:

In addition to the festival’s main exhibits and activities, there’s a satellite program of exhibits organized by various galleries, museums and other locations in the area, many of which are well worth checking out as well. In particular, my good friend Wout Overkamp has two excellent photo series on display at the Kunstencentrum Groep.

By the way, if you’re coming to Groningen for the photo festival, I’d like to remind you that my underwater photography is still on display at Museum de Buitenplaats until October 30.

Theoretical biologist Russell Lande posing as a 19th century explorer. Leiden, The Netherlands.

The International Balzan Prize Foundation just announced that the Prize for Theoretical Biology goes to Russell Lande.

Russ is one of the most influential biologists of our time. He has been at the forefront of population genetics and evolutionary theory research. He was also instrumental in the conservation effort to get the northern spotted owl protected, and millions acres of old-growth forests in the Pacific Northwest along with it.

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Russ for as long as I can remember. Several years ago we set up this photo of him together, which shows him posing as a 19th century explorer. I had been trying to convince him to pose for me for a while, and it wasn’t until I came up with this wild idea before he finally agreed. He has a great sense of humor and, I can tell you, it was a lot of fun. Anyway, Russ is a very modest person and the last to boast about his achievements, so I’m happy he is receiving recognition for his work now also in the form of the Balzan Prize. It’s well-earned.

Congratulations, Russ!

Great news everyone: there are little barn owl hatchlings squeaking and hissing from the nest box!

The male barn owl brings in voles to feed the young as well as his mate.

Two weeks ago I wondered out loud whether our male had found a new mate. It’s unusually late to start a nest for barn owls in this region. Even second clutches (meaning that the owls start another nest in the same breeding season after the young from the first nest have fledged) are normally laid in June or early July, so we didn’t have much hope. But last month, while Tony McLean in Yorkshire waved ‘his’ barn owl fledglings goodbye, it turns out our female was busy laying eggs.

Of course, we didn’t even know there was a female at that time. This is exactly what’s so fascinating about barn owls. They conduct their lives so quietly and unobtrusively that you barely notice they’re there at all. It’s especially remarkable considering their size – they’re not small birds. Even when you’re trying to keep track it’s hard to lift the veil of mystery that surrounds their lives. Most of the year the only hint of their existence is the smell of their poo!

Five barn owl hatchlings huddle for warmth.

I did a quick inspection of the nest yesterday by peering through a little hatch in the nest box. Laying on a five centimeter thick blanket of mouse remains was a little pile of hatchlings, five in total. I estimate they are between one and around twelve days old. And maybe there are even six little ones by now, as there was also an egg that should have been about to hatch. As you can see their eyes are still closed and they can barely lift their heads. At this stage the down covering hasn’t developed yet and they’re unable to regulate their own body temperature, so they’re all huddled together and the female still broods them until the youngest one is about twelve to sixteen days old. All this time she can’t go out to hunt, and so the male is left with the burden of providing food both for the chicks and for her (see the top photo).

In temperate regions barn owls feed mostly on voles. The one in the photo below was dropped on the floor during the night. I’m not completely sure why, but my guess is it happens by accident now and then. While the owls have keen night vision, they hunt mostly by hearing and a motionless vole in a pitch-dark barn may still be lost between the pellets and droppings. The floor is littered with dead voles in various states of decomposition, but this one looked like it could wake up any minute. It was still soft so I left it on a beam where the male often sits and by morning it was gone. It’s the least I could do with all the disturbance I’m causing …

Voles are the main food source for barn owls in temperate areas.

The male will bring in up to sixteen voles and other prey items in a single night, and so it’s no surprise that the chicks grow rapidly, putting on about 13 grams a day – about what they weigh when they hatch. They reach their maximum weight after about five weeks, but it will be another month before they fledge. During this time their bones and feathers are still developing, and they’ll start to look more and more like these little fellows I photographed several years ago:

Young barn owls almost ready to leave the nest.

Unfortunately I will not be around for all of that as I have to return to Groningen soon, but I’ll definitely try to come back in a couple of weeks to check up on them.

As always, prints are available. You know where to find me.

A barn owl flies into a barn carrying a vole. Picardie, France.

We share the house here with many animals. I think that’s a nice thing, but we have little say in it anyway. Bats, garden dormice and beech martens are frequent occupants, to name just a few (and of course there’s the wood mouse that lives in the kitchen), but my favorite has always been the barn owl. Year after year we’ve had a breeding pair in the barn, raising the ugliest fluff balls of chicks on the planet into the most elegant birds you’ve ever seen. The French aptly call it dame blanche, white lady. They also call it l’effraie des clochers, the fright of the bell towers, for its spine-chilling screech.

Luck has not been with our owls this year. The severe winter took its toll and the female did not survive. Many barn owls in the region died from the cold. Originally a tropical species, they’re not well adapted to snowy winters. The poor male, left behind, spent most of the season calling in the hopes of attracting a new mate. He called and called, but it was in vain. It’s too late in the season to start another nest now. Or so we thought. But against all odds it seems his luck may have turned.

When I opened the barn earlier this week it spooked the male and he flew out. I don’t like disturbing the owls like that, but most of the barns where they roost are still in use, so I figure they must be somewhat used to it. Imagine my surprise when I heard the sounds of another owl moving about inside the nest box. Next I set up a camera trap. (It’s a device that sends out an infrared beam, and if an owl crosses the beam it trips my camera. Sounds a bit lazy, huh? Make no mistake, it’s not as easy as it sounds!) One photo shows our male flying in with a vole in his mouth and as far as I can tell the second owl never left the nest. When a female is brooding, she doesn’t leave the nest and the male will bring her food. So could it be that our male found a new mate and they’ve started a nest together this late in the season?

There’s no way to tell without looking inside the nest box, but if there’s really a female brooding, disturbing her at this stage could lead her to desert the nest. We’ll have to wait and see what happens.

A barn owl flies through a dormer. Picardie, France.