Winter Birds: Those Awe-mazing Raptors
Linda Stager
February in northern Pennsylvania can feel sparse and quiet. The woods are hushed beneath snow, streams run dark and cold, and many birds have long since gone south.
Yet for those who take the time to look up, winter reveals one of its greatest gifts: raptors. Hawks, eagles, owls, and falcons are not just surviving this season—they are thriving in it, turning frozen fields and river corridors into stages for some of the most compelling wildlife watching of the year.
Winter sharpens everything, including our ability to see. With leaves gone from the trees and grasses pressed low by snow, raptors stand out against pale skies and open landscapes.
A red-tailed hawk with its black necklace feathers, when perched on a roadside tree, becomes impossible to miss, its silhouette bold and confident. Bald eagles, once rare in Pennsylvania, now patrol rivers and reservoirs, their white heads easy to spot against steel-gray winter skies and dark pines.
Cold weather concentrates both predators and prey, making winter one of the best times to observe these birds at work. Northern Pennsylvania’s open valleys and agricultural fields are especially attractive to wintering raptors. Voles and mice tunnel beneath the snow, leaving faint trails that these skilled hunters can read with astonishing precision.
Northern harriers skim low over marshes and meadows, their owl-like faces tuned to the faintest rustle beneath the snow crust. Short-eared owls make their appearance each new year and cruise open grasslands at dusk. And those speedy (and gorgeous-looking) peregrine falcons are heart-stopping to see. Each species brings a different hunting style, a different rhythm to the winter landscape.
Rivers and lakes tell another raptor story. Where open water persists, bald eagles gather, sometimes in surprising numbers. In Tioga County, where I live, large numbers of mature and immature eagles gather at the tailrace of the Tioga Hammond dam, where the open waters and abundant shad make for easier fishing.
February is not just about feeding — it is also the beginning of nesting season for eagles in Pennsylvania. Courtship flights, nest repairs, and dramatic aerial displays often begin while snow still clings to the branches. Seeing an eagle carry a stick nearly as large as itself across a frozen valley is a reminder that life presses forward even in the coldest months.
Owls, too, define winter in quiet ways. Great horned owls begin nesting astonishingly early, sometimes with eggs laid while snowstorms still sweep through the region. Their deep hoots echo across valleys at dusk, a sound that feels as old as the hills themselves. Short-eared owls, more secretive, emerge at dawn and dusk over open fields, their moth-like flight a fleeting reward for patient watchers willing to brave the cold.
One of my favorite little owls, the eastern screech owl, sends out its haunting trill call on cool, dreary, and sometimes snowy afternoons.
And the magnificent snowy owl?
It delights viewers with its “Hedwick” look and soul-searching eyes.
What makes raptors especially compelling in winter is not just their beauty or their visibility, but what they represent. These birds sit at the top of the food chain. Their presence tells us something important about the health of the land. Clean water, intact habitat, and abundant prey all support raptor populations. When we see them hunting along roadsides, fields, and rivers, we are witnessing ecosystems capable of sustaining complex life—even in winter’s grip.
For photographers and naturalists, February offers unmatched opportunities. Snow provides a clean backdrop, simplifying compositions and highlighting form and motion.
Low winter light stretches shadows and adds drama to wings in flight. For those willing to dress warmly and move slowly, encounters can feel almost intimate: a hawk lifting from a fence post several yards away, an eagle gliding silently overhead, an owl rising unexpectedly from a snowy field.
There is something deeply grounding about watching raptors in winter. They embody resilience and patience. They wait, observe, and act only when the moment is right. In a season that can feel long and heavy, raptors remind us that stillness has purpose and patience has power.
As February unfolds across northern Pennsylvania, the landscape may seem quiet at first glance. But look again. Scan the treetops along the river. Watch the fence posts along back roads. Pause at dusk near open fields. Those amazing raptors are there—watching, hunting, enduring.
They are winter’s proof that wildness persists, even when the world is wrapped in snow.
