The year that Flaco the Owl walked free

It started with a brutal act in the heart of Manhattan.

After sunset on a frosty evening at the Central Park Zoo, someone tore up the mesh of an enclosure housing a Eurasian eagle owl named Flaco.

It wasn't long before Flaco was spotted a few blocks away on Fifth Avenue. No one knew where this bird with fiery orange eyes came from, and soon it walked to a tree near the Pulitzer Fountain, outside the Plaza Hotel. A tourist with wings.

Call it an escape, a release, a departure, a crime – Flaco was free. Could he take care of himself after a lifetime of captivity?

A year later, the answer is absolutely yes. He has spent most of his time in Central Park, although he has wandered all over Manhattan and looked into apartment windows with his striking eyes.

Flaco has captured the public's attention in New York and beyond, an underdog and feel-good figure in difficult times. Birders and fans follow him in person or follow his exploits online. But how did he experience New York? How does the city look, feel and sound from his bird's eye view?

'Picked out'

Edmund Berry was on his way home to the Upper West Side late on February 2, 2023, when he saw a photo of an owl on a sidewalk on Twitter. An avid birdwatcher, he got off the subway at Columbus Circle and headed toward Fifth Avenue near East 60th Street, ready to help.

At first he did not recognize Flaco, whom he knew from trips to the zoo with his daughter to visit the penguins. Mr. Berry had always stopped to watch and thought that Flaco's life seemed lonely and sad.

On this night, he saw Flaco bathed in flashing red lights next to a small dog basket as police officers looked on. When they dropped near a larger aircraft carrier, Flaco spread his wings and flew off towards the Plaza.

He was hatched in captivity at a bird park in North Carolina on March 15, 2010, and soon arrived at the Central Park Zoo. Within a short time, Flaco “adjusted very well to his new home,” the Wildlife Conservation Society, which manages the zoo, said in a news release.

It was far from its natural home: Eurasian eagle owls, known by the scientific name Bubo bubo, are apex predators typically found across much of continental Europe, Scandinavia, Russia and Central Asia. They are among the largest owls in the world, with a wingspan of up to two meters, and thrive in mountains and other rocky areas near forests, where they swoop down at night to hunt rodents, rabbits and other prey . But they have also been known to hang out in towns, where terraces, windowsills and roofs resemble the cliffs they are accustomed to.

Now, on the streets of Manhattan, Flaco seemed lost. Karla Bloem, the executive director of the International Owl Center in Houston, Minnesota, said he looked “panicked” and “terrified” in photos from that first night and subsequent days.

But in the following weeks, as he settled into the park and evaded the zoo's attempts to retrieve him, Ms. Bloem discovered a transformation in his photos.

“His ear tufts are down,” she said. 'He's fatter. He certainly felt comfortable with his surroundings.

Hunting

For a time, zoo workers tried to lure Flaco back with traps baited with dead rats, but he remained unmoved. Instead, he learned to hunt his own food. The proof: a grain of undigested rat fur and fur that he coughed up one day.

He was lucky. Central Park was a “purpose-rich environment,” in the words of James Eyring, a falconer and retired professor of environmental sciences at Pace University.

“When they see that movement, that jerky movement that rodents have, I mean, it's like walking past the arches of McDonald's,” Mr Eyring said.

Flaco became a fixture in and around the North Woods and the Loch, hunting nearby at a compost heap and a construction site where internet photos of him hang in a trailer.

It was an efficient life, said David Lei, a birdwatcher and photographer who has followed him closely.

“He slept on the compost heap, woke up, jumped over some trees to a favorite spot and then went hunting for rats,” Mr Lei said.

But around Halloween, Flaco left Central Park. Perhaps it was a seasonal walk or part of the biological impulse to reproduce – an impulse he cannot satisfy.

There are no female Eurasian eagle owls in New York, and therefore no potential partners for Flaco. Some people have suggested a possible match with Geraldine, a female great horned owl, a related species, that had established itself in the park by the time Flaco showed up. Not impossible, experts said, but not desirable and she hasn't been seen in the park in a while.

The Romeo and Juliet of birds.

Sex therapist Dr. Ruth Westheimer, who was recently appointed New York's loneliness ambassador, lamented Flaco's fate. “Flaco is limited in his choices by Mother Nature,” she said in an email, “although he does not give up and flies all over New York to find company.”

It has been heard shouting from rooftops and water towers across the Upper West Side, sometimes calling for hours in the post-midnight darkness to stake out its territory and possibly woo a mate. Maybe he would settle for a friend.

“I admire Flaco because he had a big dream, believed in himself and followed his heart,” Big Bird, an old man from Manhattan, said in an email. “Flaco, if you ever read this, I hope you'll fly over to Sesame Street for a visit. My nest is your nest!”

On the way to the city center

Eurasian eagle owls are not migratory birds, but they can fly quite a distance, usually in a series of short flights. And for a species that reaches up to 10,000 feet, life in the middle of the Manhattan skyline would hardly be daunting.

When exploring the city from above, Flaco has plenty of company and plenty to see. Charles Semowich, who plays the carillon in the 400-foot tower of Riverside Church, says he occasionally hears screeching outside his window. Apparently an eagle lives in the tower somewhere.

Jason Chadee and Conrad Lazare, union ironworkers at Locals 40 and 361, have encountered falcons and hawks as they shape the city's skyline. Mr. Chadee said it was peaceful and beautiful up there, with just the city lights, the wind and his thoughts. Mr. Lazare called it a “safe space,” away from everything below.

The streets pose an acute danger to Flaco, with all the cars and trucks. Gladys, a female Eurasian eagle owl that escaped from a Minnesota zoo in 2022, died a few weeks later after she was apparently hit by a vehicle.

On November 14, Flaco found a safe spot outside Nan Knighton's apartment on Fifth Avenue, planted himself on a windowsill and peered inside.

Mrs. Knighton was enthralled; she had never heard of Flaco. She feared he might be in distress and called in vain to see if someone would come get him.

“I think he's gotten to a point now where the city is his domain,” she said. “And he feels confident, and he's curious, and he's having a good time.”

Marjon Savelsberg, a Dutch owl researcher, said the wild Eurasian eagle owls she studies would not behave in the same way. “They stay away from people as much as possible,” she said.

There were exceptions, she noted, including extreme cases involving domestically raised males who identify more closely with humans than with owls. If released, they may attempt to mate with humans.

“They land on people's heads,” Ms. Savelsberg said. “Does not happen often. We had one case a few years ago.”

'Just a matter of time'

Since November, Flaco has been largely out of the park and the public eye, wandering from the western 1970s to the western 1990s, from Central Park West to West End Avenue. Bird watchers like David Barrett, who runs the Manhattan Bird Alert account on the social media site X, have been following his every move.

During the day, Flaco camps in the courtyards of apartment buildings, where he sleeps in seclusion, where he is warmer and out of the wind. As impressive as his survival has been, his future is not guaranteed. Rat poison is probably the biggest threat if it's floating around. Due to poison restrictions in the park, it is safest to eat there.

“I think the whole situation is unfortunate, to be honest,” says Scott Weidensaul, author of the Peterson Reference Guide to Owls, adding, “It's really only a matter of time before something bad happens.”

D. Bruce Yolton agrees, although he would like to be proven wrong.

Mr. Yolton, a bird watcher and blogger, has been following Flaco since he saw him the night he was released. He believes Flaco has not been well served by many people, including those who downplay his release or ignore the danger he faces.

Eurasian eagle owls live an average of about 20 years in the wild. Their lifespan in captivity can be double or even more. Mr. Yolton would prefer that Flaco retire to a spacious retreat.

Whoever let him go in the first place remains at large. The investigation continues, police said.

Flaco's former residence was empty this week. There are no plans to reuse it. He is no longer listed among the zoo's animals, although an image of an owl showing where Flaco once lived still appears on a map outside the zoo.

The conservation group said in a statement that it had been monitoring Flaco and appreciated the public's concern for his welfare. “As previously noted, if he shows any sign of difficulty or distress, we are prepared to resume recovery efforts,” the statement said.

Mary Aaron thought she saw a sign of fear around midnight on January 11. She was at home in her 20th-floor apartment on Central Park West, near 97th Street, when she heard honking coming from her balcony.

She called police from the 24th Precinct and said she thought an owl might need help.

“Is that that famous big owl flying around?” said an officer.

Two officers arrived a short time later and scared the owl away by shining a flashlight in its eyes, Ms. Aaron said.

Police confirmed officers had responded to a call about an owl at Ms Aaron's address. They couldn't say whether it was Flaco. (Owls have no ID.)

There was one telling detail: the owl in question “had a large wingspan.”