Battlestar Galactica. Alternatively titled “Watching a Murder,” but I was scared to bring that kind of internet-search traffic here.
You hear a lot about the bats in Austin, Texas. When we took a trip there in early 2018, I looked up “Things to Do in Austin” and, from the responses, determined that pretty much the only thing the internet thought was worth doing was going to see the bats. I was extra-excited to realize that the hotel that I had booked was right next to the Congress Avenue Bridge, meaning that we’d be in prime viewing range for this amazing experience. On our first evening in town, we walked over to the bridge, joined hundreds of our new closest friends (yay, pre-COVID times), and waited for the bats to appear.
Right on schedule, we started seeing swarms of bats fly out from under the bridge, floating in waves up through the sky. It was neat to see (and probably worth doing if you’re there), but I found myself underwhelmed. They seemed so small. It was like watching clouds of bugs fly through the air. I mean, cool, but not really the spectacle that I was expecting. I was honestly more taken by the people watching (and the super-fun experience of dodging guano) than I was by the bats themselves. It all just felt a little anti-climactic, because I was used to a remarkable (and sometimes chilling) nightly experience that is much less talked-about: the Bothell Crows.
We used to live in a condo in Bothell(ish) by the Home Depot. We moved in in mid-October and I remember one night, early on, walking out onto our deck and seeing (and hearing) a terrifying number of crows flying overhead. Weird, I thought. The next night, it happened again. And the next night. Every single night, huge swaths of crows would pass over our heads, cawing and flapping and all heading in the same direction. Sometimes, if we took a walk through the nearby office park in the evening, we’d see hundreds of them sitting on the grass, pecking away. Carl (our rascally shepherd mutt) would gleefully chase them and make them take to the sky in waves. I was perplexed, so I decided to do some research – I have lived in the Redmond/Woodinville/Bothell area my whole life and had never heard or seen anything like this.
As it turns out, the Bothell crows are A Thing. Every night, up to 16,000 crows roost in the wetlands surrounding the University of Washington Bothell (UWB) campus. Before they settle in for the night, however, they converge on the rooftops, sports fields, and even the parking garage. They swoop and caw and generally are a spectacle. This video most accurately illustrates the feeling of being on campus when the crows descend – it’s a pretty good time. The murder is largest in fall and winter, but year-round at least some of the crew decide to show up. In our current house, we can see the crows making their way to UWB out the spider window, which is a nice homage to our first home.
Back in August, we decided to take an outing to see the crows. We loaded up and drove out to the parking garage in the dusk. Even on a random Thursday night, there were a couple of other families out and about. No one else looked to have decided that it was the perfect adventure for a two-week-old infant, but what can I say, we weren’t getting out much. We all watched as the crows swooped and glided and puttered around, with groups periodically breaking away and disappearing into the wetlands. At one point, a man holding a Big Gulp soda called over to us, “Is this your first time here?” We shook our heads no, and he replied “It’s wild, I’ve been here twice this week already.” Then we went back to watching the birds in silence. After a while, with proper darkness setting in and most of the crows hunkered down for the night, we packed the baby back in the car and headed home, feeling content to know that we are not alone in our appreciation for the creepy spectacle that is the Bothell Crows.
Hickmans at Home 