Most of the time the numerous great blue herons, which daily frequent the shallows of pool edges and riffles near the cottage, are highly intolerant of company. Just open the door leading to the side deck and they'll be flapping off in alarm, squawking in disgust with every wingbeat.
Making a good photo is pretty much a matter of luck and quick shooting.
But every once in a while a bird will surprise you. Yesterday evening, midways between twilight and full dark, as the sky dimmed and a few stars began winking on through the skim of clouds, the heron above came winging up from downstream. The big bird landed on the edge of the pool directly across from where I stood—smack in the open, as hulking and highly visible as a bear in church, my canine sidekick Moon-the-Dog alongside, who, being mostly white, glowed like a neon phantom in the dusk. After eyeing me warily for several minutes, the heron waded carefully out to the middle of the riffle to a favorite fishing-platform rock.
I made a few cautious photos. Sometimes, as if responding to the sound of the shutter, the heron would pause and spend a few moments speculatively rechecking us out. Still, while it was certainly aware of our presence, it didn't seem particularly anxious.
What was causing the heron problems was the slippery stone. We haven't had much rain this spring to keep things scoured clean. The river is low and the riffle's rocks are slick, making footing precarious and problematic for all us fishermen, feathered or not. More than once the big bird's foot slipped on the slimy stone, causing it to flap desperately in order to regain balance and not wash over into the four-foot depths directly downstream. That's what's happening in the image above.
After making a few additional shots, I decided to remove Moon and myself from the scene as possible distractions, in case we were more contributory than I thought. I know if I'm destined to take a pratfall, I'd rather do it without an audience, let alone what amounts to riverside paparazzi.
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8 comments:
I hear that; one doesn't need witnesses. Your photo was a good one. I have noticed these birds are particularly skittish. Maybe how they are getting to be so numerous...they know when to go!
Debbie
HI GTIZZ - great image - quite a capture. I know all too well such slippery slopes and anything but graceful teeters. We really are ALL God's creatures.
Love you
Gail
peace.....
praying for you every day my friend, every day.
Debbie…
Funny thing about great blue herons—in Florida you can often practically pat them on the head sometimes. Here in Ohio, they're as skittish as any bird around. I've never heard a plausible explanation as to why the difference. Maybe southern sun-baked brains?
Don't blame them re. witnesses, though.
Gail…
Yes we are…and I believe God has a sense of humor. Otherwise, why else would He put our nose above our mouth and then create cold germs?
Keep up the prayers. They'll never be wasted. And maybe I'll hear something in the next day or two.
Ever the gentleman.... one that I'm still praying for....
Robin…
And I am so appreciative, and so blessed to have your friendship and prayers. Thank you, always.
Poor heron - this made me smile. You don't imagine wild creatures having problems keeping their balance but DH witnessed a similar scenario last week when a squirrel fell 20 feet out of a tree right in front of him with full sound effects as it crashed through the branches and landed with a solid thud. It sat for a couple of minutes gathering itself together then hopped off into the undergrowth.
Rowan…
We think and probably want to believe that wild creatures are always surefooted and thus accident-immune…but over the years I've watched all sorts of animals have one of those "oops!" moments—raccoons, foxes, coyotes, snakes and lizards, deer, mice, groundhogs, etc., including all manner of birds. The list is practically endless. Squirrels fall out of trees all the time. They miss jumps, slip off branches, get to cavorting around and lose their foothold. Some of the falls I've watched them take were from way higher than 20 feet—anywhere from twice to three times that, and onto flat ground. Down in the hill country, I've witnessed a few squirrels take falls that must have measured close to 100 feet…from an extending limb at the very top of a tall oak or hickory located on a high, steep slope, to a landing way farther downhill many yards below the tree's actual root base. You can tell it knocks the wind out of 'em, stuns them, maybe. They sit still a minute or two, sometimes shake their head—but likely as not are soon on their way. They're amazing in the falls they can survive.
As to "my" herons, I've watched several lose their footing and end up in the drink—whereupon they flap excitedly until they manage to get their feet back under them. I suppose in the right river with heavy current, they could end up drowning. Here they just look kinda goofily frantic for a few moments, and angry/embarassed afterwards.
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