An Unexpected Encounter with the Great Blue Heron

I first spotted the bird from a distance of roughly 10 meters as I floated in the water. The water was calm, but a slight current on the surface drifted my watercraft closer to the bank. It was not strong enough to have any real sway, so I stopped paddling and paused to watch the bird. I was on a lake, in a quiet corner, with a public dock at one end behind me, and another private-island dock a bit closer, on my left, where my friends were currently diving into the water. You could still hear their faint voices and laughter as they horsed around and took turns jumping off the dock. From where I had now drifted, the surface of the water had carried their voices over...

The occasional fish would leap out of the water and splash back down, just feet from my raft; but I continued to observe the bird. It had long thin legs and stood upright like a Flamingo. Apart from the grey, blue-hue of this birds' feathers, it was truly very much like that of a Flamingo. The long, curvy neck, was bent back in the characteristic ’S' shape, and it was nearly the same size if not for the beak, which was long and pointy. It stood silent and immobile — as a scarecrow would in a farmer's field — except for when it cocked its head to one side, as a means to keep an eye on me whilst I drifted on by, casually. The scarecrow: a creation of man intended to drive away birds — a symbol of death — was now being imitated by the Heron; as a ploy to draw fish nearer to it.

It was already late in the afternoon, and I was ready to call it in for a day and go back to camp. I had drifted out alone, away from the private dock where my friends were. I paddled alongside the bank, until, by happenstance, I caught sight of it; at which point, I grew silent. And I watched the bird. It was hunting on a small island of seaweed and grass — just a little off from the bank I was approaching. Its long slender legs were undoubtedly camouflaged within the long, bentgrass, where it stood. I had a staring contest with the Heron (it lasted about five minutes), up until a giant dragonfly came buzzing by to distract me. The dragonfly circled my raft several times before I kicked my leg out of the water, and swung at it, when it approached too close; and, well that was the last I saw of the dragonfly.

Water bugs came next: they floated along the water surface, scurrying to and fro, in every direction -- and getting nearer my legs and raft. So I drew my legs in, over the lip of my raft, and swung my hand out into the water to splash them, and they buzzed off just as well. This effort, on my part, to fend off the insects, did little to distract the Heron from its hunt. In fact, it wasn’t long after my triumphant battle with the insects, that I saw the Heron tilt his head again; only this time, it followed up with an ever-so-slight neck extension; whereupon, the most extraordinarily quick movement transpired. The bill — thin and long, like its bamboo legs (and sharp as a spear) — disappeared into the water, and emerged again like a thunderbolt. In the span of a split second, there was a fish flapping madly between the upper and lower bill — you would've missed the whole thing if you blinked! — and the fish, soon growing exhausted, went limp before the Heron quickly gobbled it down. Now, this bird, the Great Blue Heron, content and proud of its skill and ability, preened its feathers a little while, and wagged its tail in succession, before returning to its prior position and resuming its scarecrow-like stance.

And it continued to scan the water, with the occasional cock of its neck as it hunted for more fish within the bed of seaweed...

And it thus transpired, that in the span of 10 minutes or so, I had counted three successful dips of the bill — with one hundred percent accuracy, before the bird disappeared; as silently as it had appeared...

The following day, I came back and found the Heron in the same position again. And although it was a repeat of the day before, I now viewed the bird in this position, for what it was: a symbol of death — a scarecrow — unbeknownst to the fish seeking shelter in the island seaweed.