Common Birds 64 - Great Blue Heron

Friday, February 16

There are two great blue herons who hunt along my walking path. One watches the stream and basks in the rising sun. I think of this heron as Regal, and I believe it’s the same heron that overwintered here last year. Regal is cobalt blue and sleek, following the sun's warmth and presiding over the mallards, hooded mergansers, and Canada geese who feed in the stream’s shallows. This morning as I walk in the prying wind, Regal is surveying the stream, his dominion. 

The second heron I call Ragtag. Ragtag is an upstart. Where Regal is blue and elegant, Ragtag is more gray and disheveled. 

Over the last few weeks, I’ve come to notice a clear line which demarcates Regal’s territory, leaving Ragtag with what remains. Regal’s stream is shallow and abundant, and the long, eastern-facing bank is fully exposed to sunlight. Ragtag claims the sometimes sunny part of the pond where I take pictures and the whole of the cattail marsh. The map below shows the delineation between the territories as well as ‘x’s to mark their favorite spots. 

Last Friday, I saw a border dispute. I wrapped up my day at work and went for a walk before heading out. An SUV was parked next to the trailhead, which usually means whoever else is walking has scared everything off, but I took the trail slowly anyway, just in case there are still any herons or ducks around. Sure enough, Ragtag was hunched on the edge of the still frozen pond, about ten yards from where I normally take pictures. I stop and then begin the process of slowly drawing near. I’ve found it works best if I pretend to be a heron. So I stand straight up and take long, deliberate steps, one, two, three, four, five, then stay still, five more, then stay still. All the while, I keep my eyes fixed ahead of me, giving no indication that I notice Ragtag in the brush. Most ducks prefer it if you keep walking, but herons are disarmed by stillness. All the same, I was surprised it was working. Slowly, slowly I was half way and Ragtag was still there, then turning off the trail to the pond, then down at the water’s edge. Ragtag was 10 yards to my left. We stood together in the golden light, dappled by tree trunks.

…

Through the silence we heard human noises. Whoever owned the car was coming back, crossing over the bridge, and not just a human, but a dog and a human. Ragtag stretched their neck and hurled like a spear into the air, took a few slow wingbeats, crossed the pond, and landed on a half submerged tree. I didn’t know it yet, but the line was breached and forces were marshaling. Meanwhile, I stood awkwardly by the pond as a young woman and a young husky walked awkwardly by. I heard her get into the SUV and drive off. Then Regal arrived. With a croak, he plunged out of the air toward Ragtag. Ragtag hopped back, flapping into motion as Regal spread his wide wings and sprayed cold water, sliding to a stop on the ice. Fleeing Regal’s domain, Ragtag just cleared the bridge, sweeping out over the river. In a wide circle, Ragtag climbed, landing at the crown of a towering evergreen, facing the light of the setting sun.

Yet this retreat was not sufficient. Once more Regal rose into the air, and once more Ragtag fled before his wrath. The two herons fought in the air above me, long bills raucous spears, wings sweeping shields. The Gray Heron gave way and the Great Blue Heron chased, retracing and reinforcing the invisible line.

Earthbound and irrelevant, I watched, torn between my loyalty to Regal and my delight in Ragtag’s scrappiness.