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Birding Column: Stalking a Great Blue Heron |
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Mathew Tekulsky The Birdman of Bel Air for National Geographic News |
| July 6, 2004 |
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For a couple of days in late January, I took it upon myself to chase after a great blue heron in the meadow at Malibu Creek State Park. This bird is a majestic creature, and as long as I stayed about 100 feet (30 meters) away from him, he tolerated my watching him forage about in the meadow. When foraging, the great blue heron remains virtually motionless as he scans the ground for prey from his great height. I wasn't sure what this particular heron was looking for, but I enjoyed watching him stalk his prey patiently and methodically. Sometimes he would look over in my direction just to check me out more carefully. Now, the great blue heron will tolerate your presence up to a point, but when he feels that you have been bugging him a little bit too much, he'll walk or hop away from you, increasing his speed the closer you get. But at least you're still in the picture. When he really decides to reject you is when he flies off across the entire meadow and starts foraging again, as if nothing has happened. Meanwhile, you have to lug your heavy camera equipment across uneven ground that's littered with gopher holes in order to get anywhere near him again—and you know (and I think he does too) that as soon as you get within range of him to take a good photograph, he's liable to pick himself right up again and fly right back to that section of the meadow that you just left in order to track him down. By this time, your tripod has become so heavy on your arm that you're just about ready to pack it in—but the lure of getting one more shot of this beautiful bird's head is too great, and you creep forward a few more paces and sneak out from behind a bush to get a clear view of your subject without flushing him. He stares back at you from a hundred feet away, but you can see by looking through the viewfinder that the black plume that comes out of the back of his head actually separates into little branches, ending in a forked tip. What's the purpose of this, you wonder. Merely for decoration? You also notice the red patch on the upper bill and the keen, yellow eye with a black pupil, staring back at you. Afterward, you do some research on the great blue heron, and you discover that in addition to stalking frogs, insects, and snakes in the meadow, the heron has been searching for gophers (hence the gopher holes). I can't imagine how a great blue heron kills a gopher. Does he skewer it with his bill, or does he grab it by the neck and choke it to death, or does he swallow it whole, like a fish? It turns out that the staff at the park had given this great blue heron a name—George. At a certain point, I realized that I was annoying George more than I should, and although I enjoyed watching him do his thing, I decided to give him his space back, and so I left to pursue other adventures with other birds. Approaching a Great Blue Heron My experience with the great blue heron brings to light an interesting dilemma. When observing birds (or any wildlife, for that matter), how much of their normal routine can you justify disturbing? I would say none, and that any intrusion into their lives by humans could affect their ability to survive. And if carried to its ultimate extreme, human intrusion could affect the animals' entire species—and has. I can sense when birds become nervous by my presence, because they start fidgeting and positioning themselves to fly off, if need be. I usually stop my approach at this point and wait for them to calm down. More often than not, if I am still enough, they go back to their regular routine very quickly. I think that, over time and with repeated interactions, birds learn to recognize humans as individuals. If they see me over and over again in close proximity, and I never harm them, I can sense that a feeling of trust arises in the bird toward me. How else can you explain extremely skittish birds, like the California quail, walking right past me if I am still enough? However, I don't think I'll ever get closer than a hundred feet to a great blue heron. Mathew Tekulsky writes a regular column about bird-watching in his backyard and neighborhood in Bel Air, California. You can follow his encounters with the birds of the Santa Monica Mountains here on National Geographic News Bird Watcher every fortnight or so. Previous columns by the Birdman of Bel Air Birding Column: Mesmerized by Western Bluebirds Birding Column: Wrens' Twice-a-Minute Feeding Frenzy New Bird-Watching Column: "The Birdman of Bel Air" The California Towhee, Boldly Bland At Home With Hooded Orioles Scrub Jays Go Nuts for Peanuts Northern Mockingbird is a Wary Neighbor Christmas With the Pelicans California-Quail Close Encounter Yosemite Steller's Jay Encounter Banding Birds at Devils Postpile California Condor Close Encounter California Condor Rebound Going Nuts With Wilderness Ravens Hummingbird Chicks Fly the Nest Mexican Jays' Dogged Pack Mentality National Geographic BirdWatcher Regularly updated news stories, features, and columns about birds and birding Recent News Stories About Birds Migrating Birds Reset "Compasses" at Sunset, Study Says Bowerbirds Dance, Decorate to Suit Females' Changing Tastes Emperor Penguins: Uniquely Armed for Antarctica African Birds Understand Monkey "Talk" Study Says After 400 Years, Cranes Return to U.K., Site Is Kept Secret For more bird-watching news, scroll down. |
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