If we don’t care for the land, if we don’t care…?

Great blue herons are such magnificent creatures.

There are three herons feeding in the shallow waters at the lakes edge while another stands elegantly on a fallen log dozing. Or perhaps it is meditating.

Whatever it is doing it stirs and lifts one wing and grooms itself with that wonderful stiletto beak then it shakes and grooms the other wing with those same little jerky movements. A tiny breast feather falls to the water’s surface and a vagrant breath of wind sends it scudding across the lake.

One of the other herons is fishing.

It suddenly stops and stands so very still. All of its attention is focused on something below the water’s surface, something that only it can see.

It stands there almost stone like. The only thing that moves is a feather on the heron’s head. This hunter is the very personification of patience.

The neck is slowly drawn back into an s curve as the bird takes aim.

Suddenly, like an arrow shot from a bow that terrible beak is thrust forward and almost immediately withdrawn, a six inch long bream, impaled, paralyzed, struggles feebly. The fish is flipped into the air and efficiently caught by the head even as it falls toward the water. It is swallowed.

Once several years ago I witnessed a most unusual encounter between two great blue herons. Come with me in my canoe and see what you think.

We are on the beautiful Wekiva River.

As we move downstream the only thing that breaks the silence is the tiny muted splash as our paddles pierce the water.

Oh, there are other sounds.

There is the rustle and breaking of twigs on the riverbank and the accompanying splash as a smallish alligator, perhaps six feet long, disturbed by our passing, retreats to the safety of the tannin darkened waters.

A little further along a yellow crowned night heron is concealed in the green of an overhanging bit of foliage. It watches us warily as our momentum carries us past without being disturbed into flight.

Look, just up ahead of us a great blue heron is fishing.

Abundant fish are in these waters and though it is fresh water, even stingrays can be seen here, gracefully flying their way up or down the stream in schools of ten, fifteen or more.

A broad variety of turtles and snakes and of coarse alligators, all call it home. There are bobcat here, and otter as well as raccoons, possums and the lowly armadillo. This is also home to abundant whitetail deer and my friend, the black bear.

The heron has been successful in his fishing and as he is in the process of swallowing his catch another heron suddenly appears.

On those great silent wings it glides around a small point of land and blindsides the fishing heron, knocking it down in a flurry of wings and splashing water. Swiftly, almost faster than the eye can follow, the attacker’s beak flashes in a series of lethal strikes.

The victim emits a single hoarse, ‘Sqwaak’ as it desperately endeavors to regain its feet, it opens its beak as it snaps at its attacker, but all in vain. And then, almost as fast as it began it is over. The body lays unmoving in the shallow water.

What caused the attack? I don’t have a clue. Perhaps it was a territorial thing, who knows. Usually the large wading birds are quite tolerant of their own kind but that day…?

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