The great blue heron




 

 


Walking out the front door, my attention was caught by a deep guttural honk. Turning left, I spied enormous wings ascending over a nearby hill.

The long wingstrokes slowly coursed and strained against gravity. The gray muted light of early morning made it unclear exactly what was coming towards me. I quickly reviewed my mental checklist of possible birds. No color was discernable, only a dark silhouette. The wings were much too long and large for a crow, the rhythmic wing beats were different than a hawk’s or vulture’s.

More observation revealed two sets of enormous wings struggling and tussling in the air. Completely absorbed in each other as I sat to watch this slow, tangled dance coming toward me. Finally it was this deliberate powerful flight that spurred my recognition; they were two great blue herons, Ardea herodias.

These enormous birds crested the hill, flying only a few feet from where I sat. So engaged were they in their own snarled flight, the two paid no attention to me. Releasing a loud squawk, their long necks and sharp spear-like bills twisted and thrust at one another. Legs were pointed in all directions; upwards, outwards, toward each other, defying the pull of gravity. With another bellowing call, the two birds released once again, becoming individuals.

To my human’s eye neither heron seemed to be dominant. They were the same size and coloring, but clearly they were aware of some hierarchy I could not detect. The jumbled flight turned into a chase, one pursuing the other across nearby farms and tops of trees. The hunted heron flew north until it vanished in the sky. The hunter gracefully circled back to the creek where I have been watching it for the past two weeks. Long wings took slow, commanding strokes. With no hurry and much poise it settled high in the branches of a sycamore and began to preen, clearly the master of its territory.

While traversing California’s diverse ecosystems, the great blue heron has been a constant companion. Beyond its wideranging habitats, this majestic bird is found in every contiguous state in the U.S., in all freshwater environments from streams to lakes to swamplands to estuaries. It is even found in deserts and farmlands where water holes have been provided by humans.

Through continual encounters over many years I am always moved by the great blue heron’s Zenlike grace coupled with tremendous power. Contrary to the flashy fast-paced culture of Los Angeles, stealth and stillness is the heron’s key to survival.

Being mainly an aquatic bird, the heron has developed remarkable adaptations, becoming an exceptional carnivore, feeding on fish, amphibians, small mammals, crustaceans and small birds. A modification of the sixth cervical vertebra allows herons to contort their necks into an S shape that snaps their head and spearlike bill forward at lightning speed.

Another adaptation aiding their hunting technique is the placement of the esophagus and trachea in relation to the vertebrae. In the lower part of the neck, the esophagus and trachea run over and behind the spinal column, creating the shortest route to the digestive track. Most important, the placement sets these delicate tissues out of danger when the heron powerfully strikes.

This large bird is easily recognized, reaching a length of 52 inches with a wingspan approaching 7 feet. The body, tail and wings are blue-gray; the long gray and white neck curving into a white face and black crown. In flight the long legs stretch behind, while the neck contorts into a horizontal S against the body.

Beyond physical variations, behavioral adaptations add to the power and grace of this bird. The most common foraging behavior used by the great blue heron is standing in wait. They will remain in shallow water peering downward into the murk perfectly still, waiting for prey to pass. At such a moment the prey is speared and swallowed and can be seen bulging down the long neck. Soon after, hunting resumes.

Often herons are seen hunting with wings splayed. This is thought not only to reduce glare but also provides shade in the water, luring fish seeking a safe haven. Both Malibu Lagoon and Malibou Lake provide great spots to view these behaviors.

As we move into winter, the lesson of the great blue heron hits home. I see the effectiveness of slow, deliberate movement, emphasizing the need for energy conservation. Rather than the riotous actions of summer when there is an abundance of food and warmth, the winter heron displays no wasted action. Looking at all of my extra expenditures this season, I wonder what could be achieved if I moved with more modesty and intent. Could I too couple power and grace?

 

 

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