Bird studies with a camera

by Frank M. Chapman

42. Young Night Herons leaving nest. Nesting tree shown in No. 38.

So I should like to have passed the day with them, becoming for the time being a Heron myself; but the desire to picture the birds was stronger than the wish to be a Heron, and the situation was considered from the standpoint of the bird photographer.

The rookery proved to be a difficult subject. No single view would convey an adequate idea of its appearance, and I therefore selected representative tree tops and photographed their nests and young birds. A visit to a neighboring pond resulted in securing, with the aid of a telephoto, a picture^[40] of two adult birds feeding well out of gunshot, and with the assistance of climbers I reached the upper branches of a tree some seventy feet in height containing five nests whose contents ranged from eggs to nearly grown young. With the ball-and-socket clamp the camera was fastened to favoring limbs, and after three hours’ work several satisfactory pictures of young in the nest and on the adjoining branches were secured.^[41]–[43] Although well able to defend themselves, the young assumed no such threatening attitudes as the American Bittern strikes when alarmed, from which perhaps we may argue that they are happily ignorant of the dangers which beset their ground-nesting relative.

43. Young Night Herons on branches near nest, seventy feet from the ground.

As the sun crept upward and the last fishers returned, the calls of both old and young birds were heard less and less often, and by ten o’clock night had fallen on the rookery and the birds were all resting quietly. Four o’clock in the afternoon was evidently early morning, and at this hour the birds first began to leave the rookery for their fishing grounds. Some went toward the north, others to the south, east or west; each bird no doubt having clearly in mind some favorite shore, perhaps a dozen miles away, where he before had had good luck a-fishing; and of all the varied phases of rookery life the thought of this regular nightly expedition of hundreds of winged fishers, is to me the most attractive.

Our largest Heron as well as our largest bird is the Great Blue. “Crane” he is popularly called; but, aside from other differences, the bird’s habit of folding its neck back on its shoulders, when on the wing, will distinguish it from true Cranes, who fly with neck extended to the utmost.

The Great Blue Heron is not edible, but its size makes it a desirable prize to most gunners and it is considered an especially fit mark for a rifle. The temptation is strong to condemn as an outlaw the man who kills one of these noble birds for what he terms sport, or perhaps for the purpose of what he would call having it “set up.” He, however, is acting according to his light, which is quite as bright as that which shines for most of his neighbors. The Heron is exceedingly wild, and its capture is eloquent evidence of the hunter’s prowess, while his desire to have its stuffed skin adorn his home is, from his point of view, positively commendable. That the bird is infinitely more valuable alive than dead, that its presence adds an element to the landscape more pleasing to some than could be imparted by any work of man, and that in depriving others of the privilege of observing its singularly stately grace of pose and motion he is selfish beyond expression, does not even vaguely occur to this so-called “sportsman,” who belongs in the class to whom a majestic cliff is a quarry, a noble tree, lumber. Until he has been educated to properly value the beauties of Nature, or at least realize the rights of others in them, he must be restrained by law, to the force of which even he is not blind.

Only the Great Blue Heron’s extreme wariness and habit of frequenting shores and marshes where it can command an extended view of its surroundings has preserved it from extinction; but when nesting it is compelled to visit woodlands where its human enemies have better opportunities to approach it, and its only chance for safety during the breeding season is to select a retreat remote from the home of man. For this reason Great Blue Heron rookeries are exceedingly uncommon in more settled parts of the bird’s range, and north of Florida I have seen their nests in only one locality.

It was the week after my visit to the Night Herons that, in northern Cayuga County, New York, I was led by a local ornithologist through one of the heaviest pieces of timber I have ever seen north of a primeval tropical forest, in search of a Great Blue Heron rookery which he knew to exist, and only my confidence in his woodsmanship gave me courage to follow him over fallen trees and through the season’s dense undergrowth, from which our passage raised such a host of mosquitoes that every step was a battle. If the vicious little insects had lived only to protect the Herons, they could not have disputed our progress more valiantly, and on reaching the birds’ stronghold, where the comparative absence of undergrowth deprived our winged foes of shelter, I congratulated myself on what, for the moment, seemed to be no insignificant feat.