CHAPTER VIII
A PLEA FOR PROTECTION
A Delightful Place
As I loiter along the banks of a sylvan stream about the first of April, looking for the return of some of the feathery tribe, there falls upon my ears a sound, hoarse and grating as described by ornithologists, but to my ears most pleasant, for it tells me that a fine bird, the belted kingfisher (Ceryle alcyon), has arrived for the season. With his crest plainly visible, in strong flight he is following the course of the winding creek. This highly original character is the only member of the kingfisher family in our part of the country. Yet there is little or no protection extended to him by law. It would be a calamity indeed if he were eliminated from the scenery of the wooded banks, the tossing rapids, and the still pool at the foot of the falls. Here the silvery spray contributes a weird touch to the scene as the “lone fisherman” hovers for an instant, then with a spiral sweep makes a plunge, disappears for a second, comes up with his finny prey, and takes his rapid flight to some old limb, where he consumes the fish at leisure. I have never heard a word against this striking bird, except on one occasion when a friend, who is the proud owner of a lily pond, complained about one of them making visits to poach on his goldfish. The legislation permitting their slaughter was passed, I presume, in the sole interest of the fisherman. Surely this stately bird should not be exterminated; its chief diet is minnows and small fry, fish rejected by the angler except for use as bait. To my mind the species is at present in serious danger of becoming extinct and should be protected.
Caught
(Note the minnow in his beak.)
I was quite anxious to get a few pictures before he passed into history. So one bright summer day, selecting a pool previously observed to be much frequented, I constructed a blind out of boughs and weeds on the bank three or four feet away from an old root where I had seen the birds alight as they patrolled up and down the stream. Truly “the watched pot never boils.” After waiting three or four hours I heard a rattling call, a splash, and through my peephole saw his lordship perched, dripping wet, on the very spot on which I had trained the camera. The shutter clicked, but it might as well have “clacked” for he was instantly alert; I was discovered, and away went the kingfisher, rattling as though in defiance. In the short instant of his sojourn, however, my purpose was accomplished. Only the person who has had this or a similar hobby can appreciate my delight when I developed the film and found it had caught the fisherman with the small fry in his beak.