Dusk is falling upon Strathdevon; the ground is hard from the cold autumn chill and as I make my way along the riverbank a steady flow of rooks and jackdaws swirl above me on tumbling wings as they head to their night-time roost on the wooded ridge.
I stop for a while as I’m addicted to this winter gloaming. There is an almost primeval feel about it, the skeletal outline of the trees against the fading pastel sky and the gentle skim of mist settling upon river pools. But it is the smell I like most; the air hanging with the heavy aroma of moss and fallen leaves.
I move on and a twig cracks from under my feet and nature takes notice. A previously unseen grey heron takes to the air from a shingle bank in a slow lumbering flight and a blackbird calls in alarm. A dipper whirrs away upriver on stumpy wings.
I’ve lost sight of the heron, but it then swoops back into view above the alders, uttering a harsh ‘kerr-ack’ before it is gone, leaving in its wake the burble of the river.
Herons are typically shy birds, so I was not surprised that this one had taken flight so easily. But not all behave this way. One I came upon recently had no intention of flying away, despite my close approach, thus providing an opportunity to study it in detail. It was indeed an impressive bird with its yellow dagger-like bill and pendant crest combined with dark markings down the front and neck.
Herons are wily creatures too. One of our local birds uses the illumination from street lights by the burn that runs through our village as an aid for hunting fish at night. It wouldn’t surprise me if other herons similarly utilise the soft white glow of the full moon for nocturnal forays in areas away from our towns and villages.
They also quickly learn the best fishing spots, often at the top of a riffle in a river where they can snap-up tiring trout as they move upstream. They are adaptable too and in spring will feast upon newly emerging frogs.
There is much folklore that promotes the notion that herons have some special attraction to fish. It was said, for example, that the marrow from the thigh-bone of a heron when applied to a baited hook would help anglers boost their catches.
Others believed that certain oils extracted from dead herons were similarly effective in luring fish. The truth, of course, is that rather than relying upon inherent bodily attractants, it is stealth and guile which makes the heron such an efficient fish catcher.
But the most engaging tale is surely the delightful image conjured by the long-held belief that the floor of a heron’s nest has two strategically placed holes to enable the long legs to dangle through when it is incubating eggs.