In praise of the Great Blue

Spring 2009

With the aura of a warplane and the dance of a dork, the blue heron is sure to entertain

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by James Michael Dorsey

The familiar whoop whoop reaches my ear a split second before the dark shadow passes overhead.

I watch the surface minnows scatter as the large silhouette glides over them and smile because my old paddling companion, the great blue heron, is with me once again.

With a wingspan wider than my outstretched arms and its long spidery legs splayed flat out behind it, this great bird brings to mind a mighty war plane.

After the California condor, the blue heron is the largest bird on the west coast, and from the cockpit of a kayak, they often tower over me as I paddle by.

While the blue heron is found inland, it is most commonly seen along the coast, especially in marshy areas. Perhaps it is not technically a seabird as it does not travel far out from the coast, but it has been a paddling companion of mine for enough years to qualify in my own mind, and I have found it to be friendly, curious and endlessly entertaining. When it begins to mate, it could give “Dancing with the Stars” a run for its money.

It is a migratory wading bird found throughout north and Central America, but also in the West Indies and Galapagos Islands, that feeds primarily on small fish that it spears with its long pointed beak. But it will also eat snakes, shellfish, rodents, amphibians and reptiles.

I live in southern California near Marina Del Rey, the largest man-made marina in the world. I usually paddle out of there to follow the coast. I can speak from long experience when I say not only are there vast numbers of blue herons around, but these enormous birds have totally acclimated to the place, making themselves right at home on boats and along the docks. They are so used to people they sometimes will not move when you walk right by them and it can be very intimidating to paddle past a boat slip and have a three-foot-tall bird staring down at you.

They have a screeching kind of croak that they do not hesitate to use if smaller birds invade their space, and I have even had them take a half-hearted swipe at me for paddling too close to their resting spot.

I have seen young herons land on kayaks for a rest while learning to fly, and had them swoop over me so low as to feel their draft countless times. Once a young one landed on my deck and used my bungee to scrape off a bit of sea grass that was caught on its beak. Sometimes I have felt they deliberately go out of their way to relieve themselves on my kayak.

Its name is a bit misleading as the color scheme is quite varied, being mostly blue-gray over the upper portion of its torso with black flight feathers and a red-brown to black stripe along its flanks. It has a gray neck with nearly white face and two black plumes on top of its head running from just behind the eyes and tapering off to the rear of the head. Its legs are red to brown.

During mating season the males aggressively stake their claim to an area from other males, usually where a former nest has been or sometimes they will claim an old nest for restoration. The male will shriek loudly at the first approach of a female and put on a grand display of dancing and gyrations to attract her attention. No disco floor has ever seen slicker moves than those of a blue heron in pursuit of a mate. He will flap his wings, kick his long legs and screech as though someone is killing him. You have to be a female heron to truly appreciate this degrading spectacle. Once together a pair will mate almost immediately, but they are not monogamous and take a new mate each year.

I have the pleasure of paddling in an area that boasts over 40 types of seabirds, and always feel it will be a great day when I pass a blue heron on my way into the blue.

James Michael Dorsey can be reached at whalekeeper@yahoo.com.