Today I made my first trip to a local park since March, before all the Covid-19 shutdowns began. My area got a lot of rain in the past day or so. That helped to cool down the air and get rid of the summertime flying pests that keep me from hiking much in hot weather.
I got up at 5:30 AM, posted a photo and “Good Morning” greeting to Gab.com like I usually do, fed Billy Cat, took a shower, got dressed, grabbed my camera gear, with a freshly charged battery, and headed out the door a little after 6:30 AM. Lake Conestee Nature Preserve officially opens at dawn, which was around 7:20 AM this morning. I arrived at the park a little before that. The day was overcast with a thick blanket of clouds. Off to the west I could see a light area that was probably clear sky, but the sun was not making an appearance yet.
It felt good to be in the park. But overcast days are rarely inspiring. Wooden footbridges and walking platforms were wet and often muddy, in other words, slippery. I had to concentrate on not falling down while on those. Since this is really the end of summer, I did not expect any picturesque scenery. And my expectations were correct. I took a few photographs, but none of them really stood out for me. After a few minutes, I was beginning to believe that today would just be a nice walk in the park on a cloudy day, far less than perfect, but still pretty nice, considering the fact that I had not been out in nature in a long time.
I did find two very positive things. The lookout platform near all the heron nests had been rebuilt. It was higher off the water and appeared to be quite structurally sound. Also, the footbridge that had been destroyed in a flood was now replaced. It was much higher above the water and had no supports that could be knocked over by another flood. The craftsmanship was obviously quite good.
At the lookout platform I could see clearly what I feared the last time I visited: the stand of tall trees that once had around a dozen heron nests had been almost totally destroyed. Only one tree had all its limbs and four empty nests. The other trees were either gone, or stripped bare of all their limbs, including those that once supported heron nests.
The beaver ponds out in front of the lookout platform were overgrown with water weeds, as they always are in summer. When the weather turns cold, all those weeds will shrink back under the water and the view will be much more pleasant, with all that water open and clear.
I was wearing new boots, just barely broken in, and I had not taken a long walk since March. So I wasn’t very confident about trying to walk my favorite old loop, which usually takes me an hour and ½ or so. Nonetheless, I headed out in that direction. About 45 minutes later I was tired. My back was hurting from carrying my camera. That used to happen on some longer walks. I decided to take a bit of a shortcut, instead of doing the whole loop. I headed in the direction of the little footbridge I once spoke of as having a private little area of an almost magical essence.
By the time I got there I wasn’t even looking for something to photograph. I just wanted to get back to my car, still about 20 minutes away. I approached the aforementioned footbridge and was about to walk across it when I noticed something in the water, less than 15 feet from where I stood.
It was a young heron, quite healthy looking, standing still, like a statue. Being that close to a heron meant that as soon as it saw me it was going to fly away. That was my experience in the past. So I stopped, readied my camera, and took a photograph.
The heron did not move.
I inched a little closer, in the general direction of the bridge. I took another photograph, and a couple more. The heron did not move. I stepped onto the bridge. The heron did not move. I took a couple more photographs. I was beginning to believe that someone had put a decoy into the water to attract herons. And this was not a real bird. I took a few more steps, thinking “what’s the point of photographing a decoy?”
Then the heron moved his head. It was real.
In all my years of photographing these beautiful birds, I had never been anywhere near this close to one. By this point I was probably 8 feet from the bird and it was still standing there in the water, almost like a statue.
Imperfect things were the overcast day, shadow from the surrounding trees, and the distracting elements in the water around the bird. The light was not good and that means the photograph may not be very clean or sharp. Then, like magic, a little strip of light peeked through the trees and lit up the area where the heron was standing in the water. I took a couple of more photographs and then realized I could probably get a better shot if I would squat down and put my camera between the railings of the footbridge. So I did that, while that little piece of light was shining on that beautiful young bird. And that’s what you see in today’s photograph.
A few minutes later, the heron began to walk around, looking for something to eat. I snapped a few more shots, but the light was gone and the bird was not as close to me anymore, so those photos were not as compelling as the one I got squatting down, just a few feet from that beautiful bird.
The heron never seemed to take notice of me. I had almost wished that he would fly away and let me capture him waving those magnificent wings. But he didn’t do that, and I’m not the kinda guy who’s willing to startle a bird on purpose, just to get a photograph.
So, I decided to leave the bird in peace, let him do his thing and find some breakfast. But I will tell you this: I think this might have been one of those once-in-a-lifetime things. The environment was less-than-perfect. That little strip of sunlight was at least better than having just the light from an overcast sky. But the bird, so close to me, that beautiful young bird, that amazingly patient creature … gave me the opportunity to get the best shot I could, under the circumstances. And that made the trip more than worth it.