Great blue herons spend most of their lives as solitary hunters quietly fishing local shorelines, battleship-gray loners the same color as fresh-set cement. Rock solid. Steely-eyed. Rapier-billed. Each heron seems to have a favorite fishing hole. But, mum's the word.
Everything changes at breeding time; there's safety in numbers. They all come together as colonial nesters, creating rookeries, filling the trees with large stick condos like high-rises on Miami Beach. A single tall sycamore can have multiple nurseries, precariously placed on the uppermost branches. The nests are so well built, they can be used year after year.
In late January, male great blues begin to arrive at the rookery to stake their claims. They don’t necessarily use the same nests they used the year before. If they arrive early enough to claim a better-located one, they will.
What determines a better site? Only a heron knows and they are remarkably tight-billed on the subject. Perhaps it's the scenery. Wanted: river-front condo with view of sunset. Or maybe it's accessibility. Great blues are hopelessly lankly, those long legs, bills and wings make pinpoint landing on a branch problematic.
If they arrive at the rookery too late, they may have to build a nest from scratch. It’s first come, first served. This declaration-of-site marks the beginning of courtship. By early March, most nests have already been claimed and the females are beginning to join their mates.
There's a family to raise.
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| Photos by Wayne Mallinger |
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