There is a fellow in my small northern town who rides his bicycle, slowly, for kilometers around the immediate district every day. He wears a high-visibility vest, and carries a camera around his neck. In my early days in Thessalon, I’d see him here and there as I took my hikes, and drove to my favourite swimming spot. I called him “bike guy.” Later, when I noticed the camera, he became “camera guy.” After I stopped him one day to chat, he became Tony, but in my head I still call him “camera guy.”
Tony has fat tires for his bike that he puts on in winter for the icy snowy days. He is out there even on the most frigid days, slowly cycling and watching. He knows where every bird and every animal in the area lives, eats, and wanders. His Facebook postings are legendary in the town.
“Did you see… camera guy saw a bear up on Sherwood Road?”
“You mean Tony?”
“Yeah, Tony — camera guy! Big bear.”
An American goldfinch (Spinus tristis) feeding on spruce cones. Spotted while actually trying to see a heron.
Tony has let me know where to go to spot eagles, and has an incredible eye for shorebirds. He’s seen, identified, and photographed way more birds and animals in and around Thessalon than I imagine I’ll ever manage. Like me, Tony is a transplanted southerner, and he’s living the dream of post-retirement focus on what he truly wants to do. I’m hoping at some point Tony and I will sit down for one of my Interviews with a Birder. We’ll see.
A Red fox (Vulpes vulpes), no doubt first seen by Tony (Camera Guy), but then seen by me.
A couple months back I watched a beautiful Great Blue Heron (Ardea Herodias) in flight, following the river that runs through town, lifting up over the bridges, and then dipping low to skim the top of the water. Of course, I was walking the dog, and did not have my camera at the time. I mentioned the Blue to Tony.
“Oh yeah, what you want to do is go to that wetland near the mill, you know, on the other side of town there. It’s there most evenings, preening its feathers. You’ll get a good shot there.”
The best I could do for a Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias) photo before talking with Tony.
Of course, birding is never so simple. At least in my experience. I’ve walked over to that wetland at least five times now, at different times in the evening, always ready to get my heron shots. I’ve seen lots of birds over there, and took what I consider an exceptional shot of a Common Yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas), I then used as the model for my first foray into bird sketching. It’s a great place in the evening, that wetland, but if a heron lives there, it’s one of those invisible ones.
My Common yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas), drawn from a bird I spotted at the Genelle St. wetlands in Thessalon.
While I’m still a guy with a day job and city responsibilities, I spend precious little time in Thessalon. The yearning to be there starts pretty much as soon as I get back into Toronto traffic, which actually starts about 100 km to the north of the city in Barrie, Ontario. My wife, Julia, and I have a saying about Barrie. It goes like this.
“Barrie!!!”
You maybe need to see the fist-shaking and angry faces to get the full effect.
I’m back south now, which means my birding is somewhat curtailed. Still, the other day I saw a notification on the ONTBIRDS listserv that a somewhat rare Yellow Crowned Night Heron (Nyctanassa violacea) had been spotted at my local waterfront park here in Etobicoke. This morning I geared up and headed down to see what I could see. I took my dog Birdy, because if I didn’t and then she smelled that park on me when I returned, she’d sulk for the rest of the day.
Dogs and birding don’t mix well at all, so the walk was more of a scouting mission. An ONTBIRDS notification would mean other birders with long lenses would gather at the park for sure. Spot them, and you just might spot the bird itself, and manage a few distant snaps. And then you could maybe come back without the dog to get a bit closer.
A surprise — this Bay-breasted warbler (Setophaga castanea) perched and posed for me as I set out on my heron hunt.
I spotted some nice birds, for sure, including a new one for my Life List — a Bay-breasted Warbler (Setophaga castanea) — but no Yellow Crowned Night Heron. Of course. I’ve come to understand that birding is a LOT more than just getting a hot tip about where you might see a bird. There is no giving up in birding, only going again. Persistence and patience. More important than the camera itself. I dropped Birdy back at the house, satisfied with her snoot full of wild scents, and got myself right back to the park.
Checking one likely spot, I came across another birder who gave me the day’s hot tip. Over by the footbridge, hunting from beneath a branch leaning across the water, I’d spot my Yellow Crowned. I hurried over to the footbridge. Some mallards, a curious cormorant, and even a playful mink slipping along the shoreline boulders. But no heron. I was too late.
And then, ambling back to my car I passed another pond and there, on a rock much closer than I could hope, stood a majestic pre-historic Great Blue Heron, and — Tony, you won’t believe it — it was preening its feathers, slowly, deliberately, and without a care for me leaning against a nearby tree and snapping a hundred or so portraits.
When you hang out in algae-covered ponds, you want to be preening your feathers.
Patience. Persistence.
Great blue heron. Finally.
“...this trailing of the long legs in the water,
this opening up of the heavy body
into a new life: see how the sudden
gray-blue sheets of her wings
strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing
takes her in.”