THE HERON 75 



cumbrous wings could carry him, to the dim 

 distance of the up-river woods. No bird pos- 

 sesses a keener sight than this lean hermit of 

 the wilds. However well the watcher may hide 

 in the brushwood near some favourite fishing 

 place, the bird overhead, while spying out the 

 land before descending, will catch sight of the 

 dread human form — the form of an enemy to fche 

 heron since the earliest days of falconry — and 

 will pass onward bill a mile of field and woodland 

 separates him from the object of his fear. While 

 he stands rigid in the water, apparently intent 

 only on the movements of the minnows and the 

 salmon-fry beneath, he is always listening and 

 looking for the slightest indication of danger. 



Last spring, however, I got the better of an old 

 jack-heron that had baffled me by his untiring 

 vigilance. Two of the large feathers in his tail 

 had been permanently destroyed, and thus his 

 flight had long been familiar to me. I had seen 

 him in the glens and the gorges, beside the mill- 

 leat near the mouth of the brook, at a pool on 

 the main river, and even by the old Corrwg 

 bridge about five miles from his usual haunts. I 

 was for ever coming upon him when I least 

 expected to do so, and when he was perfectly 

 aware of my approach. 



But one morning, as I lay in wait for the 

 return of a timid sandpiper that I had disturbed 



