76 BIRD LIFE IN A WESTERN VALLEY 



from her nest on the shingle by the stream, fche 

 old heron suddenly appeared, flying leisurely in 

 the direction of a fir-spinney a hundred yards or 

 so away. He alighted quietly on one of the trees, 

 and, as I followed his movements intently 

 through my field-glass, I saw him feed another 

 heron whose head was thrust up above a large 

 pile of sticks forming a nest amid the green tops 

 of the firs. He soon left his lofty perch, and, 

 much to my satisfaction, headed straight towards 

 a pool at a bend of the stream not far from my 

 hiding-place. I waited for him to return to the 

 wood ; then stealthily and slowly, and with a 

 watchful eye on his movements, I crept behind 

 the bushes and made my way towards a furze- 

 clump that commanded a view of the place 

 where he had fished. Before I had reached the 

 spot, however, I saw him beginning his journey 

 back to the pool. I instantly dropped to the 

 ground, crawled into a ditch, and lay there till he 

 once more went to his nest ; then I crept on, and 

 gained my post of observation. 



For over an hour the bird continued to visit 

 the -same place for food. While he stalked 

 through the water — sometimes wading deeply 

 till the current touched his feathers, and at 

 other times only so far as to wet his claws — or, 

 as moveless as the stones around him, stood alert 

 for the least sign of an approaching fish, I 



