76 BIRD LIFE IN A WESTERN VALLEY 



from her nest on the shingle by the stream, the 

 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 



