CHAPTER XII 



The Home Life of the Heron 



IN the romantic age, when Falconry was the sport of Kings, a deep interest 

 was taken in the Heron, for the reason that in those days it was the 

 quarry de luxe of the lordly Peregrine ; and to interfere with a Heron 

 or its nest involved risks of the most painful punishment the law could 

 inflict, so anxious were the authorities to preserve the birds for their favourite 

 sport. 



And even in these days of hammer less ejectors and split cane rods, one 

 cfinnot but recognize in the Heron a bird so beautiful in form and colour — so 

 decorative, that even the most enthusiastic trout-stream owner would, one 

 imagines, be sorry to find it completely exterminated. 



It is generally the ambition of every aspiring naturalist photographer to 

 obtain a successful picture of the nest and eggs of some particularly rare or 

 attractive bird^ — a comparatively simple matter when the nest is on the ground 

 or in a bush, but an exceedingly trying one when, as in the case of the Heron, 

 the nest is in the top of some apparently inaccessible tree. 



A photograph of a Heron's nest and eggs was the result of the writer's 

 earliest attempt at serious tree-top photography : and strangely enough — 

 probably more by good luck than judgment — it proved to be so pleasing 

 as regards composition, lighting, and so on, as to subsequently create such 

 a favourable impression upon a certain photographic critic of the day that 

 the author was encouraged to carry on with his interesting, if at times risky, 

 diversion. 



It was secured after a most unhappy two hours had been spent in climbing 

 the tree, and in attempting to fix in position the little camera in which such 

 imphcit confidence had been placed. And then, of course, the business of 

 focusing, readjusting and so on had to be gone through, the unsteadiness of 

 the camera rectified, and the dark-slide ultimately placed in position. At 

 the psychological moment a misty rain began to fall, and the writer, who 

 had read in the photographic handbooks that in order to take good photographs 

 one must have the sun shining over the left shoulder, felt his heart sink to the 

 region of his boots. 



Had he thought as he thinks now, he would certainly have welcomed this 



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