I have now been home from my trip to Florida for about two weeks, but I wrote this particular column while I was still there. I was so excited by the sights and sounds that I had just witnessed at the Wakodahatchee Wetlands that I had to sit down and write while the experience was still fresh. This time, instead of writing from the lanai at my mother-in-law’s house, I was sitting poolside under a blue sky surrounded by palm trees swaying in a gentle tropical breeze. The hardships I endure to bring you stories from the exotic corners of the world!
The Wakodahatchee Wetlands, located in Boynton Beach, Florida is the first of two manmade wetland areas constructed by the Palm Beach County Water Utilities Department. Basically, after passing through a treatment plant, all of the water that flows down the area’s various drains is allowed to flow into a carefully constructed series of impoundments that have been planted with native emergent plants and trees. Most of the area is covered by less than twelve inches of water.
What makes this place so special is the fact that the various plantings are sometimes within arm’s reach of the wonderful boardwalk that snakes through the property. This puts many breeding birds well within reach of the longer lenses brought by many photographers and as a result there is ample opportunity to capture some extremely close shots of the most intimate aspects of the lives of the birds that live there. It is just such a story that I share with you today.
It was my first day of photography and I was up before dawn. I knew that Wakodahatchee opened at sunrise and I wanted to be there before the sun broke over the horizon. When I pulled into the parking lot I discovered that only one car had beaten me there. For a short while, at least, the wetlands would be mine.
As always happens, I entered the wetland and was immediately transfixed by the birds around me. After an hour I had only managed to walk about 200 yards and I had to tear myself away from what I was doing (I don’t want to spoil a future column here) and wander further into the facility to see what else awaited me. As luck would have it, an amazing look into the personal life of the tricolored heron was just ahead.
The tricolored heron (Egretta tricolor) is one of those members of the heron family that we just don’t see too often up here in the northeast. The Massachusetts Audubon Society lists it as “very infrequent” and it was not among the species that I had to learn for my ornithology class at U-Mass. Down in Florida, however, the wading birds abound and tricolored herons are among the most numerous. At Wakodahatchee they are also extremely tolerant of humans.
Thus, it was easy for me to watch the remarkable nuptial display of this gorgeous bird unfold right before my eyes. The male, in his gorgeous breeding plumage, stands atop a perch and goes through a ritualized gazing at his own feet before raising his beak straight up into the air. While holding his head pointing at the sky he then utters a wonderful series of noises that sound like the distant banging of hammers. Had I not been standing 15 feet in front of the bird that was making this noise I would have dismissed the sound as nothing more than someone doing a little maintenance on a house in a nearby neighborhood.
As one bird completed this display his neighbor would copy it with the utmost gravitas. Then the display would be repeated with robot-like consistency by all of the males in the vicinity. It was amazing how quiet these sounds were despite the fact that I was so close. A house wren would probably terrify these birds with the volume of the song it can generate.
I stood there for about an hour as I took photos of the tricolored males. Eventually, one of them moved up onto the railing and commenced a little exaggerated preening of his beautiful feathers. He posed, the sun cooperated, and soon I had another beautiful photo. Then, just as I was turning to leave, I noticed a movement in one of the bushes to my right.
I shifted my attention and discovered that, right under my nose, a female tricolored heron was sitting on a nest. The males had so completely captivated my attention that I hadn’t noticed the female just five feet away. She stood up to stretch her legs and in doing so revealed two blue eggs underneath her. It was just a second or two before she sat back down, far too little time for me to react with my camera, but I swear on my Peterson’s Field Guide that I saw a little ball of fluff that could only have been a chick. I uttered a lamentation to the gods, and they heard me.
As I stood there, tormented by the tantalizing sight that my eyes had just beheld, the gods delicately suggested that the female heron repeat her stretch. With camera at the ready the female stood up again and revealed the precious secret she was keeping from the world. There, on the rather rudimentary platform that is typical of heron nests, were two eggs and a newly hatched chick.
Through my lens I could see that one of the eggs was in the process of hatching! I had planned this trip to Florida with the primary goal of finding birds with their offspring and had managed to blunder upon this particular nest on hatching day. In my mind I could see all of the events that would happen as the chicks developed from hatchlings, to nestlings, to fledglings. At first only the smallest fish would suffice, but as the chicks grew so would the size and frequency of their meals. They would also progress from adorable little creatures into what my brother and I sometimes call “crazybirds” because of their white eyes and the wild expression on their faces.
On a subsequent visit, just a couple days later, I managed to find a tricolored heron nest with older chicks. Their antics were hysterical and it was with great regret that I finally had to board a plane and come home. How I would have loved to return, day after day, to see them grow to full size and take their first flights into the world.
Bill Danielson has worked as a naturalist for 22 years. In that time, he has been a national park ranger, a wildlife biologist and a field researcher. He currently works as a high school physics and biology teacher. His Speaking of Nature column runs weekly in The Recorder, except for the first Monday of each month, which is when his Kids and Critters column for young readers appears. To contact Bill, or to learn more about his writing, visit www.speakingofnature.com. Like Speaking of Nature on Facebook.