Triple Threat
Wherever you live, there’s probably some wildlife that’s so ubiquitous that you never give it a second glance. Creatures so common they’re almost invisible. The kind of animals that you rarely think about, and you certainly wouldn’t pause to photograph.
In the Bay Area, we’re particularly fortunate, surrounded by a rich diversity of wildlife. And maybe it’s this abundance that makes it so easy to overlook our most pervasive species.
Take, for instance, the mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus). A common sight, not just in our forests but along busy roads. And California quail (Callipepla californica)—our state bird no less, and incredibly beautiful, with their rakish topknots—are readily visible to every hiker who cares to look for them.
Turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) are less conventionally attractive, but their relentless scavenging, soaring on thermals above, makes them a familiar sight. And common ravens (Corvus corax)—just as the name suggests—are everywhere. Their omnivorous diet and deep intelligence have brought them great success as a species.
These creatures might lack the mysterious qualities of a bobcat (Lynx rufus), the majestic presence of a tule elk (Cervus canadensis nannodes), or the charisma of an owl, but recently, I’ve tried to give them more attention. And it turns out, the more I look, the more there is to see.
This is a story about one ubiquitous species and why they deserve a second glance. A bird whose resilience has seen it flourish even as our wild spaces diminish. Enter the Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias).
Herons are undeniably conspicuous, simply because they’re so large. And it’s easy to believe you know an animal because you’ve seen it so often. Generalizations are easy to come by. “Herons? They stand in the water and catch fish, right? I mean, they’re described as wading birds.” Well, that’s certainly how I first encountered them, but their predatory skills might surprise you.
On one particular day, I took a walk to a lagoon. Candidly, I was hoping to see otters, but when none appeared, I gave my attention to a solitary heron, standing motionless in the shallows and waiting for prey to come within striking distance. It snatched a tiny stickleback (Gasterosteus aculeatus) and swallowed it whole. Not many calories there, but it proceeded to catch one after another, after another. I can only imagine how that added up. The spectacle was fun to watch, but fairly typical of what I expected.
Later that day, at a nearby beach, I found another heron. It was less than a mile away from the previous encounter, but this time, the heron was using a different technique to catch alternate prey. As each wave receded, the heron would seize mole grabs (Emerita analoga) with deft precision, flicking them up and catching them in its long beak like popcorn.
I’m not sure how the calorie count of a crab compares to a stickleback, but clearly, an abundance of these morsels was required to satisfy a heron, too. Either way, this was still technically seafood and squarely in the wheelhouse of expected heron behavior. However, that same day, within the same square mile, I had the opportunity to witness a third hunting technique, producing an altogether more filling meal.
I can’t say this was a complete surprise—my friend Daniel Dietrich had taught me to look for this behavior a while ago—but it was still an arresting experience. On this occasion, the heron stalked a field, carefully observing any movement in the long grass. It took a while to locate anything, but when it did, it seized the moment. A gopher (Thomomys bottae)!
Nature can be brutal, and predation is inherently grizzly, but watching a great blue heron swallow a gopher whole, and the lump making its way down that long neck, was particularly gnarly. Still, I’m sure it was a far more satisfying meal for a hungry bird than a stickleback.
I’ve read that in various indigenous cultures, herons are symbols of patience, wisdom, and adaptability. Observe them closely, and it’s easy to see why. And personally, I’ll try to mirror those qualities with whatever wildlife I encounter, no matter how common.
