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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/nov/07/country-diary-angling-spot-regular-with-a-taste-for-unwanted-catch
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| Version 1 | Version 2 |
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| Country diary: angling spot regular with a taste for unwanted catch | Country diary: angling spot regular with a taste for unwanted catch |
| (30 days later) | |
| Rockland St Mary, Norfolk The fisherman rewarded the well-fed and fearless heron – a regular at the angling spot – with a small perch | Rockland St Mary, Norfolk The fisherman rewarded the well-fed and fearless heron – a regular at the angling spot – with a small perch |
| Mark Cocker | Mark Cocker |
| Tue 7 Nov 2017 05.30 GMT | Tue 7 Nov 2017 05.30 GMT |
| Last modified on Wed 14 Feb 2018 17.02 GMT | |
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| There were two catchers of fish at the water’s edge. There was the old boy who told me he had been coming here for 50 years and then there was the grey heron that has acquired a deep familiarity with people. I often it see as I drive through the neighbouring village of Bramerton, where it stands by the pond right at the roadside. | There were two catchers of fish at the water’s edge. There was the old boy who told me he had been coming here for 50 years and then there was the grey heron that has acquired a deep familiarity with people. I often it see as I drive through the neighbouring village of Bramerton, where it stands by the pond right at the roadside. |
| Today, it was on Rockland staithe, where it kept a companionable distance from its human neighbour. Both faced towards the tide-swollen water and, while both were fish-focused, only one was doing the catching. He told me that the heron had been a regular at the spot for about 10 years and, over that time, had acquired the courage to pace within touching distance of his pitch. On winter mornings, when the ground is frozen and pickings are slim, the bird stands on an adjacent telegraph pole and croaks his disapproval. Apparently, the fishermen have taken this as a sign of its hunger and they toss it parts of their unwanted catch. | Today, it was on Rockland staithe, where it kept a companionable distance from its human neighbour. Both faced towards the tide-swollen water and, while both were fish-focused, only one was doing the catching. He told me that the heron had been a regular at the spot for about 10 years and, over that time, had acquired the courage to pace within touching distance of his pitch. On winter mornings, when the ground is frozen and pickings are slim, the bird stands on an adjacent telegraph pole and croaks his disapproval. Apparently, the fishermen have taken this as a sign of its hunger and they toss it parts of their unwanted catch. |
| As if on cue, the line tightened while we spoke and out from the staithe rose a fish – a small perch – sudden and otherworldly and sparkling even in this November grey. What followed seemed all highly rehearsed. The man disconnected fish from hook. The heron stalked straight at him. The man made a gesture as if to throw. And the very moment the fish hit the ground, down stabbed the beak. I had time just to register the oxygen-rich red pulsing in a semi-circle at the gills, then there was that strange convulsion of neck muscles as bird and fish combined; and all was over. | As if on cue, the line tightened while we spoke and out from the staithe rose a fish – a small perch – sudden and otherworldly and sparkling even in this November grey. What followed seemed all highly rehearsed. The man disconnected fish from hook. The heron stalked straight at him. The man made a gesture as if to throw. And the very moment the fish hit the ground, down stabbed the beak. I had time just to register the oxygen-rich red pulsing in a semi-circle at the gills, then there was that strange convulsion of neck muscles as bird and fish combined; and all was over. |
| As the heron gazed out, I noticed how the long plumes, brushed slightly by the breeze, were flexed and twisted at its neck, like the silver willow leaves falling all around. The beak had something of the orange-yellow of horse chestnut leaves and the neck feathers had the faintest blush of the wine-stain colour now present in guelder rose. It struck me that this well-fed bird seemed the very picture of autumn. | As the heron gazed out, I noticed how the long plumes, brushed slightly by the breeze, were flexed and twisted at its neck, like the silver willow leaves falling all around. The beak had something of the orange-yellow of horse chestnut leaves and the neck feathers had the faintest blush of the wine-stain colour now present in guelder rose. It struck me that this well-fed bird seemed the very picture of autumn. |
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