On the shore you will also find the fish-hawk, or osprey; a well-mannered bird he is said to be, who fishes diligently and attends strictly to his own business. The fish-hawk's nest will generally be at the top of a dead tree where no one may disturb or look into it, though, as the accompanying photograph shows, it is sometimes found on rocks near the ground. The young hawks have a way of their own of defending themselves from any climbing creature, and to investigators of the nest the results are disastrously disagreeable as well as laughable. As the intruder climbs near, the baby birds put their heads over the sides of the nest and empty their stomachs upon him. This is vouched for by a well-known writer who claims to have gone through the experience.
The female osprey is larger and stronger than the male. On slowly moving wings she sails over the water, dropping suddenly to clutch in her strong talons the fish her keen eyes have detected near the surface of the water. Fish are fish to the osprey and salt waters or fresh are the same to her. I have watched the bird plunge into the waves of the ocean, on the coast of Maine, to bring out a cunner almost too large for her to carry, and I have seen her drop into the placid waters of an Adirondack lake for lake-trout in the same manner.
The great blue heron is one of the shore folk and his metallic blue-gray body gleams in the sunlight, as you sight him from your canoe, standing tall and slim, a lonely figure on the bank. He flies slowly and majestically, with his long legs streaming out behind. When out in a small boat on Puget Sound a large heron escorted us some distance. As we rowed near the shore he would fly ahead and then wait for us, standing solemnly on a stone in the water or a partially submerged log, to fly again as we approached.
[Illustration: The fish-hawk will sometimes build near the ground.]
This escort business seems to be a habit of the heron family, for the same thing occurred on the Tomoca River, Fla., the home of the alligator, when a small, brilliantly blue heron flew ahead of our boat for several miles, always stopping to wait for us, and then going on again.
The heron is a fisher and when you see him standing close to the water, on one foot perhaps, he is awaiting his game. It matters not how long he must remain immovable, there he will stand until the fish comes within striking distance, when the long, curved neck will shoot out like a snake and the strong beak grasp its unwary prey.