If you find a heron's nest, here's what you definitely should not do

There are one or two things one does not do in the company of great blue herons.

First, if you are presented with a wounded heron that’s been confined to a burlap sack, do not open the sack to look in. The heron will drill you between the eyes with a bill that resembles a spear. (Advice from a wildlife rehabilitator I know.)

Second, if you locate a heron nesting colony, or rookery, do not stand under a treeful of nestlings when their parents arrive with food. Young heron stomachs seem capable of holding only so much, so when additional food is swallowed, a proportionate amount must be jettisoned as excrement over the nest edge.

Standing under said nest, looking up, is what you don’t want to be doing.

While young are on the nest, it makes sense to observe them beyond bombing range. In some cases, this is easier said than done, because great blue herons often nest high in forest trees. Convening in colonies of several dozen or herons or more, these four-foot-tall birds build shallow platform nests of sticks, often fifty feet above ground. Trying to see what’s going on up there can be a neck-breaking pastime at best.

That’s why I was pleased on a recent excursion to watch herons out in the open. Instead of forest nesting, eight pairs had built nests in the truncated tops of dead trees in a beaver swamp rimmed by thick woods. A few nests sat atop stubs just five feet above water. Others rested in trees 15 feet at most from the surface.

Although all the nests could be easily seen in the open, their location over water provided protection from land-based predators.

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In addition, the rookery’s location was remote – the first condition herons require when choosing a nest site. I had walked several hundred yards through forest to reach the pond. And because beavers had recently created it, it didn’t show up as water on local topographical maps.

These conditions allowed me to hunker on shore and feel touched by a wilderness feeling. I could watch great blue herons – young, gawky ones, nearly grown, standing tall on their nests, waiting for lunch. Adult herons will fly miles from their rookery in search of good hunting spots, so the youngsters I watched were accustomed to long waits.

Hour after hour they lounged in the sun, sometimes preening, occasionally flapping, killing time.

When a parent returned, heron chaos broke loose. Packed three or four to a nest, the youngsters squawked, jumped and flapped, all the while jabbing the parent’s bill with theirs. The harried adult would oblige by regurgitating a portion of its gullet-stored payload into each yammering beak before heading for the hills to catch more.

Silence again. Drowsy herons again; drowsy bird watcher. Everyone lounging sleepily, just like summer.E-mail Rick at [email protected].

This article originally appeared on Binghamton Press & Sun-Bulletin: Spot a great blue heron? What to know when watching these birds