Good news, Brad is back from his field office visit (in actuality he made it back just before I released my last post, but I didn’t see his expense report come in before hitting publish). I can definitely use the break as tomorrow morning is my “simulation” run for the fast approaching ultra trail race. Plan is to cover ~75% of the course, but 100% of the terrain (there is an 8 mile repeated section). The 24 or so miles shouldn’t be an issue, but the heat is the big unknown as temps have been climbing steadily since last week. It could be a “devil” of a time which makes Brad’s post on point. Enjoy this “spear-ited” adventure while I go talk through the battle plan with the crew.
Take it away Brad…
Sometimes with wildlife photography, I’m not really sure what I’m seeing, but I keep the shutter going just in case. I’ve been lucky enough to get the precise moment a Bald Eagle snatches dinner from a river. We’ve also caught the precise moment dinner exits a bird (not pretty, so no more details here) on more than one occasion. This time, both Jan and I were very unsure what we were seeing. Luckily, we took a combined few hundred photos over the course of a minute or two. As the subject moved along and came into focus (pun intended) we were able to tell what it was, but really couldn’t believe what we were seeing.
Jan and I were sitting on a berm at the end of Woody Pond at Harris Neck National Wildlife Refuge in Georgia. Even though there was no one at the gate to check our National Park Pass, we felt better that we had one with us. What?! No National Parks Pass yet? Go get one right now, it’s well worth the time. Of course, if you are reading this blog, you probably already have one.
Let me paint a picture for you. The berm at the end of Woody Pond acts more like a dam for the shallow-ish pond-like sort of area. It seemed to be more of a deep marsh because the thick parts of the tree trunks (you know, where they normally come out of the ground) weren’t sticking that far out of the water. To our right, a few dozen yards away, was a very large alligator sitting right in the middle of the path. (link here) To the left was a Great Blue Heron (GBH) trying to fish. Right behind the GBH were three more alligators: one very large and two bite-sized versions.
I was standing on the berm about halfway between the two groups of gators. Jan was to my left and a bit closer to the set of three alligators, but also very near the car. She was also somewhat protected from them by being across a small arm of water, just in case. There was a tree stump sitting in the water 15-20 feet from the bank. A minute before, a bird had been perching on it, but now it was empty. Butterbutts (Yellow-rumped Warblers) were flitting about like mosquitoes. Luckily, even in this marsh area, there were no mosquitoes in February.
We were watching the GBH on its morning snack hunt when Jan pointed and said, “What’s that?”
Hit the jump to find out what kind of “snake” this really is.
“I don’t know,” was my reply. It took me a second or two to find what she was pointing at. What is that? Once I found it below the trees, my first thought ran to a yet-to-be-determined type of water snake looking for a meal from the low branches on the trees. My second thought was, “Holy Crap!” Are any of those right around where I’m sitting so very close to the water?
As it got closer, I was still thinking a snake had been lucky enough to grab a bird, but this was a very funny looking bird on the end of the “snake”. Then I saw the “bird” was actually a fish and wondered why a snake would hold a fish out of water instead of simply eating it. Maybe the “snake” was trying to keep the fish from “breathing” underwater before it ate the fish? That didn’t make any sense. Either way, it kept swimming in our direction and we both kept the cameras rolling.
Through the viewfinder, I can now see what looks like a fish stuck on the end of a bird’s dagger-like bill. A large bird started climbing out of the water and up the dead tree roots.
WARNING: Graphic Content Ahead! Sensitive viewers may want to skip ahead a few photos. (The Intrigued Legal team made me add that.)
The bird, an Anhinga (Anhinga anhinga), had speared a Yellow Bullhead. The word Anhinga means “snake bird” or “devil bird”. Clearly, you can understand my earlier confusion. The bullhead was still flapping from side to side for all it was worth. I realized the fish was solidly impaled. Then I began to wonder how the Anhinga was going to get the still flapping fish off its skewer of a bill and into its belly for dinner. The next steps surprised both Jan and I.
The Anhinga proceed to bludgeon the bullhead on the tree stump. I chose the word “bludgeon” carefully because we could hear the solid “thump” of the fish on the wood. The sound reminded me of hitting a tree with a mallet hammer. Thump! The Anhinga raised its head then forcefully slammed the bird on the stump over and over and over. The bludgeoning lasted about 3 minutes according to photo timestamps.
Jan luckily caught the pivotal moment, but right then her camera chose to focus precisely where the fish had been a second before. It all happened in a blur (pun intended).
It was a clean catch, headfirst down the gullet. I could tell this Anhinga had done this before.
I’ve read where birds that feed on fish can sometimes choose one much larger than they can safely swallow. At this point, I was seriously wondering if we were going to see one of nature’s ironies: The hunter succumbing to the prey in the end. We did observe a Great Blue Heron eating a fish twice as big as its head last year (here).
The Anhinga was swaying back and forth with the bullhead partially sticking out of its mouth. I sympathized with the Anhinga, remembering a few holiday dinners when just one more bite was actually about five bites too many. The fish just wasn’t going to go gentle into that good night.
The Anhinga had to be thinking, “A nice slurp of pond water would be good right now.” And maybe a mint . . . just wafer thin. I know sometimes I feel better when I have a sip of water after eating a bit too much. However, I’m usually a little more tactful about taking a drink.
The Anhinga took several head-immersed drinks of water, spit some of the water out, tried to swallow a little bit more, and dunked its head again. Dunk, drink, spit, repeat. This went on for a minute or two before the Anhinga felt dinner was secured. An adult Anhinga can eat between 10 and 20 small bluegills per day. I suspect this one just ate the equivalent of 5-10 bluegills in one swallow. It spread its water-laden wings and flew to another perch about 50 yards away.
The Anhinga rested on another tree trunk alongside a Little Blue Heron. It dried its wings as we walked to the car.
The whole event took less than 10 minutes from first “snake” sighting to abandoning the dinner perch. Interestingly enough, there didn’t seem to be any reaction from the alligators during this whole interlude.
Thank you for reading. If you want to see more Anhinga photos, please visit here.
Credits:
Thanks again to Jan and Allyson for proofreading and editing. Thanks to Jan for some of the photos in this article.
Life Intrigued 