January was a brutal month. It brought storms, snow, ice and, when the thaw came, a turbulent River Wear. Finding food must have been a struggle for the heron that we’re watching through the riverbank alders today. The river is tranquil, but this is a tense moment: the final stage in catching a fish.
Motionless, it stares into the water, then oh-so-slowly extends that long neck. That dagger bill edges closer to the surface until, faster than the eye can follow, a splash. Success. It’s gripping something small and wriggling; a minnow or a miller’s thumb perhaps. At this time of year, most larger fish are downriver in deeper water.
