Meyers: In need, man and nature mergeBy Charlie Meyers, The Denver PostPosted: 10/11/2009 01:00:00 AM MDT
A symbiotic moment brings sustenance
and pleasure to bird and man. Only the fish got
eaten. (Charlie Meyers, The Denver Post )A majestic bird facing a slow death from starvation.
A man, a survivor of three major wars, caught up in a mixture of boredom and memories that only intensify with the years.
A thread has worked its way through all this that involves a stigma against feeding wild animals — even those that pose no danger to humans or damage to property.
A fisherman on a visit to escape the final blow of Colorado winter first saw the big bird on an April afternoon at a small pond beside a golf course near Phoenix. The pond was carpeted with small green sunfish that could not refuse tiny chartreuse twisters — just bite size for the great blue heron that circled once, then alighted gingerly in the shallows 40 yards or so down the shore.
Each bite caught the attention of the bird, but something clearly was not right. A closer look revealed the heron was badly crippled, painfully thin and barely able to walk, lurching awkwardly with each step in a way that made hunting difficult, if not impossible.
Somewhere in the midst of catching these overpopulated sunfish, a notion occurred. Choosing a bite-sized specimen, our fisherman tossed it far down the manicured shore. The bird — let's call him Fred — lifted on an awkward wingbeat and glided to the wildly flopping fish. One thrust with that deadly beak, a toss of the head and the fish was gone.
A second fish halved the distance again, and then again, each fish disappearing down the maw. Within minutes, I had this notoriously shy and now desperate bird only a few feet away. After a couple more stabs, Fred still was nervous, but hungry no more.
The next part of the scenario posed a problem. The man, whose name is Fay, had not been fishing since his boyhood in Nebraska; a lifetime spent dodging bullets, then mapping major military strategy left little time for such frivolity.
If he could appeal to Fay's compassion, perhaps it would reawaken a dormant angling urge that would endure at least until the bird could recover. Things went better than expected. A couple of quick sessions had Fay raking in the fish with Fred close by his side.
The two soon worked out a more sophisticated routine. When he felt the urge to eat, Fred sailed gracefully to a perch on the back fence. Taking his cue, Fay fetched the rod and tackle box, opened the gate and headed for the pond. The picture of these two old men, each with a bum leg, hobbling along side by side will stick in the memory forever.
In time, word came from Fay the bird no longer was a fixture at the pond. He had watched the bird grow stronger and figured it had drifted back to the wild.
Having lost his cause, Fay's own angling urges began to fade beneath a searing summer sun. The fishing rod stood in a corner beneath a stack of garden tools; the little tackle box shared a busy shelf with hammers and pliers.
When all was assembled again for a trip to the pond, a large shadow swept low over the water, lifted abruptly and a great blue heron, robust and well, landed on a eucalyptus branch just overhead.
It can be argued that all herons more or less look alike, but there was something about this bird as it stretched its long neck and gave a nod before it flew away.
When Fay learned about the incident and was urged to try fishing again, he allowed he'd lost his cause, that the spirit just didn't move him anymore.
The rod still collects dust in a corner in the garage and the lures lie buried on the shelf, perhaps awaiting the arrival of another bird in trouble.
This matter of feeding wild animals remains a topic of burning debate, particularly in mountain country, where it involves bears that are lured to food, then eat their benefactors, as was the case of an elderly woman in August near Ouray.
But when it comes to birds — particularly large ones desperate for food and bringing gratification to a man eager for one more way to show his generosity, it seems there's really no debate at all.
Charlie Meyers: 303-954-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com
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