A nest of great blue herons ready to fledge in Manito Park makes strangers into friends

At Manito Park, the stalkers have become the stalked.

A nest of great blue herons took up residence in a tree near the mirror pond at the South Hill park in April. Perched some 60 feet high in a sloppy stick nest in a ponderosa pine are four soon-to-be fledgling herons and their parents.

The massive, spear-beaked birds are known for their statuesque stances, unmoving in water bodies as they fish.

Since moving in, the avian family has drawn its own fan club. A group of wildlife photographers spend hours each morning hunting in their own right: waiting for a flyover, a feeding or any sort of activity from the nest.

"It takes some patience, but it's really relaxing to me," said photographer Tim Michels.

Awkward, lanky and a little over half the size of their parents, the young birds may soon be ready to fly the nest, the photographers anticipate.

From their treetop position at the west end of the pond, there's only a couple of spots around the park where the birds can be seen. The photographers convene on a shady chunk of dirt at the pond's northern edge for a view of the cranes in the treetops to the west. There's another view closer to the tree; the birds can be seen while standing on the paved trail that heads into the Lilac Garden, southwest of the pond.

The young are typically hard to spot as they crouch in their nest, but on Wednesday, the birds were much more active: stretching their wings and shaking their feathers in a manner photographers hope means they're about to fledge.

The first shot of the birds flying the nest isn't something any of the photographers want to miss; they've watched the herons grow up through their camera lenses.

"I'm lucky to have been able to witness this," Michels said of the nest.

The informal fan club began as a group of strangers with a lot of time on their hands and the patience to spend it as they do.

Anthony Pimms said he visits the same spot in the park around five times a week to birdwatch, positioning his cameras at the nest while fraternizing with other feathered friends who frequent the pond.

He took up wildlife photography as a hobby after taking care of four in-home hospice patients sequentially for years.

"This is just a way to process my grief," he said. "I've had a rough couple of years."

Now that his time is his own, he relishes the long hours watching wildlife, waiting for the perfect picture.

"I slow down and observe the world instead of being depressed by it," he said.

The slowness is one of Michels' favorite parts of his birdwatching routine. It's a luxury for him as he's off work recovering from a knee replacement surgery and found wildlife photography a fitting way to pass the time.

Artist Aaron Mann joined the group after seeing them day after day while walking his dog, Pepper, around the pond. An artist, he thought photos of the birds would make compelling subjects for watercolor paintings.

"I saw them here and thought maybe I should be doing this," Mann said. "And the next day, I was here."

None expected becoming so close with others entranced by the birds.

"What has been the neatest part for me, other than witnessing this ... I've met so many people sitting here, as I'm sure you guys have too," Michels said to his fellow photographers. "It's just been really gratifying to meet so many just curious and real friendly people."

After the hours spent waiting at the same spot along the pond, the group have grown close. They get to know each other as the time passes, swapping photography tips and nest locations until they're friends enough to plan daylong birdwatching excursions together.

"We go out together to the wetlands, travel around a little bit," Mann said.

"It's nice to share a passion with people who actually enjoy it," Pimms said.

Though the nest has been incredibly popular this year, Jones said that particular tree is a common rookery. Herons nest there just about every year and in less visible treetops between the Mirror Pond and the Japanese Gardens, two locations where they like to fish.

"Manito is like the closest to nature in the city; it has everything to offer," Jones said. "There's plenty of food and shelter in those trees; they do really well."

Jones said he sees the statuesque creatures hunting at the koi pond early each morning, before the park gets too busy. With their long beaks, they spear frogs, small catfish and small koi. The birds keep the fish populations stable, Jones said.

"The pond is a certain size, and it can only handle so many fish, so it helps. It's its own kinda ecosystem going on," he said. "And trust me, there's enough koi."

Jones said patrons typically respect the wildlife and leave the birds be.

Last year, two chicks fell from the perch before they were ready to fly, Jones said. With several bone fractures, they had to be euthanized at Washington State University's veterinary teaching hospital, said Marcie Logsdon, vet school professor who focuses on exotics and wildlife.

She said she's not surprised the Herons chose Manito for a rookery: ample water features provide a bounty of fish, amphibians, even small rodents to snack on.

"They're very industrious and adaptable to other food sources," Logsdon said. "Then at the same time they can adapt to a manicured park like that."

Photographers spotted adult herons other than the parents lingering at the nest, sometimes chipping in to feed the young. This isn't unusual for the birds, often co-parenting around their rookery, Logsdon said.

The birds are "variable migrators," meaning some may fly south for the winter while some hunker down, she said.

There's no way to know if the herons in the nest this year are the same parents as last year, Logsdon said, but the birds often return to a rookery each year. Sometimes, their babies will come back home to breed.

"If they find a spot that works, they'll be pretty loyal to it," she said.

As for the photographers' hunch that the birds will soon fledge, she's not certain. Their recent behaviors stretching their wings and standing in their nest are called "branching," she said.

"You'll see them before they actually try to take their first flight, they're going to be a little ways out from the nest, flapping around," Logsdon said.

The hatchlings she saw last year were certainly too young to fledge, she said, and they came in late July. They could have hatched earlier than this year's brood, she said, as there is variation in when herons lay their eggs.

She predicted it may be a beat before the young ones flee the nest, but then again, she hasn't been spending hours every day watching the creatures for months.

"Don't discredit the urban wildlife photographer," she said. "Those folks are probably spending tons of time watching."

Elena Perry's work is funded in part by members of the Spokane community via the Community Journalism and Civic Engagement Fund. This story can be republished by other organizations for free under a Creative Commons license. For more information on this, please contact our newspaper's managing editor.

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