As I have
said, they were the only true beach birds; but I rarely failed to see
one or two great blue herons playing that role. The first one filled me
with surprise. I had never thought of finding him in such a place; but
there he stood, and before I was done with Florida beaches I had come to
look upon him as one of their most constant _habitues_. In truth, this
largest of the herons is well-nigh omnipresent in Florida. Wherever
there is water, fresh or salt, he is certain to be met with sooner or
later; and even in the driest place, if you stay there long enough, you
will be likely to see him passing overhead, on his way to the water,
which is nowhere far off. On the beach, as everywhere else, he is a
model of patience. To the best of my recollection, I never saw him catch
a fish there; and I really came to think it pathetic, the persistency
with which he would stand, with the water half way to his knees, leaning
forward expectantly toward the breakers, as if he felt that this great
and generous ocean, which had so many fish to spare, could not fail to
send him, at last, the morsel for which he was waiting.
But indeed I was not long in perceiving that the Southern climate made
patience a comparatively easy virtue, and fishing, by a natural
consequence, a favorite avocation. Day after day, as I crossed the
bridges on my way to and from the beach, the same men stood against the
rail, holding their poles over the river.
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