Journal Entry: Chasing The Kingfisher

Sophia
Jan 20, 2020
6 min read

Updated: Mar 4, 2020

A narrative of my nature walk on the morning of 17 January 2020.

photo credit: https://birds.outdoornebraska.gov/belted-kingfisher/

A few weeks ago, a friend and fellow birder pointed out to me the call of a belted kingfisher (megaceryle alcyon). It’s a very distinct rattle that sounds somewhat like someone “rolling their r’s” with their tongue, only it’s higher pitched than that. I heard it a few more times that day and tried to commit it to memory. Seeing a kingfisher in the wild had been on my birding bucket list for a long time, so I was very excited about finally knowing how and where to find one.

As I drove into the parking lot of the wildlife preserve where I first heard the kingfisher, I wasn’t actually thinking about trying to find it (to my own surprise!). Maybe I became too distracted by the mysterious bird I spotted sitting in a naked tree. With the help of my binoculars, I identified it as a red-tailed hawk (buteo jamaicensis), and I sat in the drivers seat for a few minutes to put down a quick sketch in my journal. Before I finished, the hawk flew to an adjacent tree, causing several crows to erupt in a fit of squawks. I always see crows harassing birds of prey, so this didn’t surprise me, but it is never less entertaining than the first time I witnessed it. Seeing these interactions makes me realize the personality and emotion of the creatures around me. These birds have so much character! Soon enough, the hawk flew completely out of sight, but I would hear his majestic call throughout the rest of the morning. Later in the day I was reminded that the call of a red-tailed hawk is actually used in movies in place of all other raptor calls. I guess even Hollywood agrees that their call is powerful and inspiring.

I finished my small sketch and prepared to enter the chill of the morning. It was about 9:30, and my breath was thick in the air ahead of me. It was cold. I looked out over the field and saw steam rise from the dewy grass as the morning sun slowly warmed the earth. For a few minutes, I just stood and watched the steam slowly float up into the atmosphere. Hardly anyone else was there, and the wild sounds and sights of the field were very peaceful.

After a few more moments, I realized I was going to be alone for a while. Even when a large group of hikers gathered, they only stayed in the parking lot for a few minutes before going out of sight. After they left, the field was as quiet (and empty) as before. Only it wasn’t empty.

I walked along the paved path, absorbing the scene and still occupied by thoughts of the red-tailed hawk. My foot slipped slightly as I tried to put my weight on it, and I looked down to see a small frozen puddle. We don’t see ice very often where I live, even in the winter, so it dazzled me. The pattern the of the ice was incredibly beautiful, and it glittered and shone as the sun danced on its surface. I squatted and pulled out some sketching supplies. I was putting down some white pencil on my paper when I heard a loud “KEE er-er-er-er-er-er-er!” It was a kingfisher call! The harsh rattle couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. I finished my ice drawing and scanned the area near the creek-side, where I had heard the call.

I walked across the wet grass field, still shaded from the warm sun and coated in frost, towards the creek. Unfortunately for my bird-watching efforts, the creek is fenced off as private property, preventing me from obtaining the best view from the bank. I walked as close to the barb-wire fence as I could, and tried to find areas where the trees where thin and small enough to see the creek. I heard the call again and stopped in my tracks to listen without any distraction and locate the bird by ear. I cautiously stepped forward, trying not to make too much noise for fear of scaring the bird away. A white spot, insignificant and hardly noticeable, sat on a tall stump of a dead tree. It moved slightly. I took a quick breath of excitement, and scrambled to bring my binoculars to my eyes, but before I could, the spot had flitted off out of sight. I caught a glimpse of its white breast, large beak, and blue-grey wings. It was a belted kingfisher.

My toes were cold. I looked down at my feet to find that they were soaked because of the frost-covered grass. I also felt my fingers become colder as they gripped my binoculars. But the cold didn’t matter. I just needed another glimpse of the kingfisher!

I walked beside the fence in the direction the bird had flown, but I couldn’t find any area clear enough to try and spot it again. So I waited and listened. My ears were my best tool at this point. Then I heard the call again as it flew back towards its original perch. It passes the stump and landed on branch farther up stream. I entered a sort of run to catch up with the kingfisher, too excited to walk slowly anymore (thought I try to avoid making any loud noises). I caught another glimpse, but it must have done the same, because as soon as I had it in sight the bird flew away again, back downstream, where we had both just been. I followed.

This pattern continued for at least 45 minutes; upstream, downstream, back up again, back down. The kingfisher was either aware of my presence and cautious, or had naturally restless tendencies. My toes ached with cold, and the sunshine on the trail looked very inviting. So I paused my chase for a while, walked towards the parking lot and took out my journal.

I had decided that I probably wasn’t going to get a good enough look at the bird to draw it from life. It was disappointing, but the journal isn’t the most important thing. It’s the experience, and how you remember it. So instead of drawing the bird, I drew a diagram of the birds flight path up and down the creek, using some tips from a recent nature journal workshop by Amy Schleser. I tried to remember where the bird had landed and which direction it had flown. Once I finished the diagram, I was ready to head back to the creek and continue my search.

The previous pattern followed, but it didn’t feel tedious at all. I was captivated by the beauty of this new bird, and the mystery of it's behavior, and I gladly followed its seemingly spastic path. It was only when I lost sight and sound of the bird for almost ten whole minutes that I became discouraged. But just as I was about to leave, I spotted it.

From a place where the fence finally met the bank of the creek, I was able to watch the belted kingfisher land on a branch and flick its tail up as it called. Through my binoculars, I got a clear look at the bird, the best glimpse I had all day. And when it flew to another branch and sat still for longer than fifteen seconds, I realized I might finally have time to put down a quick sketch in my journal. So I pulled out my supplies and got sketching. Between glimpses though my binoculars and glimpse at my page, I was able to do a rough sketch of the bird. I marveled at the size of its head and beak, the unique mohawk-like crest that was always erect, and the stunning contrast between the white of its throat and the dark blue-grey of its head and wings. Its breast faded beautifully from red to white. It flew away soon after I finished, so I put down the colors from memory. I sighed with satisfaction. My birdwatching adventure was a success. As I walked out, the beautiful belted kingfisher gave me one last display. It flew across the creek and called louder than I had ever heard it.

I drove off with a head full of memories and a journal page full of sketches. The morning had been one to remember.