WHAT TO SPOT

Natural wonders to watch out for this week

Newspapers and books are awash these days with accounts of wild swimming. Aficionados delight in mentioning the life-affirming thrill of wading into some chilly watercourse; the icy needles in the legs and the coursing adrenalin. I am an occasional fan of an outdoors dip myself (this year you need to get your kicks wherever you can).

But contrast all this noisy splashing around in the shallows with the stately form of the heron: standing as still as a statue and impervious to the cold. I spotted one last weekend in silent vigil over the Porter Brook, which leads from the Peak District down to the centre of Sheffield. I wondered, as I watched it scanning the rushing water for its next meal, why we don’t talk more about the patience of a heron? After all, the bird is a true master of forbearance.

The grey heron is one of our most recognisable species and, after the mute swan, our largest common bird. At 3ft tall and with a 6ft 6in wingspan ( just shy of a golden eagle) you have a chance of spotting herons in any watercourse around the country. My father, who lives in central London, occasionally has a rogue heron menace the fish in his pond. Herons are similarly unfussy about what they eat: fish, frogs, ducklings (sorry!) and even the occasional rat.

The bird boasts a ragged elegance: a slicked-back quiff that reminds me of an ageing mafioso, and a yellow gimlet of an eye. It keeps itself clean using feathers on its breast known as powder down, which it crushes into granules and spreads over its plumage,

A statuesque heron patiently waits for the chance to find its next meal helping to remove the riverbank grime and waterproof its feathers.

Centuries ago herons used to be targeted by falconers for sport and cooked as a dish at medieval banquets, carved up alongside other species such as crane and egret. These days the main threats to the bird come in the form of river pollution and the weather itself.

Heron numbers have risen steadily over the past century as Britain’s rivers have become less polluted and our weather warms. The Porter Brook where I spotted the heron last week, for example, is a tributary of the river Don that in the Seventies was considered the most polluted river in Europe. Now it has salmon swimming in it and a far greater abundance of aquatic species for herons to eat.

The main population dips occur in years with exceptionally cold winters where the frozen water means herons are unable to feed as they might like. According

to the British Trust for Ornithology, which has conducted an annual heronry survey for the past 92 years, the worst breeding seasons were between 1946 and 1947 and 1962 and 1963, which followed a succession of particularly brutal winters. Each time, though, the population has rebounded and at the last count there were around 10,000 occupied nests across the country.

Herons, despite their largely solitary hunting, will often roost together in what are called heronries. Sometimes a single colony can span around 100 nests: a great squawking mass of the gleeful birds.

In folklore herons are a bird associated with magic and longevity. Some cultures regard the heron as a symbol of good luck; in Irish mythology a heron flying over the house indicates some ill omen. For me, each sighting is a simple reminder that patience is a virtue.

Joe Shute