Last Sunday, I walked down to the lake to throw some sticks for Bentley so he could have a late fall swim.

As we approached the dock, we startled a large great blue heron who had been standing on the shoreline close to the dock. Bentley started chasing the heron, and instead of flying away, which would have been the bird’s normal behaviour, the heron flapped its wings into the water a few feet, flailed around for a bit, then limped back to shore.

By this time, I realized something was wrong with my friend Harry. I hastily called Bentley off and sat down on the dock to observe him.

I couldn’t see any visible sign he was injured. I thought one of his legs might have been hurt, but herons have those weird stilt-like legs that bend almost backwards when they walk so it was hard to tell. Also, if his leg was hurt, he probably could still fly away. There was also no marked injury on his wings.

I called Sandy Pines Wildlife Centre for some advice. They suggested trying to capture the heron with a sheet or blanket and place it in a dog crate and bring it in. I still wasn’t convinced Harry was hurt, so I decided to leave it for a day and if Harry was still in the same spot 24 hours later, I’d reassess. I watched him catch and eat a frog, so I knew he was at least eating.

I was busy in town the next morning, but went down to the lake after lunch, and sure enough, Harry was still there.

He was standing on a steep section of the shoreline, and I had no idea how I could catch him safely. I also wanted a second opinion since I wasn’t convinced he was injured. I also knew that any capture attempt would be extremely stressful on the bird.

Dave thought he just might be old and ready to fly away to the big heron rookery in the sky. Herons live typically 15-20 years and are very territorial, so if this was my friend Harry who I shared our lake with for the past 20 years, it was possible he was weak and old and nearing the end of his life.

I called my neighbour Bruno who came over on his pontoon boat. Using the trolling motor, we came within five feet of Harry. He didn’t fly away but kept hopping along the shore away from us. Bruno agreed something was wrong with him (he would have flown away), but we came to the conclusion there was no way we could catch him and he was just old.

As we were about to give up the mission, Harry mustered up his last ounce of energy and lifted his majestic wings for a final low flight across the lake, almost as if to say, “thanks for the concern guys, but I’d prefer to be alone.”

I snuck in two paddles during those final warm days of October. I found Harry standing camouflaged in the marsh in the exact same spot he had flown to both days across the lake. I said my goodbyes and accepted it was time for nature to take its course.