Every birder has a favorite species or two. Mine has always been the Belted Kingfisher, partly because this elegant speed demon is so elusive.
For five years I’ve been trying to get a photo in mid-flight, but it’s been like catching a shadow. The Belted Kingfisher is so skittish and moves with such unpredictable twists and turns, he comes up mostly as a blur.
That is, until the other day.
My fascination with the Kingfisher goes back to my first encounter in Huntley Meadows Park in Northern Virginia, where I found one patrolling a swampy lake. I caught just a glimpse of him zipping about, but that’s all it took.
Kingfishers prefer shallow water where they can spot fish from the air. They like to fly along the banks, and then perch in a tree on the water’s edge. It’s as if to taunt a birder into thinking you might get a clear shot if you can just get a little closer. Half the time these sightings occur in swamp-like areas, so this can be a murky and muddy pursuit.
Part of the Kingfisher’s appeal for me is its striking appearance. The Kingfisher looks like a cross between a military officer in a crisp uniform and a surly teenager with spiked hair. When it spreads its wings the Kingfisher looks like Elvis in his most outlandish getup.
It isn’t hard to know when a Kingfisher is nearby: It cruises to a steady series of calls and complaints that telegraphs its every move.
The next several times I came upon Kingfishers were along the Florida coast, from the Keys to the Panhandle. I’d spot them on a pole or channel marker, but they’d be gone before I could get the camera turned on. If they saw you first, you wouldn’t get a second look.
I managed a few photos over the years, but none that did justice to this bird. My longest encounter came in Nova Scotia, where twice I found them fishing on remote lakes. One was a small enough lake I thought I had a chance. Each time I got close enough for a respectable shot, the Kingfisher would skitter to the opposite side. I’d work my way slowly along the rocky, barely passable banks and begin to shoot just as the bird crossed yet again. It was hard not to think we were playing some kind of game I was destined to lose.
Finally, last week, my luck changed.
Beverly and I were birdwatching along a canal that follows the Potomac River less than a mile from our home in Washington, D.C. I wasn’t expecting to be out for long on a cold, windy afternoon, but I heard the familiar rattle call. Not one, but two Kingfishers were working the waterway.
Maybe it was the fact that their territory was such a narrow stretch of canal. Maybe these two had grown used to people walking and biking along this particular path on the edge of the city. Or maybe my years of patience finally taught me to move more quietly than ever.
But on three separate stretches that afternoon, I got my chance. I came home with hundreds of frames, taken over more than an hour. I think I finally did justice to this magnificent bird. Several shots caught this guy in mid-flight with its feathers spread out like artwork.
Of course the pursuit never ends. Not long ago I came across the story of a photographer, a professional, who had been trying to catch a Kingfisher just as it hit the water after a fish. He took 720,000 photos over six years, (for a total of 4,600 hours), before he captured what he was after. It’s a beautiful photograph, which you can see on this link. It’s beyond my amateur’s reach, but I do think I’m ready to try for a photo of my Kingfisher hitting its catch. I’ll get back to you when I have something to show.