Opinion: Fish Story

So last Wednesday was cold and gray like most days in January, but I still carved out an hour or so before dark like I do most days to go for a hike.

I expected absolutely nothing other than to get out and put a couple miles in on a steel gray day.

But then I saw an American dipper, the little gray bird I spoke of last week and decided to watch it for awhile.

It was sort of fun. The bird would fly to the head of a riffle, then float down in the current, diving here and there looking for a meal, like a gray little boat.

When it got to the end of the riffle, it would fly back to the top, splash down rather messily and then do it all over again.

It did this about a half dozen times.

Then it came back with something in its beak and landed on a log. It seemed awfully happy, if birds can be happy.

What it had was a rather large fish, well, big for a dipper. I’m guessing it was about the length of my pinky finger and just as fat.

I’ve watched dippers for years and I’ve seen them catch countless bugs and even small fish, but nothing this big.

It flew to the shore and bashed the fish on the rocks over and over again, presumably to make sure it was dead. American dippers are smaller than a robin and I highly doubt it wanted a fish squirming around in its gut.

Then it swallowed it head first, whole.

Imagine you or I sitting down and eating a 15-inch trout, whole. This fish, compared to the size of the bird, was a similar meal.

I thought that was the end of it, but then it jumped in the water and caught another fish, about the same size and did the same thing, bashing it on the rocks over and over until it was softened up and good and dead.

Then down the hatch it went.

Now it was really full, I presumed. It flew back out over the water, landed on a log and sang a quiet little song. A perfect ending to a January afternoon.