A Birder’s Eye View of Coastal Georgia the web site of Diana Churchill
 
 
First One to See a Kingfisher... When someone asks me how I got started with bird watching, I blame it,  naturally, on my parents. There were those long rides from Savannah to Tybee back when U.S. 80 to the beach was the longest palm-lined drive in the country. The bridge over the Bull River was so narrow that we prayed fervently we would encounter no oncoming traffic. Three of us were packed in the back of the Pontiac, jostling and squabbling over something. “First one to see a kingfisher gets a nickel,” my Dad would offer from the front seat. Our bickering forgotten, all eyes went to the power lines, eager for a glimpse of that distinctive silhouette. The shape of the belted kingfisher is unmistakable, even seen from a moving vehicle at 50 miles an hour. There’s the crest, the squat hunched body, and the long bill as the bird leans forward, watching intently for the silvery shimmer of fish in the water below. Except during nesting season, kingfishers are solitary creatures. We would find them at discreet intervals, staked out above likely fishing territory. To see one or two during the 15 mile drive to Tybee was typical. Five or more was a red letter day. Only the first one was worth money, but by that time we were engrossed in the game. To this day, the kingfisher remains one of my favorite birds. It can be seen throughout the United States, anywhere there is a river, pond, stream, brook, ocean or lake. Listen for the loud dry rattle of its call as it flies down the creek, or watch one hover helicopter-like above the water before plummeting with a splash to emerge with a wriggling fish. Adding to its uniqueness, the belted kingfisher is one of the few species where the female is more colorful than the male. He has a blue-gray band spanning his chest. She sports a reddish band below the blue one, giving her a jaunty distinction. When spring comes, the kingfishers disappear from the creeks and rivers around Tybee as they retreat further inland to find a suitable nesting site – a dirt mound or river bank that won’t flood at high tide.  Once on the breeding grounds, the male kingfisher abandons his “you catch your fish, I’ll catch mine” attitude, and begins offering his intended mate tasty morsels. If she finds his tidbits to her liking, they mate and set up housekeeping. Like a sensible modern couple they share in burrow digging, egg sitting and chick feeding. The parents spend three weeks on the nest, another four feeding at the nest, and three more once the chicks have fledged – 10 weeks total, and no saving for college! Usually, by August, the familiar shape reappears on the wires along U.S. 80 – once again solitary as adults and young each set up their own territory. In the summer, with the kingfishers busy elsewhere, my Dad’s offer changed. “First one to see a willet gets a nickel.” But that’s another story.