JUST after midsummer, sitting on a gravel “beach” by a shallow murmuring stream, dappled by sunlight through the alder canopy, we divided up our snacks and got down to serious eating. 

From the corner of my vision a flash of red and blue whizzed by just in front of our noses. I froze. Then a few seconds later a second jewel flashed across, followed by a familiar whistle … one of the two kingfishers calling to its companion.

That kingfisher pair told us something. Their presence confirmed that the stream still held a healthy population of fishlings — bullhead (“miller’s thumb” to us oldies), minnow, troutlings — and that the birds likely had a bank nest somewhere close by, though we failed to find it.