Our story begins, one hour before sunrise, on the banks of the River at a point midway between Deucharty Hill and the Hermitage.
It had rained heavily for 3 days and the full moon had been shrouded by the thick clouds that filled the glen from Birnam to Pitlochry.
From the hills, the perpetual rumbling of heavy lorries on the A9 hung in the air, long after they had passed.
It was dark, wet, cold and plain miserable, and as far as most of us are concerned, a poor herald for the weather prospects in June.
Miserable, that is if you're sane.
Perfect if you are a fisherman!!
The rain had filled the river with water and oxygen.
Replenished its occupants with a fierce appetite and an abundance of food.
The inhabitants of the river were therefore active, full of life and that is always good for those who hunt its teeming waters.
The first of our fishers was stirred from its tree-top nest by the distant groaning of an Articulated lorry travelling South on the road.
The Heron turned its head North towards the drone of the diesel engine, listened to its approach and searched for the glow of its lights through the cloudy night.
Then it looked East, searching for the first hint of sunrise.

The rain had stopped and as the cloud was beginning to lift, the outlines of the surrounding hills were now visible.
The lorry changed gear as it cleared the hill and bend at Dowally and began its smooth descent towards Dunkeld.
The Heron looked back towards the approaching sound.
Still no sign of its light, the Bird turned again to the East.
A faint, but warm red glow was now visible in the sky and the Bird stretched its great wings in preparation for flight, then stood for a moment and looked down river toward its breakfast perch.

Shafts of light shot through the mist, as the lorry crossed the bridge over the river at Balnaguard.
The Heron leapt into the darkness and flew downriver
It landed, just as the lorry passed and its drone changed pitch.

The light was changing every second now and the surface of the water shimmered, as the rising sun announced its arrival.
Great shafts of red light were arcing up from behind the hills and into the sky and an eerie mist clung to the surface of the water.
The sound of the fading lorry changed pitch again, as another vehicle added its own sound to the awakening Glen.
The Heron now focussed its attention on the water at its feet and waited patiently for it to disclose its secret world.
As the merest hint of blue crept into the fleeing night sky and the rumble of the Inverness train joined the chorus of travelling lorries on the road, the Heron froze.

The mirrored surface of the water began to dissolve and hundreds of tiny shadows darted at the bird's feet.
Then, in one swift and sudden movement the Heron's beak pierced the water and a second later it withdrew its head, its mouth full of tiny trout.
The bird shook the water from its head and swallowed its first food of the day.