It was just past dawn in the Bekaa Valley, when the early spring fog still hugged the low hills, and the sky was a soft palette of greys and golds. Chadi Saad, wildlife photographer and devoted observer of Lebanon’s wild heart, crouched at the edge of Aammiq Wetland, Lebanon’s largest remaining freshwater marsh. His lens scanned the sky, waiting for the first signs of movement. He had heard whispers from local farmers—large, silent-winged birds had been seen gliding low over the reeds at dusk. His heart beat with the kind of hope only birders understand.
And then—just as the mist began to lift—a pair of majestic forms appeared against the light. Chadi raised his camera instinctively.
There, with wings outstretched like sails, soared two Black Storks (Ciconia nigra), their silhouettes etched sharply against the morning glow. Their flight was effortless, elegant—a slow, deliberate glide powered by broad, black wings that shimmered with a subtle green and purple gloss in the rising sun. Chadi held his breath and clicked the shutter.
Unlike their more sociable cousins, the White Storks, Black Storks are reclusive, shy, and solitary by nature. They are a rare sight in Lebanon—migrants passing silently along the Eastern Mediterranean flyway. Measuring around 95–100 cm in length with a wingspan reaching nearly two meters, the bird’s stark coloration is striking: black plumage with iridescent tones above, clean white underparts, and a crimson-red beak and long legs.
In Aammiq, they found the perfect resting place—tranquil waters, rich in fish and amphibians, tucked away from roads and villages. Black Storks prefer remote wetland habitats like this, wading gracefully through shallows with the poise of dancers.
Globally, the Black Stork breeds in parts of Europe and Asia, nesting in secluded forests, often far from human disturbance. Lebanon lies along their migratory route, and sightings like this remind us of the country’s vital role as a stopover site for birds in transit between continents. Although their global population is currently stable, habitat destruction, water pollution, and disturbance during breeding remain threats to their survival.
Chadi’s photos, later shared widely online, captured more than just birds. They told a story of silence and solitude, of ancient migratory paths and hidden beauty. They reminded us that in Aammiq Wetland—a Ramsar site of international importance—wings still find refuge.
As the storks lifted again into the air, vanishing beyond the cypress groves, Chadi lowered his camera, humbled. He knew the moment was rare. But he also knew that in telling their story, he could help protect these fleeting guests of the Lebanese landscape—one image at a time.
