ALBATROSSES 113 



leaving two-thirds of the shell immaculate. I later 

 found that the contents made a delicious omelet 

 after being carefully extracted through the tiniest 

 of holes. I clearly remember the thrill when I blew 

 my first egg, that of an Enghsh sparrow thieved 

 from a mass of hay behind the attic window of my 

 home, and now as I held this great shell in my hand 

 I thought of all the eggs I had seen between, — 

 those of pheasants in Tibet, junglefowl in Java, 

 hoatzins in Guiana and hawks on the summit of 

 Cheops, and I was grateful that the first thrill had 

 in no wise lessened (Fig. 24). 



But my bird showed signs of continuing its 

 promenade, so I hastily returned. A half hour 

 later as I was covering my last bit of paper with 

 frantically scrawled notes, it occurred to me that 

 there are three phases in the life of an albatross, 

 each of which arouses in us a widely different, but 

 profound emotion; first, admiration for its superb 

 powers of flight, second, amusement at its ridicu- 

 lous gait, and third, sheer amazement at the elabor- 

 ate detail, studied sequence and formality of its 

 courtship and play. 



I had read accounts of this at other rookeries of 

 albatrosses, but no description prepares one for 

 the actual performance. My bird walked up to its 

 mate which, in its turn, rose and faced the new 

 arrival. They stood with their breasts about a 

 foot apart. My albatross suddenly shot its head 

 and neck straight up, the bill pointing skyward, 

 uttering at the same time a deep, grunting moan. 

 Its partner followed suit, then, alternately, each 



