NONSUCH 



with a distorted foot, a dislocated upper leg, or 

 actual loss of one leg. 



I have never seen these birds pragmatize their 

 name, probably because I have never observed them 

 on a rocky beach, but here they eternally merit the 

 name Turnweeds. While far less dainty and trim 

 and graceful in outline and gait than the other shore 

 birds, yet their plumage is always immaculate and 

 undisturbed, and as far as actual beauty of pattern 

 and brilliance of pigment go, their harlequin rufous, 

 black and white plumage is supreme among the 

 birds of the beach. Yet alone, among all of their 

 relatives, they spend most of their time butting and 

 pushing and shoving against the half -dried sargas- 

 sum weed, in spite of which, with the most powerful 

 glasses, I can never see a disarranged feather on 

 their foreheads or a dirty or bedraggled plume on 

 breast or wing. This unique habit of searching for 

 and finding food brings about very definite rela- 

 tions with many of the other birds. 



The scene on October 3rd, 1931, well illustrated 

 this. A fairly strong northeast wind was blowing 

 from inland across the beach and this, plus a 

 hard-working shock troop of turnstones, resulted 

 in an amusing interrelationship of the birds in 

 sight. Six turnstones were crowded in the lee of a 

 great stranded log, all butting and straining, head 

 down, at the windrow of weed. They of course 

 reaped a rich harvest. The birds were less than two 

 hundred feet away and with my 20-powers I could 

 readily distinguish even the varying colors of the 



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