The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



think the thing whicli struck me most forcibly at the time 

 was the absence of fear which the birds displayed. As they 

 swam gracefully and easily near the bank, they would allow 

 the human intruder to approach within a very few yards 

 without betraying the least concern, and even then rarely 

 took wing, but swam rather indignantly a little distance 

 away, and then apparently forgot the disturber's presence. 



The phalarope is readily identified, even with little 

 experience of its tribe. In size it approaches the dunlin, but 

 is more graceful than the latter bird, and its flight is more 

 wild and swerving. It is, too, distinct from the dunlin, in 

 that it swims habitually, whereas I have never seen a dunlin 

 do so. When on the water the red-necked phalarope rides 

 with extreme buoyancy, and progresses rapidly. Its neck 

 is long and is held erect, and when it approaches the observer 

 the russet-red markings on the cheeks and neck are 

 strikingly handsome. Its call, too, is quite distinctive, a 

 high chirruping cry, resembling no other call that I know of. 



Although the phalarope is confiding, the discovery of 

 the nest is by no means easy. I remember how a friend and 

 I spent many weary hours tramping a swamp — with mud 

 reaching to the knee — where we had reason to suppose 

 phalaropes were nesting. But no signs of the birds were 

 forthcoming, and we had almost given up the search when 

 I came upon a pool of water on which a phalarope was 

 swimming buoyantly and gracefully, seemingly without a 

 care in the world. So near an approach did it allow that I 

 managed to get a number of photographs of it at close 

 quarters. It fed almost at my feet, picking off insects with 

 lightning-like rapidity and unerring skill from the leaves 

 of the water vegetation, and occasionally fluttering after 

 a fly or gnat. I certainly did not suspect that it had eggs 

 near, and it was unlooked-for and surprising when it 

 rose quickly and decidedly from the water, winged its way 

 swiftly to a tussock of grass, and, creeping in, settled down 

 on to its nest. Hoping to be able to photograph it while it 



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