4 Golden Plover 



shingle-beach, such as Dungeness. Given you have the shore and the 

 sea, some Waders are almost sure to be within an hour's walk from 

 where you start. Given an observant eye, good glasses, patience 

 and a favourable locality, there is no reason why any lover of 

 birds, who is not familiar with the commoner Waders, should 

 not become so in a few visits to some watering place ; my own 

 preference being for the East Coast. 



Waders can be seen at any season of the year ; but there are, 

 in spring and autumn, two migrations, the former being at its height 

 in May, and the latter in August and September — the autumn 

 migration including, of course, the young birds of the year, and 

 being, on that account, infinitely the larger. 



I propose to consider firstly some of the plumage-changes in the 

 commoner Waders, then to make some observations on protective 

 colouration, more especially as regards the young, and, finally, to 

 describe a morning spent in some suitable locality at the height of 

 migration time in spring, and to note the birds to be seen there. 



I 



Grey and Golden Plovers. — These two species are much 

 more closely allied than appears evident at the first glance. The 

 Golden Plover is too well known in his winter dress — greyish- 

 white underparts and golden-speckled back and head — to need 

 detailed description. He is, in the South, at any rate, chiefly a 

 bird of the uplands at this time of the year ; arriving in large flocks 

 from October onwards, the bulk leaving again towards the end of 

 February. Fallows, fields of winter turnips and grass meadows, 

 are all likely places, and sometimes they are found in enormous 

 flocks of 500 or more. Their rather bright colouring would suggest 

 that they would be easily seen in such situations, but that is not so 

 — their colour is eminently protective, and you may pass a field with 

 hundreds of these birds in it and never see one, unless their plaintive 

 whistling note calls your attention to them, or unless they happen 

 to rise on the wing. See the same bird on the move in summer 

 in breeding dress. Protection seems thrown to the winds ; the 

 whole of the underparts have turned a brilliant black, with a clearly 

 marked white eye-streak framing the black cheek. The bird itself, 

 too, seems bent on attracting your attention in every way ; he keeps 

 up an unceasing alarm note as you watch him, stands well up on the 

 most prominent ridge of ground, with his big, black eye fixed on 

 you, and appears to have but one object in life — to make you follow 

 him. He drops off the ridge, which is on the sky-line, disappears 

 for a minute, and then reappears at a fresh spot, still calling and 

 watching your movements. Now, what is the object of this ? In 

 the hollow of the moor, into which you are looking, lying half buried 

 in the golden moss, are four little golden masses of down — little 

 nestling Plovers — perhaps the most perfect instance of protective 



