WADERS 383 



matter of regret, especially when one remembers the 

 persistency with which stray chances at out-of-the-way 

 fowl turn up at the wrong moment. One may spend days, 

 weeks, without seeing" a creature beyond those telescopic- 

 eyed geese and impracticable wigeon. Then, just as one 

 is "flattened" to what looks like a chance of a big shot, 

 there floats past within half-gunshot a single grebe, or a 

 pair of ducks one does not recognise, either of which 

 might prove of exceptional interest. But to fire at these 

 would be madness ; your puntsman might justifiably 

 resign office in disgust, and a possible prize drifts out of 

 sight, never to appear again. 



With the writer the point has never been in doubt, and 

 however much the necessity may be regretted, the pursuit 

 of sport must be paramount. Otherwise, no one would 

 be found willing to undergo the hard labour and the long 

 cold hours merely on the chance of getting, once in a 

 lifetime, a really "rare bird." This, too, is on the hypo- 

 thesis that such a creature exists, a proposition which 

 (except relatively) is untenable. 



The waders are the earliest migrants to reach our 

 coasts in summer. During the spring and earlier summer 

 months the stretches of tidal ooze and sand lie dreary and 

 almost lifeless. Visit a great estuary in June or July : 

 you may ramble for miles around its shores, the scene of 

 the winter's exploits (and failures), and call to mind the 

 wondrous flights of wildfowl seen, and the glorious 

 moments enjoyed on these very spots in January and 

 February. In summer there is hardly a living creature to 

 enliven the dreary monotony of the wastes. Now and 

 again the glint of a sea-gull's wing, or perhaps a brood of 

 young sheld-ducks — that is all one sees in several hours' 

 ramble. But in August a change occurs, and in a few days 



