Golden Plover 



As we walk up the hill we first hear his shrill whistle, 

 and soon see him coming to meet us. Settling some yards 

 ahead, he pipes his whistle incessantly, and then as we 

 approach he flies on to some other upstanding boulder, and 

 so on for perhaps half-a-mile, till, having escorted us to the 

 limits of the ground over which he claims suzerain rights, 

 he hands us over to the ruling chief of the next territory. 

 Thus in a walk over the hillside we find ourselves incessantly 

 accompanied by one of these birds, whose cry is never out 

 of our ears. We have, however, only noticed half the game, 

 for the birds that have been accompanying us are almost 

 always male birds : his duty it is to stand on some exposed 

 mound while his hen crouches amid the heather on her 

 precious eggs, four pear-shaped beauties, the black spots 

 and markings showing up against their greenish ground 

 colour. On the first appearance of any intruder he will 

 sound his pipe and fly off towards us, while his mate quietly 

 leaves her eggs, and, flying low, circles round till we see her 

 apparently coming up from a direction diametrically opposed 

 to that in which her treasures lie. It will be unavailing for 

 us to lie in wait hoping to watch her return to the nest, 

 unless we are completely concealed, for he will keep a close 

 eye upon us, and until his warning whistle is quiet she will 

 not return. When the young are hatched both birds meet 

 and follow us, while in response to the warning, the young 

 squat close to the ground, under some sheltering piece of 

 heather, and so defy detection. In autumn these birds 

 collect in large flocks, and though many remain on the moors 

 all the year round, the majority come to the marshes near 

 the sea and gradually pass southwards. 



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