THE GOLDEN PLOVER 203 



the Curlew. I have found the nest on more than one 

 occasion close to a hill-top where no marshy land was 

 visible, even at a distance, and the eggs, as far as my 

 experience goes, invariably have a dry bed. Even before 

 the exact nesting site has been chosen, the birds are nervous 

 and restless when approached, uttering their whistle re- 

 peatedly until they rise from the moor and wing their 

 way right out of sight. 



After the eggs have been laid, the cock bird mounts 

 guard on some raised ground within a hundred yards or 

 so of the nest, and remains motionless for hours on sentinel 

 duty. He is quick to spy out an intruder as he approaches, 

 and at once calls sharply, repeating his call at intervals 

 of a few seconds. On learning from her mate that danger 

 is near, the hen Golden Plover rises unseen from the nest 

 and runs quietly through the heather for some distance 

 before she also adds her own alarm cry to that of the 

 cock. 



It is not always that her husband warns her, and at 

 times such as these she will sit very close, being thus quite 

 unlike the Lapwing, who is always on the alert for danger 

 when brooding, and who takes wing when the intruder is 

 yet some distance away. And how elusive, how decep- 

 tive, the call of the Whistler is ! At times one imagines 

 that the bird is close at hand, and one looks in vain for the 

 well-known form. But now comes again the cry of the 

 bird, this time faint, indistinct, and one realises that the 

 owner of the voice is in reality several hundred yards 

 distant. When mist is low on the hills, it is often possible 

 to approach birds which are nominally shy and wary. 

 On a certain occasion I was walking over high ground 

 enveloped in mist, and almost trod upon a Golden Plover 

 covering her eggs. She remained there quietly until 

 my back was turned, then slipped off into the cloud. 

 Only a day or two later I revisited the nesting ground 



