i82 Bird -Lore 



charming results. It is a branch of photography which calls for more time and 

 patience than any other, but one which would amply repay any person who 

 had means and leisure to pursue it. 



Of course, if you plant your tent in one chosen spot, the birds will proba- 

 bly move just out of range; but then, again, they may not. There is a glorious 

 uncertainty about this form of sport which makes it particularly engrossing. 

 I have tried it only a few times, but hope to follow it up some day when I 

 have nothing else to do. 



The Oyster-catcher {Hcematopus ostralegus ostralegus) courting is an illus- 

 tration of this kind of chance photography. These two birds were evidently 

 enamored of each other, but it is not correct in the best avian society for the 

 female to take any notice of her wooer, therefore my lady is pretending that 

 she has no follower. She led her admirer a long walk alongside the river Tay, 

 holding her head high and stepping daintily. He followed in her wake humbly, 

 adoringly, wooing her with the most beautifully subdued but clear flute-like 

 whistles. His dulcet tones were enough to cajole the heart out of any Oyster- 

 catcher, however proud. But she tripped unconcernedly to and fro by the 

 water's edge, now and again stopping so suddenly and unexpectedly that her 

 pursuer nearly cannoned into her, and both himself and his whistling were 

 brought up short. When this occurred, he in turn assumed indifference and, 

 receding a few steps, stood looking down stream until she elected to move on. 

 This, I conclude, was all part of the science of flirtation as understood by the 

 Oyster-catcher, at any rate it was a beautiful game to watch in the brilliant 

 sunshine of a May morning. 



After all, it is not so much the mere obtaining of a photograph, as the joy 

 of watching, that compensates for the long hours of waiting. To me, the pleas- 

 ure of securing a good photograph is not to be compared with the delight of 

 getting into close touch with these beautiful shy wild things, whose emotions 

 and actions are so akin to our own. I am often accused of attributing human 

 emotions to my birds, and of crediting them with intelligence far beyond their 

 capacity. Who is to judge the intellectual capacity of any wild thing? Baalam's 

 ass saw further than his master. Individual birds of the same species vary 

 temperamentally and in mental capacity as widely as do dogs, horses, children, 

 or any other wild beasts. My great namesake, William Turner, in his trans- 

 lation of Aristotle on Birds, published in 1544, says of the Tree Creeper {Cer- 

 thia familiaris britannica) :* "The Certhia is a very little bird of bold habits; 

 its home is upon trees, its food is grubs; it shows wise instinct for the 

 needs of life." 



Anyone who lives with birds knows that they all show this same wisdom 

 in varying degree. Birds live by their wits, and their little lives, which on the 

 surface appear so full of beauty and romance, are just one short fitful fever. 

 In the desperate struggle for existence, they need show "wise instincts," and 



* Turner on Birds, edited by A. H. Evans, Cambridge, 1903, p. 52. 



