THE BROADS. 33 
wall we found a winged Redshank, which formed the day’s total bag, and, 
rejoining the boat soon afterwards, we spent the next few hours lying across 
the main channel in the hope of a stray shot, and listening to stories of Spoon- 
bills, &c., shot by Booth and other well-known collectors. Not a bird came 
within range, and though we had powerful glasses and scanned the muds in all 
directions, the only winged creatures that we could see were a few Heron, a 
fair sprinkling of Gulls (all Lesser Black-headed), one or two odd Curlew, and 
a single Whimbrel which we might conceivably have stalked. After that first 
flock of Dunlin, we never saw another small Wader throughout the day. The 
boatman at length proposed working the channels, and, determined to give the 
place a fair trial, we consented, and solemnly journeyed along each without 
the slightest hope of a shot. Nothing upset our calculations; not a bird was 
to be found. To while away the time I took a few photographs, none of which 
ever came out, and then, as there were obvious signs of an approaching deluge, 
we set to and rowed hard for home. We did escape the rain, and it was about 
the only thing we did do successfully on that ill-fated day. 
I doubt whether I shall ever visit Breydon again ; not that I consider it 
a bad place, despite our experience. The fact is, that anyone living on the 
spot, and able to go out as soon as birds have arrived, would no doubt have 
excellent sport at times, but it is not worth going there at random on the 
chance of finding birds. They evidently use it as a resting-place rather than 
a haunt. 
On the following day we took the train to Potter Heigham with the idea 
of searching for Bearded Tits on Hickling Broad, but again the Fates were 
against us. Passing the Falgate, the inn well known as the headquarters of 
the late Mr. E. T. Booth, we soon got down to the river, and here at one time 
we seemed likely to spend the day. The place swarmed with boats and _boat- 
houses, but of a boatman we could see no signs. After an irritating wait of 
half an hour, we unearthed one of the boat proprietors, and by his persuasion 
a boatman, so called, was extracted from a neighbouring inn. 
“Did he know anything about the birds of the neighbourhood ?” we 
enquired rather anxiously, after a hurried scrutiny of our would-be guide. 
His knowledge was explained to be unimpeachable, and though this was more 
than could be said for his appearance—he reeked of beer—for want of anyone 
better we reluctantly engaged him and got into the boat. We suggested that 
one of us should scull while he steered, but this he would not hear of, and as 
it did not seem politic to offend him, after fervently thanking our stars that we 
could swim, we sat grimly down and waited developments. They were not 
long in coming. We had to get through the stone arches of the bridge which 
D 
