34 A BIRD COLLECTOR’S MEDLEY. 
here spans the river, and it proved a stupendous undertaking, it being doubtful 
at one time whether the passage was to be negotiated with the bows or stern 
in front, and our final success was owing less to the efforts of the oarsman 
than to the manual exertion of B——, who was seated in the bows, and who, 
by painfully clawing the rough stonework, contrived after a time to pull us 
through. Several yachts, a wherry, and an odd boat or two lay on the far 
side, and after Providence had worried us a way through these, not without 
much extraneous vituperation, we emerged at length on the open waters of 
the Thurne. 
We had so far deferred all questions as to the haunts of the birds, but now 
someone ventured to ask where he expected to find the Tits. The answer was 
slow in coming, but monumental when it arrived: as the sun was shining, he 
anticipated that they would be “lying at the bottoms of the pools beneath the 
reeds!” 
It did not strike us as a likely domicile, but we abstained from criticism, 
and sat still in gloomy silence until at a fork in the river our boat came to a 
sudden stop. Our Charon was evidently hazy as to the route, and tried to 
solve the difficulty by volunteering to take us to both Hickling and Horsey 
during the day. We said that one, if it was Hickling, would satisfy us, 
and as a fishing boat fortunately turned up at this critical moment, we got 
directions from those on board, and were soon again in motion towards 
Heigham Sound. Here a strongish wind arose, and the rough water proving 
too much for Charon’s dubious watermanship, he was at length induced to 
relinquish the sculls. Not long afterwards he was tenderly laid to rest in the 
bows, where he snored contentedly for the remainder of the day. 
Left to our own resources, we pulled steadily on along the Sound, turning 
aside at times to explore some of the small pools which occur now and then 
amidst the forest of reeds which border them. Here B , anxious to exhibit 
his skill as a punter, recently acquired as it was by various watery experiences 
at Oxford, volunteered to give us an exhibition for variety’s sake, and I am 
bound to say quanting proved far the most effective method of getting about. 
As for the Reed Pheasants, carefully though we looked for them, we could find 
no trace of their presence, though it is just possible that we heard their note 
once—or, to be more accurate, a sound which we did hear might, by a slight 
stretch of imagination, have been described as representing the “ ping, ping” 
of the bird books. 
We were, however, most unlucky in the weather ; the wind got worse, and 
the sun went in, and I should imagine it was just the sort of afternoon on which 
they would skulk at the bottoms of the reeds. Goodness only knows whether 
