The Nesting of the Red-necked Phalarope 



brooded, I pressed down some of the grasses, and moved 

 back a few yards. The bird returned to its eggs almost at 

 once, and I could see it endeavouring to conceal itself more 

 effectively, plucking at the grasses with its bill and weaving 

 itself fresh shelter. 



Unfortunately for my attempts at photographing it on 

 the nest, I was unable to revisit the spot till the first days of 

 July, and found the young birds hatched, though they were 

 not many hours old. Arriving at the nest, I discovered it to 

 be empty, but the parent birds were moving anxiously 

 around in marked contrast to their behaviour when they 

 had eggs and so I waited quietly to see whether the baby 

 family would show themselves. After a while one small 

 downy person emerged from the thick vegetation, shortly 

 afterwards followed by another. Hoping to induce the 

 parent bird to give me a chance of photographing it brood- 

 ing its young at close quarters, I remained on, and was 

 successful, but in the meanwhile the sun sank, the wind 

 became chill and blew strongly from the west, and I found 

 that one of the small birds was suffering severely from the 

 cold. A crofter's home stood not far distant, so carrying 

 the patient in my pocket, I sought entry there, and held the 

 baby phalarope over the fire. Gradually, from being limp 

 and stiff, life returned to it, and at length I had no small 

 difficulty in holding it, so active were its struggles. At this 

 stage I returned it to its parents, and having done so, moved 

 off from the nesting-site as quickly as possible. 



The following year I again visited the phalarope 's pool, 

 this time on July 2. The day was fine, clear and sunny. The 

 birds were there as before, one confiding and undisturbed, 

 the other wild and anxious, and flying over the lochan 

 intermittently, uttering excited chirping cries which the mate 

 answered. I gathered that the excited individual was the 

 hen. 



After watching what I imagined to be the cock for a while, 

 he disappeared stealthily into a tuft of weeds, and I made 



'55 



