INTO THE GREAT RIFT 233 



color and, excepting for the crimson under the wings 

 and the black-tipped pinion quills, the bird shades 

 from a pale pink to a rosy hue. The flamingos feed 

 on tiny Crustacea which thrive in the mud, and it 

 is this invisible food which attracts them here in their 

 many millions. They go about the business of secur- 

 ing their nourishment in a methodical fashion. I 

 watched them as they waded about, combing the lake 

 with their beaks wliich they tlirust upside down into 

 the mud to scoop up food and dirt together. They 

 would then swish their bills through the water, strain- 

 ing out the unwanted parts through a sievelike 

 arrangement in the side of their beaks and retaining 

 the minute particles of animal matter upon which 

 they subsist. 



Before returning to the ledge high upon the face of 

 the cliff, I stationed my boys around one end of the 

 lake with instructions that on a signal from me they 

 were to shout and rush upon the birds in order to 

 make them fly. So when the sun had dropped to 

 the point where I could obtain the best scene, the 

 prearranged sign was given and a few moments later 

 a miUion wings were flashing in the air as the seeth- 

 ing mass of flamingos bumped against one another in 

 their mad haste to rise from the lake. Even from my 

 lofty perch I could hcctr the thunder of their beating 

 wings and the mighty clamor produced by thousands 

 of throats as this multitude complained in reproachful 

 tones of their iU treatment. They arose in long grace- 

 ful curves to fly between me and the setting sun, 

 resembhng a huge rose-pink cloud as they drifted 

 across the lake to disappear in the shadows of 

 the escarpment. 



