no WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



or blenny, eel or " whitebait," unwittingly imprisoned there 

 is very soon pounced upon and swallowed. 



Small fish, even a short time out of their native element, 

 when thrown over again, often float or struggle helplessly 

 on or near the surface of the stream. The shrimpers, sort- 

 ing their catches in the harbour, throw back many of the 

 useless fishes taken, e.g. pogges, bullheads, small whitings, 

 flatfishes, and frequently bibs. The last-named especially 

 come upstream in a helpless condition, their eyes bulging 

 with terror and air. These are an especial tit-bit for the 

 gulls, and if the few black-heads that haunt the entrance to 

 Breydon in summer miss them, or pass them by as too big 

 for swallowing, the larger gulls will find them, stranded by 

 the sluggish tides, on the water-line at the margin of the 

 flats, for frequently successive tides fail to cover the mud- 

 flats, especially during the neaps. Who knows what else 

 they may pick up out of the hundred edibles that float up- 

 stream from a populous town, from dead dogs downwards ? 



Several curlews, which I take to be either old non-breeders 

 or last year's latest hatched birds, not infrequently remain 

 with us, more or less all summer, taking short trips for two 

 or three days at a time to the Wells marshes (where I have 

 seen them) or some other favourite resort. Shilling-sized 

 crabs, now so abundant, are their favourite prey, and the 

 larger nereids, more inclined to wander, prompted by their 

 reproductive instincts, are as eagerly searched for. 



Belated migrants are now and then met with. It may be 

 that some infirmity has made them slow of wing, or dis- 

 appointment at pairing time has made them laggards. I saw 

 a hooded crow loafing around Breydon on June I7th, 1906. 

 On the same date a pair of little terns were winging their 

 way around the flats. The female evidently was an invalid, 

 for her faithful mate industriously fished for her as well as 

 for himself. Three grey plovers, all grand fellows, were 

 hunting about at the margin of a creek on June 7th, 1898, 

 as contentedly and leisurely as if it were the earlier half of 

 May. A dunlin was with us as late as June 7th, 1906, whilst 

 a party of youngsters had come south as early as July 7th ! 

 Spoonbills in June are nothing unusual, and immature birds 

 will remain contentedly here if unmolested all summer 

 through. Among the unusual occurrences I have noted 



