150 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



can see whatever birds may be bustling around, making sure 

 of a supper, of some sort, before the sun sets. These south- 

 easterly winds, so common off this coast in the warmer 

 evenings, are most convenient for our upgoing, and nine 

 times out of ten we can reckon on a shift to the north'ard 

 and west'ard by sunrise, sufficient to waft us home, either on 

 the ebb or the flood tide. I need not explain the processes of 

 Nature which so oblige us. 



The sun has been glaringly hot to-day, and the heated air 

 quivers over the warm flats. Here and there distant objects 

 appear inverted ; the far-off mills loom up big, and stand out 

 of the mist, gleaming and weird. Some herons yonder on 

 the Duffell's flats show up distinctly and much magnified, 

 while several black-backed gulls look as large as bustards, and 

 when they are moving one might almost mistake them, at 

 first glance, for a company of black-coated boys manoeuvring. 



It is a wonderful sight, this Breydon mirage ! Even the 

 bullocks on the walls are distorted, and appear to be stand- 

 ing on stilts, while the trees beyond Breydon and the stakes 

 in the channel look ghostly and uncanny. It is the density 

 of the different strata of air, affected by the hot mud and 

 cooler waters of the estuary, which gives these mingled 

 effects of refraction and reflection. It is a far more interest- 

 ing phenomenon than the marsh mists which often hover 

 above the lowlands at sunset, blotting out all the view 

 beyond the nearest marshes on either side. This all-pervad- 

 ing layer of mist sometimes hovers a foot or two above the 

 grass, and only the legs of grazing cattle are visible ; then, while 

 one stands marvelling, it drops nearer the ground, hiding all 

 but their heads and backs. A misty night prophesies a fine 

 morning, and a dry cabin-top after nightfall is often the 

 sign of a wet to-morrow. We passed a lot of gulls squab- 

 bling over a couple of stale loaves that had been heaved 

 overboard by some indignant yachtsman. 



On the edge of the " Ship " drain a parcel of little terns sit 

 bunched up, head to wind, resting after the day's fishing. 

 One little fellow finds the " whitebait " flashing in the clear 

 water most alluring ; he hovers questioningly around the 

 punt as we mimic his bat-like squeal. How keenly the small 

 thing eyes every movement of the tiny fishes in the water 

 below, which flash like strips of gold in sunlight as they play 



