156 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



ON THE MUDS 



We are up betimes in the morning. A loud report, 

 followed by a sharp crack, makes both of us to start up 

 hurriedly from our " bunks " and peer out into the bright 

 morning. Fred Clarke, the puntsman, whose houseboat lies 

 out there to the west'ard, has risen betimes and had a shot 

 or two at some young mallard taking their first look at 

 Breydon. Yesterday they bade good-bye to their elders and 

 started out on their travels, satisfied that the outside world 

 was larger than their native Broads. In one of their more 

 airy flights they caught a bird's-eye glimpse of Breydon, 

 little knowing that among the creeks of that tempting hunt- 

 ing-ground there lurked deadly peril. Out of that little 

 family party three have ended their short lives : two fell to 

 the deadly swivel-gun, and another wounded ; that second 

 report plainly told us that the cripple had also been brought 

 to bag. The season for duck-shooting here commences 

 on August ist; but the redshanks and stray spoonbills 

 and other waders may consider themselves safe, under 

 ordinary conditions, for a full month longer. Then all 

 owners of guns, swivel or otherwise, make common cause 

 against everything that flies. 



It was high water last night at ten ; to-day it will run up 

 until nearly eleven. Fred Clarke has just retrieved his duck 

 in DufTell's drain yonder, and is making back for his station. 

 All the flats are yet uncovered, and the greater black-backed 

 gulls are prowling everywhere in search of stranded fish or 

 shore-crab, while the black-heads are also bent on gleaning 

 up a breakfast. Just now there are myriads of shore-crabs 

 on Breydon, less in size than a halfpenny. Among the 

 debris at the edge of the wall you will notice hundreds 

 of empty carapaces : pick up half a dozen, and you find the 

 skeleton of Carcinus mcenas complete in carapace, legs, 

 antennae, and eye-stalks. The little fellows have just 

 moulted. Some of the carapaces have been cast off a day 

 or two, and already they have become bleached and brittle, 

 and will crumble up into chalky powder between your 

 fingers. One seldom comes across the crabs in their " soft " 

 condition. I believe they hide in holes in the ronds, under 



