170 GAME BIRDS AND SHOOTING-SKETCHES 



was not to rest but to toss feverishly on what seemed a 

 red-hot pillow, until at last, if fortunate, one dropped into 

 a fitful and unrefreshing slumber that did not last long. 

 In one camp on the " Skafandi Laxa " I never slept a wink 

 for four nights, but used to lie awake and listen in the 

 death-like stillness to the murmur of the far-off river and 

 the bubbling cry of the Whimbrel, a sound that seems to 

 the traveller in Iceland to be universal, for one hears it 

 everywhere, as it ceases not day or night. Then, about 

 one o'clock, the first morning "Ptarrr" of a cock Ptar- 

 migan sounded faintly far away up on the moorland 

 behind, and was repeated with others, gradually growing 

 more distinct ; one knew they were coming down to the 

 rocks above the river and to bask in the first rays of the 

 morning sun. Though vainly endeavouring to court 

 slumber, such were the regularity of the calls with their 

 gradual crescendos that you could not help listening to 

 them, in spite of better resolutions, till at last one began 

 to calculate how far off the bird was that last called and 

 when he was going to repeat it again. There was no way 

 of settling such an argument but by going and seeing for 

 one's self, which was just what I used to do. At this time 

 of the day the Ptarmigan cocks were very tame, and would 

 allow me to crawl up to within a few feet of them and sit 

 on the same rock, a familiarity they would not have per- 

 mitted during the later hours of the day. 



It is a regular habit of the cock Ptarmigan during the 

 summer months to leave the high grounds before day- 

 break, and gradually proceed down the slopes until the 

 lowest ground to which they descend is reached. In this 

 country this level is generally about 1500 feet, and though 



