THE DEE AN OCTOBER TIDE 51 



and the noisy yelp of the redshank were mingled continu- 

 ally with the music of the sea-pies, whilst the laugh of 

 the herring-gull and the rook-like complaints of black- 

 heads introduced harsher though not discordant notes. 

 Hour after hour the sound swelled or died down, but the 

 birds were never silent; the difficulty was to pick out 

 individual calls. 



High tides in early October are perhaps the best of the 

 year from the bird-watcher's point of view, for though 

 large numbers of northern waders arrive in September, 

 and even in August, there are in the later month hosts 

 of winterers added to the birds of passage. These last 

 are here for a few days, or at the most weeks, and in 

 winter have passed far to the south; in the wanner 

 months they are at their breeding haunts when the short 

 Arctic summer uncovers the luxuriant tundras. But the 

 great southward tide of northern birds is not always 

 regular in its visits; the shores may be lined in September 

 and vacated in October, for the autumn crowds ebb and 

 flow, and a poor day may be followed by one of great 

 abundance. 



The first waders which sought the still uncovered rocks 

 which fringe the grass-grown portion of the Eye were 

 dunlins and ringed plovers; these and numerous noisy 

 and very wide-awake redshanks had been feeding as long 

 as possible upon the sand. The redshanks, always nervous, 

 were quick to see that the islet was not un tenanted; 

 each as it approached went off yelling blue murder 

 towards Middle Hilbre, and we were glad to see the spoil- 

 sports depart. The dunlins arrived in flocks of from a 

 score to several hundred birds, wheeled round, flashing 

 silvery white as they all turned their underparts towards 

 us, swept past with a rustle as of many silken skirts, 

 and then settled almost at our feet. Immediately some 

 tucked their bills into their scapulars, raised one leg, and 



