Birds of the Sea- Shore 



Even when we arrived at a spit of shingle, 

 where their nests obviously were, and the excited 

 birds were hovering over our heads uttering 

 sharp, angry alarm cries, we could not fail to 

 notice how their pure white underparts rendered 

 them inconspicuous against the brilliant light of 

 the June sky, while if they flew low, the light 

 on their pearly plumage was but a degree less 

 sparkling than the ripples on the sea. 



We did not, however, strike on the colony at 

 once. Our way lay along the narrowish ribbon 

 of shingle that separates the sea from the low- 

 lying reclaimed pasture land. Numbers of Ringed 

 Plovers started up in front of us and flew anxiously 

 around, but we were not to be detained by such 

 accomplished will-o'-the-wisps. By the beginning 

 of June the young birds are mostly hatched out 

 and they are, if anything, harder to find than the 

 eggs. The parent birds are consummate actors 

 and use every device to attract the intruder from 

 their young. Now, apparently, a wing is broken, 

 now a leg, and the birds stumble along as if at 

 their last gasp. Sometimes they even feign death 

 but revive with wonderful alacrity if an attempt 

 is made to catch them. The only thing certain 

 is that the eggs or young are not in the direction 

 the bird is trying to indicate. After walking three 

 miles our hopes were raised by the sight of a 

 Lesser Tern, and a mile or so further on we 

 suddenly came on the object of our search. A 

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