Along the Rock-bound Coast 



white cloud of birds sails out, dissolves into a 

 hundred shimmering units, each of which sud- 

 denly wheels and returns to its nest, indignantly 

 expostulating, " Kitti-wa-ake, kitti-wa-ake." One 

 watches, almost bewildered ; the ears are deafened 

 and the eyes refuse to convey to the brain any dis- 

 tinct impression of the constantly-changing scene. 



Many of the sea-birds are ocean nomads during 

 the greater part of the year, following the 

 fish and living ofttimes far out of sight of land, 

 to which they only repair for nesting pur- 

 poses. The spots they then favour are the most 

 precipitous parts of the coast, and a visit to one 

 of their nurseries affords, perhaps, the most im- 

 pressive sight birdland has to offer. The amount 

 of bird life comes to one as a revelation earth, 

 air and sea literally teem with countless thousands, 

 chiefly Guillemots, Razorbills and Puffins. 



Lundy Island, in the Bristol Channel, is cer- 

 tainly one of the best breeding stations in the 

 South of England, and I may perhaps be pardoned 

 if I describe the birds as I found them there. On 

 the most precipitous cliffs Guillemots and Kitti- 

 wakes were breeding, the former laying their 

 single egg on the benches of rock, while here and 

 there colonies of the latter were to be found, their 

 closely matted nests of seaweed occupying almost 

 all the available ledges, which in some cases were 

 so narrow as to make one wonder why the nests 

 did not slide off. 



Ill 



