132 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



camera and small green hiding-tent. It was not an 

 easy matter to pitch the latter, for the wind always 

 raves over that flat country, and even after it had been 

 weighted with timber it flapped so threateningly that 

 I did not expect much success. But the bird was most 

 accommodating, and in about ten minutes' time he slipped 

 quietly on to his eggs. I gave him time to settle down 

 comfortably, and then released the shutter. He 

 flounced off" the nest, but more with surprise than with 

 fright, and in a quarter of an hour he returned, com- 

 pletely reassured. After that our friendship ripened 

 rapidly, and the sound of the camera disturbed him not 

 in the least. Twice I left my hiding-place in order to 

 readjust the lens. Each time the phalarope ran ofl" 

 the eggs to a little hillock twenty yards away and 

 watched me until I had re-entered the tent, and then 

 he returned at once. In spite of his gay plumage, the 

 bird was curiously inconspicuous. On the eggs he 

 fluffed out his red breast, which — a neat adaptation of 

 means to ends — in deference to his swimming powers, 

 unlike that of the other waders, was feathered closely 

 and thickly like that of a duck. But when he left the 

 nest he seemed to shrink to half his former size, and 

 his buff" and black shoulder bands, and his long blade- 

 like secondary feathers, harmonised exactly with the 

 long grass around him. I sat by the nest for the 

 greater part of the day, but all that time the hen bird 

 did not come near the eggs. Towards evening I 

 wanted to leave the tent, and in order to drive him 

 from the nest without scaring him unduly, I threw 

 some small pieces of moss at him. This had the 



