SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 267 



The next attempt was to stalk a flock of knots, assem- 

 bled on a tongue of slob just beyond the saltings ; but, 

 despite a friendly gully, which should have taken me 

 within range of them, the knots proved too many for 

 me, and my crawl along the oozy channel brought me 

 nothing but a goodly coating of particularly rich mud. 



Leaving the salt marshes behind me, I arrived at the 

 headland of the island, from which a grand view of the 

 North Sea and a vast expanse of sand, ooze-flats, and 

 black-ground was obtainable. Great numbers of wader? 

 were to be seen quartering the muds in search of food, 

 the incoming tide driving them gradually shore wards. 

 About half a mile out, a long line of tall stakes stretched 

 away seaward, and these wave-battered remains of an 

 old fish-weir afforded a shore-shooter excellent cover 

 behind which to lay up for curlew and other wading birds, 

 when they were flooded off the banks by the rising tide. 



Now, I was desperately hungry, and I knew that by 

 this time my host and fellow-guests would be sitting 

 down to a rattling good breakfast. The question was: 

 Should I return to the homestead and feed, or should I 

 wade out to the old fish-weir on the off-chance of picking 

 up a stray curlew, godwit, or plover ? 



" Heads breakfast, tails fish- weir ! " The coin came 

 down the reverse side uppermost, and, leaving my boots 

 and stockings on the headland, I commenced to wade 

 through the batter-hke, greasy slob. It was thoroughly 

 bad going, and more than once I scored my feet and legs 

 against broken mussel and cockle shells. At length I 

 arrived at the obsolete fish-weir, and, choosing as com- 

 fortable a stand as possible, and with old " Jet " snugging 

 her muddy but warm fur against my feet, I watched 



