( 98 ) 

 THE HAUNT OF THE BEACK-TAH.ED GODWIT. 



BY 



E. L. TURNER, h.m.b.o.u. 



The first nest of the Black-tailed Godwit {Limosa liinosa) tha.t 

 I saw was high up in the heart of the great belt of sand dunes 

 which protects Holland from the North Sea. These dunes 

 were totally different from my preconceived ideas. As we 

 approached them, leaving behind trim villages, we came 

 along a sandy track through belts of pine and copses of birch, 

 oak and thorn. We might have been in some Surrey or 

 Sussex wood, only for there being about them an indefinable 

 difference. It may have been atmosphere or it may have 

 been the variety and wealth of bird life, and the vegetation 

 in general. As we advanced, the scenery became distinctive. 

 Nowhere in the British Isles could we see such great rolling 

 sand-hills covered with low scrub — mostly dwarf sallow and 

 sea buckthorn. Silvery-white these bushes gleamed against 

 a background of burnished golden sand. In outline, the hills 

 resembled the soft contour of our own Downland, but without 

 its inimitable sheep-bitten grass. These sand dunes are 

 nevertheless quite as beautiful in their way. The bare spaces 

 were carpeted with pale mauve pansies. In the hollows thick 

 copses nestled and in the valleys wide belts of woodland 

 stretched away into the blue distance. It was this admixture 

 of open moorland and wooded dells which gave these dunes 

 charm to the bird lover. 



I never recovered from my first surprise at hearing the wild 

 cries of Curlew {N. arqnata) and Godwit mingling with the 

 soft music of Warblers and Nightingales {L. m. megarliyncha) . 

 Not just one or two Nightingales but several in every tiny 

 copse, so that the great wide moorland rang with their songs. 

 It was mid-May, and there was a riot of sound. Now and 

 again the mellow flute of the Golden Oriole [0. o. oriolits) 

 rang clear above all other sounds. 



When in the heart of the dunes, we left the road and walked 

 up a wide valley to a little ridge of sand covered with sallow 

 bushes. Immediately a male Godwit rose from the hill-top 

 and gave the alarm. Wheeling round us he called " Wittau, 

 wittau." His cry was taken up by other Godwits and 

 Curlews and Oystercatchers {H. o. ostralegus), until the wild 

 landscape echoed and re-echoed with still wilder cries. The 

 flight of the Godwit when alarmed is very beautiful. His 



