Remarks on the Habits of the Kingfisher on the New 

 Hampshire Seacoast 



By HENRY R. CAREY 



WHEN the cold east wind from the sea still chills one to the marrow, 

 and the clamorous cries of the Crows are yet borne to the ear with 

 the crispness of passing winter, a moderately large bird, rivaling 

 the Swallow in his flight and bearing the blue of the sky upon his back, sweeps 

 up Sagamore creek, near Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for the first time in 

 many months, ratthng as he goes. It is the Kingfisher; he has come as punctually 

 as if driven by clockwork, in this, the first week of April, to spend his summer 

 with us. 



Like all fishermen, he is independent by nature. Only the power of love is 

 able to dispel for a time the joy which he finds in his solitary hunting perch. Alone 

 he sits on his distant point of vantage, twisting his keen eye in every direction 

 or turning slowly upon his tiny feet, bowing and clattering softly to himself in 

 his strange tongue. He has no friends; the little birds avoid him. He has few 

 enemies; the Crows and the Hawks leave him severely alone. Fearlessly he 

 harries the small fish up and down over his hunting-grounds; courageously he 

 seeks his prey in the icy salt-water of early spring. 



Then, one day, a strange feeling comes upon him. He mounts high into the 

 air and flies hither and thither with no apparent purpose, making as much noise 

 as possible, like an excited fly caught in a warm room. Presently he finds a 

 mate, and he forgets in part his solitary nature. The two go fishing together and 

 sit side by side on the same perch. But, after all, it is more toleration than love 

 which they feel toward each other. They do not feed or caress one another 

 as other birds often do. Each one simply allows the presence of his mate because 

 of the relation existing between them. 



As is well known, the same nesting-bank is often chosen year after year, in 

 spite of disasters of every kind which may be connected with it. Since it is not 

 my purpose here to discuss the well-known details of the Kingfisher's life, I shall 

 pass over the various dates of egg-laying, hatching, etc. The food brought to 

 the nest-hole consists of various kinds of small fish. It not infrequently happens 

 that one of these fish is too large to be carried by the parent bird into the narrow 

 passage; it is then dropped upon the bank and is allowed to rot. This fact is often 

 responsible for a large amount of the odor which is apt to hang about the mouth 

 of a Kingfisher's burrow. I once found a common salt-water flounder, four 

 and one-half inches long and proportionately wide, which, being rather unwieldy 

 for the parent bird to handle, had been left in this way. Another time I found 

 a young Sculpin (Callionymus ceneus) in the same condition, and, yet again, 

 a five minnow, which, in spite of a great patch on its side devoid of scales, was 

 finally freed in perfect health. This fact, by the way, suggests the probable fate of 

 many a hardy small fish which escapes wounded from the Kingfisher's deadly beak. 



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