46



On the Oyster Catcher.



set up my camera, I prepared to await the birds home-coming. After

seven hours had passed I began to think something was wrong, for

during this time both birds had been sleeping and feeding within ten

yards of me, and. after a good doze of half-an-hour or so, one of

them would begin to walk towards the nest, covering a few yards

and then retreating. This would go on time after time, the distance

growing less between the bird and the eggs after every effort, till one

felt certain that the next time the bird would surely come on its

nest ; but not so, the bird at this stage would think another sleep

desirable, walk off to its original position and perching itself on a

rock commanding a view of the nest, push its beak in the feathers

of its back and, with one eye always open, doze for a further period.


On the island I was working, which was quite tiny (about

two acres) there w T ere four pairs of Oyster Catchers nesting, and, at

intervals, the sleeping' pair would be visited by the others. On these

occasions the most extraordinary dance took place. The birds would

strut round each other, beating time to their curious call with their

beautiful coral red beaks. Sometimes this “ dance of the Oyster

Catchers ” would last several minutes, then, one by one, the in¬

truders would fly off leaving my pair to continue their broken sleep

with still one eye always open.


After my long wait, I returned home rather disheartened, but

next morning, on paying a visit to the eggs, I found them quite warm.

My friend therefore took up his position in the hide, and I left him

for the day whilst I visited another island for Ringed Plover. On

returning, I found he had made two exposures, and on the following

day a second friend secured three or four. The fourth day I visited

the hide again, and after ten minutes wait the bird came on the nest

again. I got her to go off twice by talking to her. After this,

however, she took no notice of my voice and so I had to scratch the

canvas of the tent. Eventually she grew so accustomed to me that

she allowed me to put my hand out of the front of the tent and

remove the lens and replace it with one of a longer focus. This

shows how a bird can be accustomed to almost anything provided

one has time, and is almost on a par with my friend C. J. King’s

experience when stalking a Shag. Of course he is a past master at

the art and had got so near to the bird that it completely covered



