34



Rev. F. L. Blathwayt,



These birds were a constant source of pleasure to us, and

often while fishing we would lay down our rods and watch their

habits through our glasses. The bird-life around us was in fact

so interesting that the weight of our creels, when we started for

home, was often far less than it might have been.


In the mornings, as we tramped over the water-sodden

moors towards the loch, for the day’s fishing, the rippling wail of

the Curlew (Nttmenius arqucita), and the clear call of the Golden

Plover ( Chctradrius pluvialis ) could be heard on either hand.

Suddenly a Grouse ( Lctgopus scoticns) would blunder up,

covered with confusion, almost under our feet, and shout to us a

hurried but unavailing “ Go-back ” “Go-back,” as he skimmed

over a shoulder of rising ground. Then a little black-breasted

Dunlin ( Tringa alpina) would spring from the side of some tiny

pool, with a harsh “ cree,” and dart away to the loch-side,

uttering while alighting on the margin, a long-drawn trill

sounding like a rusty electric bell.


As we crunched over the boulders and shingle to the little

stone jetty where the boat was moored, the startling double cry

of the Greenshank ( Totanus canescens ) or the mellower note of

the Redshank (71 calidris) would ring out over the water, as the

birds gave the note of alarm to all the dwellers on the loch.

The Gulls then (. Lancs canus ) would rise in a cloud from their

nests on the islands, and wheel in circles overhead amid a

medley of querulous and musical cries, the harsh croak of the

Greater Black-backed Gull, and the ‘how-how-how ’ of his

lesser relative ( L. fuscus) helping to swell the chorus.


As the gillie bails the rain-water out of the boat, we 'watch

a pair of Common Sandpipers ( Totanus hypoleuais) flitting with

mournful, long-drawn cries, from stone to stone, anxious for the

safety of their young, which are doubtless crouching among the

pebbles at our feet. Suddenly the shrill ‘wh<?<?you’ of a Drake

Wigeon (Mareca penclope) sounds from above as the smart little

fellow comes to have a look at us, and warns his comrades that

we look dangerous. His sombre-coloured mate is doubtless

nesting on one of those lovely birch-clad islets, the buds of the

trees cow just showing pinkish-brown over the silver stems, but



