HUNTING WITH A MICROPHONE 



705 



TO SHOOT THESE WOOD IBISES, THE AUTHOR STOOD WAIST-DEEP IN A SWAMP 



Flocks of the flinthead, silent ghost of Florida marshlands, are often seen in the skies, soaring 

 in great circles like buzzards. It was difficult to get the sound truck near the birds, but this 

 made little difference because they are virtually voiceless when fully grown. Breeding in colonies 

 sometimes numbering several thousand pairs, they nest year after year on the same platforms of 

 sticks, built high in trees. When fishing in a pond, the wood ibis often muddies the water with 

 its feet to force fish to the surface. It is the only stork found nesting in the United States. 



Their eyes, which are extremely quick 

 to notice any motion, are apparently not 

 very keen at seeing objects at rest. On 

 one occasion two old gobblers approached 

 within thirty yards of Stoddard and me as 

 we crouched immovable behind the sound 

 mirror in full view. 



RECORDING THE LIMPKIN'S EERIE CRY 



From Beachton, at Stoddard's suggestion, 

 we went south to the Wakulla River, Flor- 

 ida, where we hoped to get within record- 

 ing distance of the limpkin, or crying bird, 

 another of the main objectives of our trip. 



Here a magnificent underground stream, 

 crystal clear, comes to the surface as a 

 spring 185 feet deep and flows gently to the 

 Gulf. Its waters teem with fish which 

 can be observed easily even at considerable 

 depth. The banks of the river are clothed 

 with beautiful moss-covered cypress where 

 hundreds of anhingas, or snakebirds, nest, 



as well as many herons, ospreys, and other 

 fish-eating birds. 



Most interesting of all, however, are the 

 limpkins. About the size of bitterns but 

 related to the cranes, they are dark brown 

 spangled with white. They have been at- 

 tracted to this beautiful stream by the 

 abundance of a large, aquatic snail {Ampul- 

 laria, now called Pomacca), which is their 

 principal food (opposite page). 



The snails are largely nocturnal, and so 

 are the limpkins. At night the loud, wail- 

 ing cries of the birds reverberate up and 

 down the river, sending shivers down one's 

 back. It would not be difficult even for 

 the most prosaic person to imagine that 

 some lost soul had come back to earth, or 

 at least that some luckless black brother 

 was losing his leg to an alligator. 



Here, enthralled by the magical scenery 

 which was rendered even more eerie by the 

 hooting and laughing of the barred owls, we 



