A PHILOSOPHER WITH 

 NATURE 



I 



WILD BIRD LIFE IN THE SEVERN 

 ESTUARY 



IT is low tide and early in the morning, and our 

 boat drawing only a few inches of water is as far 

 in as we can get, with her nose buried in the soft 

 mud. On the right, far away to the south and 

 looking through the morning mist Uke a dark bank 

 of clouds over the horizon, stretches the steep line 

 of the North Somerset and North Devon coast 

 guarding the Exmoor highlands and the wild country 

 of Blackmore's novels. In front of us is a scene to 

 which it would be difficult to do full justice in 

 description. High water mark is nearly three miles 

 inland, where the low Hne of sand dunes rises to the 

 skyline. Between, and stretching away on each 

 side as far almost as the eye can reach, are mud-flats 

 now uncovered, a great expanse of feeding ground 

 where no human foot can travel, where no shot-gun 

 can carry and where the wild sea-fowl find one of 

 the greatest natural bird sanctuaries which stiU 

 remain to them in Great Britain. 



