148 
A NATURALIST’S NOTES IN NORTH DEVON. July, 1890 . 
The Lesser Black-backed and Herring Gulls were often to 
be seen, singly and two or three together; all three species 
breed on Lundy and at Baggy Point. But the only occasion 
on which I ever saw any large concourse of Gulls was one 
morning when we were steaming to Clovelly in the “Velindra.” 
Quite a large flock, comprising all three species, were busily 
feeding on a shoal of fish some way off Baggy Point. Loud 
was the screaming, the giks, the yanks, and wa-ows, as 
they swooped down greedily on their slippery prey. I only 
noticed a single Guillemot, in summer dress, when crossing 
Bideford Bay ; hundreds breed at Lundy and Baggy, but no 
doubt by that time they were all out in the tideway. We had 
passed out of the rough water encountered where the Morte 
Stone lies exposed to the long Atlantic swell, and where the 
white horses were rearing their crests in all directions, and 
now were in the smooth water of the bay. The long range of 
Braunton Burrows lay on our port side, with its yellow sand¬ 
hills shining in the sun (now tardily breaking through the 
mist), stretching on to the estuary of the Taw and Torridge ; 
and on ahead loomed the distant island of Lundy, looking 
like a purple cloud bank resting on the waves. As we steamed 
on and neared the great green wall of wood-clothed cliff, 
which rises almost at once from the narrow boulder beach 
at Clovelly, and marked the white houses, scattered step-like 
up the steep, come gradually into sight, a Cormorant crossed 
our bows, flapping lazily out to sea, But Cormorants seem 
scarce on this coast. I only saw two more, one at Ilfracombe, 
and the third we looked down upon from the north walk lead¬ 
ing from Lynton to the Valley of Rocks, as it flapped heavily 
along at the foot of the cliffs hundreds of feet below us. That 
beautiful walk ! Sweet, fresh air all around, fragrant with 
the delicate blended scent of heather, dwarf gorse, and wood 
sage ; on the one hand, sloping upwards, the flowery cliff ; on 
the other, the bright blue sea—so far down that our ears can 
only catch a faint murmur of the tide as it beats and dashes 
against the rocks. Lynton, in its unrailwayed freshness, will 
live in the minds of many, and its name will call up memories 
of bright days long since dulled over, but never to be oblite¬ 
rated. As we stand in the garden at the back of the Castle 
Hotel this cloudless August day, and look northwards, there 
is spread out before us a panorama, so varied, so extensive, 
so full of light and colour, that we may well wonder at the 
wealth of beauty in nature. On our left, rising still higher, the 
barren, dusky heights towards the Valley of Rocks. In front, 
500 feet below, through the wooded slope, almost tropical in 
its luxuriousness, liesLynmouth with its picturesque scattered 
