The Surf-bird 
by rising. “Snap” went the latch, and “roar” went the shutter, till the 
first relay of plates, carried in the game pocket of an old hunting coat, 
was exhausted. 
Retracing my steps as cautiously as I had come, I secured another 
batch of plates and returned to the fray. This time I succeeded in reach¬ 
ing the reef itself and in lessening the distance to some forty feet—a score 
of Surf-birds at forty feet! They rose at length, for there were timorous 
souls among them, but they returned or ever I had reached the base of 
supplies. The tide was low and the quarry safe, so we indulged a much 
belated cold lunch of bread-and-butter, omelette, and cake, all sugared 
impartially with fine sand. Then I resumed the quest, pausing only to 
note that the Surf-birds were themselves busily engaged in feeding upon 
the white barnacles which covered the reef. These seemed to form their 
exclusive diet for the time; and it was interesting to see a bird get a good 
grip on a reluctant cirriped, then brace and haul him out by main force. 
It was yeoman service, and many a bill was smeared with bug juice, not 
to mention “biramous cirri” and other delicate crustacean apparatus. 
There were about twenty of the birds, twenty-three to be exact, and 
one Black Turnstone kept with them most of the time, although he might 
have found plenty of his own kind not far away. Once the Surf-birds 
deserted him and left him trembling on the rock; but I was unprepared to 
utilize the superb pose which his lonely plight presented a moment later, 
and he made off with startled cries. As for the Surf-birds, as often as 
they were dislodged they retired to a strip of sand a few rods away and 
fell to gleaning like pipers. 
1336 
