Vol 'i 924 IV ] NICHOLES, A Trip to Central Australia. 
51 
surface of the water moving in a series of little ripples. As the 
birds fly in pairs from one part of the lagoon to another about 
a' foot above the surface, with their long legs and bill outstretched 
(the dark colour of the head and the black tips of the wings con¬ 
trasting with the white of the body), they make a pretty picture. 
When they alight they begin to feed immediately, “up-ending 
like ducks if the water is too deep for wading. They will feed 
in company with Ducks and Grebes, but when sunning themselves 
on the bank usually gather a little apart from the Teal. 
In the warm sunlight of middle afternoon the Teal and. Stilts 
rest along the banks of the water, and so well has Mounted- 
Constable Aiston looked after them that I was able to approach 
to within eighty feet of them, and am now sitting “writing them 
up" at that distance. Backed by the white of the sandhills the 
dark forms of the Teal show tip against the wateiline, and the 
conspicuous black and white plumage of the long-billed, long- 
legged Avocets make a fine contrast to the dark mass of the 
other birds. The crooning notes of the contented birds, well fed 
and sunwarmed, come drifting down the wind to where I sit. 
All at once there is a rustling and flapping of wings, and the 
surface of the water is broken by swimming and diving birds as 
a large Brown Hawk flies over not more than twenty feet above 
them. Swallows skim lightly over the surface, and a pair of 
Hoary-headed Grebes bob up and down in front of me. As a 
result of the Hawk’s visit the Avocets (their bright chestnut 
heads glistening in the sun) have moved to within forty feet, 
and are now feeding and calling, their single notes sounding like 
the “reed call” made upon a penny trumpet. And I have not an¬ 
other plate with me! One is continually learning something about 
nature photography here “out-back.” There are at least three 
hundred Teal in the picture, and twenty Avocets. It is as yet 
too early for the Galahs. They come in just before sun-down, 
when the light is almost too bad for good photography. We met 
a flock of them to-day out upon the sandhills and gibber stones. 
What they find to feed upon is a mystery! 
The first mob of Galahs has come in to the water-hole with 
their loud shrieking notes. The second mob has followed avithin 
the space of time it has taken to write this passage. A few of 
the green treetops, and more particularly the dry and dead trees, 
are beginning to be festooned with the living-chains of birds, 
their pink breasts aglow in the sunshine. 
The sky behind the mass of coloured birds is a light peacock- 
blue, with scattered masses of white clouds, and the combination 
of colour, pink birds, blue sky and white clouds, is one to be 
remembered. Every now and then a little bit of colour falls 
from the tree-top like an autumn leaf, as the Galahs drop down 
to drink. Our boy, “Jack,” is waiting patiently at the other end 
of the water-hole, with the telephoto lens focussed upon a tree, 
so that I may drive some of the newcomers down for him to 
