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Our last mountain bird is the Dotterel. But this is a bird of passage from the south, resorting only to the northern heights during summer. Unfortunately, the species is not so common on our English mountains as was formerly the case; its eggs are eagerly sought by collectors; the bird itself is in great request for its feathers, which are used to make trout and salmon flies. Although becoming rarer, it still breeds on some of the mountains of Cumberland; whilst across the Border it is more numerous, and we believe regularly nests on the Grampians and in a few other places. It is late to arrive on these mountains in spring, as might naturally be inferred, when we bear in mind their bleak and barren character, reaching them in May, and quitting them in September. We have seen eggs of the Dotterel that had been taken on the Cumberland mountains in June. It would seem that the birds do not retire to the elevated nesting-grounds directly they arrive, but frequent the more lowland fields for a week or so ere ascending to them. The summer home of the Dotterel is shared, in some instances at least, with that still more mountain bird, the Ptarmigan. The Dotterel is one of the very few species in which the hen bird is larger and more brightly coloured than the cock, and the latter consequently incubates the eggs and takes the greater share in the task of rearing the young. The hen is even said to take the initiative in courtship, but we have yet to learn that the “new woman” has quoted the fact in support of her advanced opinions! But then the Dotterel is widely known by the accompanying and preceding epithet of “foolish”, and its English name is said to be the diminutive of “Dolt”; whilst its Latin name of morinellus is said by some to have been derived from morus, a fool – facts which those interested in so-called “sex problems” will also do well to bear in mind.

Now a few words respecting the bird-life of the lochs. These lochs, so far as the present chapter is concerned, may be divided into two distinct classes. First, we have the mountain pools – sheets of water of varying size, often at considerable elevations, situated in hollows among the hills, and an especial feature of many districts in the Highlands. Second, we have at sea-level the marine lochs or fiords, another almost exclusive Scottish feature, the nearest approach to them, so far as our experience extends, being some of the charming land-locked rivers or fiords in the south-west of England. Some few of the birds that we meet with on or about these lochs may be seen in many a southern shire at one season or another, but on the other hand there is a predominating number of species that stamps the avifauna of these northern localities with distinctness. Many of these lochs are grandly picturesque, surrounded as they are with lofty mountains and rolling uplands; their solitude in not a few cases is intense. No wonder that some of our shyest birds resort to them, especially as they present the additional attraction of abundance of food. Upon the shores of some of them we have come across the rare Greenshank; on others in the Hebrides the Red-necked Phalarope (gentlest and most trustful of all wading birds) lives in colonies during the summer. From time to time the various Plovers and Sandpipers resort to their shallow margin, coming there to feed from nesting-places on the moors. Now and then in certain favoured spots the shadow of the Osprey – rarest, perhaps, of all our indigenous birds of prey – is reflected in the calm unruffled water as the bird soars over, and perhaps drops down upon some surface-floating fish. Our first introduction to the Osprey took place nearly twenty years ago in Ross-shire, at the head of Loch Carron. We had been kept rain-bound for a couple of days in the hotel at Strome Ferry, and a most miserable and depressing time we had of it, the surrounding hills hidden by clouds and the surface of the loch churned into foam by the incessant downpour. The second evening the weather cleared, and we started off for a long ramble along the loch-side; the sun shone out brilliantly, and began to dispel the caps of clouds hanging on the hills. The most abundant bird on the loch was the Common Gull, respecting which we shall have more to say on a future page. We saw several pairs of Redshanks near the swollen streams, many Plovers in the distance, a few Dippers, Common Sandpipers, and Mergansers. But the bird that interested us most was an Osprey, flying slowly over the loch about thirty feet above the water. It was hovering with quivering wings, the head almost hidden as the bird peered down in quest of prey. Every few moments the bird flapped its long wings as if to steady itself and gain fresh momentum for its flight. For some time we watched it hovering above the shallow water close inshore, and then it poised for a moment and dropped like a stone into the loch, the noise of its plunge being distinctly audible more than a quarter of a mile away. It rose in a few seconds, and then, after hovering a short time, went off in a slow laboured flight to a clump of trees, and we saw it no more. As we previously stated, the Osprey is one of our rarest raptorial birds. A hundred years ago it is recorded as breeding in the English Lake district, whilst at a still more distant date it is known to have nested on the south coast of England. Although more than once thought by competent observers to have become absolutely extinct as a breeding species in the British Islands, the bird still lingers on and returns to nest in one or two places in Scotland, the exact location of which its best friends will desire to remain unpublished. Unfortunately, the Osprey is a summer migrant to our area, and the poor birds in travelling to and from their Highland haunts are exposed to much persecution. A favourite situation for the eyrie of this bird is an island in some secluded loch amongst the mountains, and in some cases a ruin of some ancient chieftain’s stronghold supports the nest. There is no more harmless bird of prey in Scotland, for its food is composed exclusively of fish.

The birds of these mountain lochs are all migratory, visiting them chiefly in summer for the purpose of rearing their young; whilst a few, chiefly Ducks, may be met with in their vicinity during open weather in winter. Of course these remarks apply only to the fresh-water lochs amongst the hills; the sea-water lochs have a perennial supply of birds, because they are never completely ice-bound in our islands, and furnish an abundance of food all the year round. Among the most characteristic of the birds of these hill lochs we may mention the Divers. Of these there are two species that breed near them, one of them, however, the Red-throated Diver, being much commoner than the other, the Black-throated Diver. These birds are more or less migratory, and are only to be found upon fresh-water lochs during summer. In winter they retire to the coasts, where the open sea ensures a constant food supply, and then wander far south of their breeding area. Possibly there are few other districts in the world more depressing in continued wet weather than the Hebrides – a wild savage land of rock and loch and ling surrounded by stormy seas, and only too often shrouded in gray mist. During such weather the cries of the Divers from the upland lochs sound more uncanny and melancholy than ever – oft-repeated wails or screams, compared with which we should describe the nocturnal lament of a tom-cat musical; and even more impressive and unearthly do they become when uttered during the few hours of darkness that characterize the night in summer in these northern lands. These cries have irritated us too often for us to say that we love them; still, they are not without a certain charm, imbuing as they often do with life scenes where solitude otherwise reigns supreme. Both these Divers rarely visit the land except to breed; they are clumsy birds out of the water, but in that element are as much at home as the fish themselves. They fly well and rapidly, and are perhaps more frequently seen in the air than standing on the ground. Both species may be found nesting on the lochs of the Outer Hebrides. The nests are never made far from the water; in fact, we have seen the eggs so close to the margin of the loch that the least rise in the water – a frequent occurrence in such wet districts – must have washed them away. In these cases there can be little doubt that the birds removed them to a safer distance when they were threatened with such a danger. A favourite locality is on some small islet in the loch. In some cases little or no nest is made, but in others a substantial structure of grass, weeds, and stalks of plants is formed. Very often the nest may be discovered by the path the old birds make in going to and from the water. The two eggs are much like those of a Gull in colour, but are very elongated. There can be little doubt that both these Divers consume a vast number of trout in the course of a summer. But the supply of fish is almost inexhaustible; we know lochs that literally teem with trout. The fish, however, are very small and scarcely worthy of the angler’s attention.

The Mallard or Wild Duck is another very common bird on these mountain lochs during summer, especially on those that contain islands. Some of these latter are clothed with a dense growth of heath and gorse, and in such localities we have known several nests within a radius of a few yards. But the Wild Duck is one of the most cosmopolitan of our indigenous birds, breeding almost as commonly in the extreme south of England amidst pastoral surroundings, as in the Highlands where its solitude is seldom disturbed save by a wandering keeper or shepherd. Its nest, however, varies considerably; neither is water essential to its location. We have seen its nest amongst the bracken, far from water, in the open parts of Sherwood Forest, we have taken it from the rushes near a stagnant lowland pool, as well as from the knee-deep ling, the bare ground on the hillsides, and the bramble-covered banks of river and stream. Some nests are made of little else than down from the female’s body, others are much more elaborately constructed of almost any kind of vegetation growing near. We may also mention that this Duck breeds in some numbers near most of the tarns and pools of the moorlands from the Peak district northwards. Here and there in the more remote Highlands – Caithness, Sutherlandshire, and Ross-shire – a few pairs of Scoters frequent the mountain lochs. The Teal, on the other hand, is a much commoner species in these localities, whilst the Red-breasted Merganser is even of wider distribution still throughout the Highlands. We cannot well leave these fresh-water lochs without a passing glance at the Red-necked Phalarope. This again is a migratory species which arrives at the mountain pools in May. Its favourite haunts are the clear tarns surrounded with rushes and sphagnum on the moors, at no great distance from the sea. So far as we know, this Phalarope nests on no part of the British mainland now; its summer resorts are in the Outer Hebrides, in Orkney and Shetland. To these pools the birds return each summer with unfailing regularity. Their gregarious habits very largely increase their charm and interest. We know of few, if any, birds more trustful and tame. When their breeding-place is approached the pretty little birds either run or fly to the neighbouring pool and there swim about in the most unsuspicious and confiding manner, utterly regardless of danger. They make their slight nests on the banks of the water, and lay four very pretty eggs, olive or buff in ground colour, heavily marked with dark brown, paler brown, and gray. Here again we have another instance in which the hen Phalarope is more brilliant in colour than the cock bird, and not only takes the initiative in courtship, but leaves the care of the eggs and young chiefly to him. Possibly the females of these birds and Dotterels hold strongly advanced views on the question of sex and its rights and privileges; anyway, they must be ranked amongst the very few female creatures that have partially succeeded in emancipating themselves from the ordinary duties of their sex. Perhaps in the remote future the principle will universally apply to civilized man himself, for there are not wanting signs of this sexual evolution towards such emancipation.

We will bring the present chapter to a close with a brief notice of the bird-life to be met with on the sea-lochs. Many a charming essay on ornithology is reflected in their clear waters; many a page from the story of our native birds is graven along their rocky shores. We have had the good fortune to explore not a few of these charming Highland fiords, to dwell beside them for weeks at a time, and thus become familiar with the birds upon them and with their most engaging ways. One of the most familiar birds of these Highland lochs is the Red-breasted Merganser, known throughout these localities as the “Sawbill” (conf. p. 96). The drake is a very pretty bird, the duck more soberly arrayed, yet both easily identified by their long narrow bill. They are generally met with in pairs during summer, and their actions in the water furnish us with many an hour’s amusement. This Merganser is a most expert diver, and every few moments either one or the other of the pair disappears in quest of food. Rarely or never do both birds dive at the same time, one always keeping on the surface as if on the look-out. Sometimes, however, the birds will suddenly commence to chase each other through the water in sportive play, and then both may dive, churning the water into foam. When fishing, the birds frequently, after diving, stand erect in the water and flap their wings vigorously for a few moments. These birds are very regular in their movements, especially on tidal water, and we have frequently remarked how they would visit certain spots to feed at low-water, flying up at great speed from different parts of the loch, their wings making a peculiar whistling sound as they hurried along. Sometimes they may be seen standing on some low, sea-surrounded rock basking in the sun and digesting their meal. Each pair of birds seem attached to a certain locality, and may be found in it from day to day right through the breeding season. We have taken many nests of this Merganser, and invariably found them made on islands in the lochs. In not a few instances the first eggs are laid on the bare earth, usually under the shelter of a rock, or in a hollow amongst the gorse or ling close to the water’s edge. These eggs eventually become surrounded with down plucked from the female’s body, but before this is arranged, when there are but one or two laid, they are left bare and uncovered. The much rarer Goosander may occasionally be met with on these Highland sea-lochs, especially in the Outer Hebrides. Other birds of the Duck tribe that frequent these lochs and the islands in them are the Sheldrake and the Eider.

Needless to remark, these lochs are favourite haunts of Gulls and Terns. Of the former the most interesting, perhaps, is the Common Gull, a species that has no English breeding-place, yet in some of these northern fiords it nests in abundance. In this case again islands are invariably selected if any are to be had. This Gull we found nesting in large numbers in Loch Follart in Skye, but owing to the relentless way in which its eggs were taken we should presume that it has now become much scarcer. Then on the islands again we may meet with colonies of Arctic Terns. These graceful birds are quite a summer feature of the lochs, their airy movements as they fish just off the shore being highly interesting. The Common Tern is much more local, and yet there are not a few colonies scattered up and down these lochs amongst the Hebrides, at least as far north as Skye. Of the Terns we shall have more to say in a later chapter (conf. p. 221). Where the cliffs are steep by the loch-side, in not a few of these northern waters, we shall be sure to find the Black Guillemot, a bird, as its name indicates, almost uniform black in colour (during summer), with white wing-bars and coral-red legs and bill. This bird is never seen in such numbers together as the better-known and larger Common Guillemot; rather is it found in scattered pairs, fishing close inshore where the rocks fall sheer down into deep water. Its habits, however, are very similar; it dives with the same agility, feeds on fry, crustaceans, and small shell-fish, and is just as thoroughly marine in its tastes. We must note, however, one important difference, and that concerning its nesting economy. Like the Razorbill, it breeds in holes and fissures of the rocks, makes no nest, and its eggs are very similar to those of the latter species but much smaller, and two in number. As most readers may be aware, the Guillemot and the Razorbill are content to lay one only. Both these latter birds may be met with swimming about the marine lochs, and there are many colonies of them scattered about the Hebrides. These we hope to notice in greater detail in our chapter devoted to the bird-life of the ocean cliffs (conf. p. 240). Of the wading birds that haunt these lochs mention may be made of the Oyster-catcher and the Ringed Plover. The former bird is one of the noisiest to be found in such localities, especially when its nesting-places are invaded by man. It loves the stretches of shingly beach, laying its three eggs just above high-water mark on the line of drifted weed and rubbish that marks the limits of spring-tide. Its so-called “nest” is worthy of special examination, the shells and pebbles often being arranged very systematically round the eggs. Other nest there is none, but in most cases a number of sham or empty “nests” or hollows in the shingle will be found close to the one that contains the eggs. Many of these birds wander far southwards from these northern lochs during winter, and at that season are found in localities which they just as regularly leave as spring returns.

CHAPTER IV
ON HEATHS AND MARSHES

The title of the present chapter, to some readers, may seem rather a misnomer, especially the first portion of it. We have already made a brief survey of bird-life among the heather, but then a moor is not exactly a heath. For the purpose of the present volume the definition of the word “heath” must be taken to be a small area of uncultivated ground, covered with bracken, brambles, gorse, and briars, with patches of heather here and there, studded with stunted trees and bushes, and in not a few cases surrounded with woods, arable lands, and pastures. There are many such delightful bits of waste ground in the northern shires, not only inland, but at no great distance from the sea. Of the bogs and marshes we may claim a fair share, although drainage and reclamation have reduced their area considerably in not a few cases, or removed others entirely. The fens of the low-lying eastern counties – of Norfolk and Suffolk – scarcely come within our limits, whilst those of Lincolnshire exist almost only in name. The bird-life of these heaths and marshes is characteristic and interesting, although perhaps there is greater similarity between the species and those of more southern localities than we have hitherto found to be the case.

Heaths have always been favourite places of ours. They are never of such barren and forbidding aspect as the moorlands, even in mid-winter; vegetation is more generous; trees, in which we delight, are not altogether absent; and most important attraction of all, bird-life in considerable variety may be found upon and near them throughout the year. Although many bits of heath known to us have been cleared and brought into cultivation, there are not a few still left where birds of various species linger unmolested. For instance (to indicate but a few), there are such areas in the Sherwood Forest district; here and there in north Lincolnshire, in north Derbyshire, and in south Yorkshire, especially in the vicinity of Wharncliffe Crags, a few miles north-west of Sheffield. One of the most interesting birds found upon these heaths is the Nightjar, or perhaps even better known by the name of Goatsucker. Like most birds possessing some peculiarity in note or appearance easily remarked by the multitude, the present species has many aliases, some of which at any rate are as undeserved as they are disastrous. Thus, that of “Night-hawk” brings the bird into evil repute with gamekeepers, and it is shot down in many localities under the firm belief that it preys upon young Pheasants and Partridges! That of “Goatsucker” is even more widely prevailing, not only in our own country, but it has an equivalent in almost every European language, in some cases dating from a very remote antiquity. Needless to say that this appellation has proved even more fatal, and has caused the poor bird needless persecution in many other countries than ours, owing to the absurd superstition it describes and fosters of the Nightjar’s utterly fictitious habit of sucking the teats of cows and goats! Lastly, it has been the long-suffering possessor of the names of “Fern Owl” or “Churn Owl”, one relating to its haunts, the other to its singular note, and both suggestive of birds that have been sorely persecuted by man, in most cases for purely imaginary offences. Anything flying under the name of “Owl”, whether with “fern”, or “wood”, or “barn”, or “horned” attached, is considered harmful, and fair food for powder and shot, so that the poor Nightjar has suffered with the rest. To his habits and appearance most, if not all, his misfortunes are due. He flies about at dusk and during the night-time, and has a way of flitting round the cattle in the meadows close to the heath in quest of moths and cockchafers; his plumage is soft and pencilled and Owl-like, whilst his enormous mouth, to the ignorant countryman, seems capable of swallowing anything! And yet there is no more harmless bird in the British Islands than the Nightjar. It preys upon no single creature that man might covet (if perhaps we except the entomologist, who does not like to see rare moths and beetles disappear like magic in the evening gloom), but, on the other hand, rids the fields and groves of countless numbers of injurious insect pests. Apart from any concrete injury that it may be thought to do, it also falls under the ban of the superstitious, its weird and curious notes, together with its crepuscular habits, being very apt to inspire dread in the credulous countryfolk, who are firm believers in omens, prognostics, and the like, notwithstanding the unprecedented extent to which the schoolmaster has been abroad during the past twenty years or more. We ought also to mention another name bestowed upon the Nightjar, and which, like most of the others, has caused the poor bird not a little senseless persecution. This is “Puckeridge”, a term also applied to a fatal distemper which often attacks weanling calves. The Nightjar was thought by the ignorant countryman to convey this disorder to the calves whilst flitting about them. Poor little Nightjar! The wonder is that there are any of its species left to struggle under such an overwhelming burden of bad names begotten of superstition and ignorance. In some districts this bird is known as the “Eve-jar” or “Evening-jar”, and in others as the “Wheel-bird” – names innocent enough, suggestive of no ill-deeds, but eminently expressive of its habits and its notes combined. In Devonshire it is known locally as the “Dor-hawk”, from its habit of catching dor-beetles or cockchafers; also as the “Night-crow”, possibly the least applicable in the entire series, unless we interpret it as being derived from the bird’s habit of calling (crowing) at night. It is possibly a fortunate thing for the Nightjar that it only spends a few months out of the twelve in Europe, amongst such a crowd of civilized enemies of all countries and creeds, finding fewer, if any, human persecutors amidst the dusky heathen races of Africa, whither it retires after visiting us. It is one of our latest birds of passage, not even reaching the southern parts of England before the end of April or early May – a date which is not quite coincident with its arrival in the northern shires, which it does not reach much before the middle of the latter month. The life-history of this pretty and much-maligned bird is packed full of interest. Unfortunately the Nightjar is only abroad of its own choice during hours when darkness renders observation difficult; we must perforce crowd most of our scrutiny into the twilight hour, and just before the rising of the sun. The bird, like the bat and the Owl, sleeps during the daytime, either crouched flat upon the ground under the bracken or underwood, or seated lengthwise on some broad flat branch of a tree where dense foliage gives the shade and gloom it seeks, and where its beautifully mottled and vermiculated plumage harmonizes most closely with surrounding tints. It is said that the Nightjar sometimes comes abroad during mid-day, and that it even calls at that time, but such has never been our experience of this species, and we should be inclined to think that when seen out and about at such a time it had been disturbed from its diurnal resting-place. At the approach of evening, however, the sleepy bird rouses itself, and, hungry and alert and active enough, leaves its daytime haunt and commences its evening peregrinations in quest of food and enjoyment. As the sun sinks lower behind the western hills and the shadows intensify, the Nightjars become more lively. The most impressive thing about them is their curious music. It is a song that appeals to the most casual listener, compelling recognition by its very singularity. Whilst on the wing circling to and fro the note is an oft-repeated cry, resembling the syllables co-ic, co-ic, co-ic; but when the bird drops lightly down on to some wall or fence or gate, another and still more curious sound is produced. This is the familiar “churring” or vibrating noise, long continued, and putting one in mind of the monotonous reel of the Grasshopper Warbler, so far as its pertinacity is concerned. This latter noise is never heard unless the bird is sitting. The bird also makes another sound whilst in the air, produced by striking its wings smartly together; otherwise the flight of this species is remarkably silent and Owl-like. It is by no means shy, and will hawk for insects round our head, dart to and fro on noiseless pinions, or circle about in chasing and toying with its mate, with little show of fear. The wings of the male bird are marked with three white spots, one on each of the first three primaries, and these are very conspicuous during flight, as are also the white tips to the outermost tail-feathers. This even applies to young males in their first plumage, although the spots are buff instead of white. It is possible that these markings are sexual recognition marks, enabling the female to follow or discover the whereabouts of her mate in the gloom. The Nightjar breeds in May or June, a little later in the north than in the south. It makes no nest, but the hen bird lays her two curiously oval eggs on the bare ground, sometimes beneath a spray of bracken or a furze bush, less frequently on the flat low branch of a convenient tree. These eggs are very beautiful, and he who finds them cannot confuse them with those of any other species that breeds in our islands. They are generally white and glossy, the surface mottled, blotched, streaked and veined with various shades of brown and gray. The young are covered with down – in this respect showing affinity with the Owls – but are otherwise helpless, being fed by their parents not only during infancy, but for some time after they can fly. The old birds show great solicitude for them should they be disturbed, fluttering round the intruder’s head, and seeking to attract all attention to themselves. The Nightjar leaves the northern shires in September for its winter quarters in Africa, although it is by no means uncommonly observed quite a month later in the extreme south and south-west of England. It is said, by the way, that the Nightjar captures cockchafers with its feet, and that its serrated middle claw is for this purpose. But this we have never noticed, although we have had a life’s experience with the bird, and it seems more than doubtful when we bear in mind the extremely short legs and comparatively weak feet of this species – so unlike those of the Kestrel, which we know frequently catches these insects with its feet. But we have lingered too long already with the Nightjar, and must pass on to a notice of other birds upon the heath. The unusual interest attaching to it must be our sole excuse.

Another very interesting little bird not unfrequently met with upon the heaths, especially those where the soil is sandy and trees are numerous around them, is the Wood-lark. Unfortunately the bird-catcher has literally exterminated this species in not a few localities, the bird’s lovely song being the attraction. Here we have a species that becomes rarer and more local in the northern shires than it is farther south. The Wood-lark is not only a most industrious and persistent singer, but is almost a perennial one. That is to say, in the south; up here amongst the northern shires it seldom warbles during winter, unless tempted into voice by exceptionally mild weather. Its regular breeding song is not resumed so early in the year up here, and we should say there is a month or more between the nesting season in north and south respectively. We have known of Devonshire nests as early as March, of Nottingham ones as late as May. Possibly this Lark is only double-brooded in the more southern portions of its British range. The birds seem much attached to certain spots, and, like the Tree Pipit, seldom wander far from their nesting-grounds throughout the breeding season. Unlike the Sky-lark, which very exceptionally indeed perches upon a bush or a tree, the Wood-lark may be constantly seen high up the branches. Indeed, like the Tree Pipit, the cock bird selects some favourite branch, and here early and late he sits, and ever and anon flies out and upwards to warble his rich and joyous song. There are those who maintain that the song of the Wood-lark is even superior to that of the Sky-lark. It may be to some extent a matter of taste, and possibly they are right; but on the other hand the song of the Sky-lark is far better known, more popular with the multitude, and we always thinks it seems more cheerful, as it certainly is somewhat louder. The Wood-lark has more flute-like music in his voice, more melody, and even more continuity. There are not a few persons that confuse the two birds together, although the Wood-lark may be readily distinguished by its short tail, more rounded wing, and its habit of perching in trees. One has only to watch the aerial songster long enough to notice the latter peculiarity without fail. When once the bird has been surely identified, the difference between the songs of the two species will soon be impressed upon the listener, even though the species until then had been unfamiliar to him. The bird will also warble just as sweetly and just as continuously not only whilst sitting on the branches, but when standing on the ground. We may also mention that the Wood-lark is not so aerial as the commoner species, never ascending to such vast elevations during the course of its song. This Lark becomes gregarious in autumn like most, if not all, its congeners, and then wanders more or less from its native heath. It builds an unassuming little nest upon the ground, usually under the shadow of some bush or inequality of the turf, composed of dry grass and lined with hair. In this it lays four or five eggs, the markings on them being more distinct and scattered than is the case with those of the Sky-lark. The latter species is by no means an uncommon one upon the heaths, but after what we have already said there need be no confusion between the two.