ON MOUNTAIN AND LOCH.
Mountain bird-life, if scarce, is not without its charm. That of the
loch, taking one season with another, is more varied and abundant; so
that combining the two districts together--and they are in most cases
inseparably associated--we shall have abundant material to interest
us. The mountain bird-life of England--except, perhaps, in the extreme
north--is comparatively limited, especially nowadays when persecution
has worked such havoc amongst certain species. That of the loch is
peculiarly of a Scottish type inasmuch as the present chapter is
concerned. The bird-life of these two districts is essentially of a
northern type, belonging, like the mountains and lochs themselves, to a
wilder and more rugged scenery than any the southern shires can boast.
Many of the avine forms belonging to these localities are strictly
boreal or even arctic in their distribution, finding a suitable habitat
by altitude rather than latitude; many of them are but winter visitors
or abnormal wanderers to the south. In some cases these particular
localities are the home of representative species that take the place
of more southern types, and afford us a fine series of ornithological
comparisons of the deepest interest. The naturalist familiar with
bird-life in the southern counties only, will, in investigating the
avifauna of mountain and loch, enter upon an entirely novel series of
avine phenomena.
[Illustration: The Ptarmigan.]
[Illustration: The Raven.]
From the moorlands to the mountains and lochs is in many localities a
transition of an almost imperceptible character. In not a few cases the
moors terminate in mountain summits beyond the borderland, where the
two species of heather cease to climb, or the most sturdy and tenacious
ling that clothes the hillsides for still another thousand feet or
more. In a similar manner the lochs are usually situated in hollows
among the hills, or penetrate in winding fiords from the sea between
towering highlands or heath-clothed wastes that at higher altitudes
terminate in bare and wind-swept mountain summits. As with the avifauna
of the moors and heaths we shall find that the birds of the mountains
are more or less a shifting population. Indeed the similarity is
made even more complete by the fact that in both regions--moor and
mountain--we find but one sedentary species. Upon the moors we found
the practically resident Red Grouse; upon the mountains we shall find
the Ptarmigan, a bird that clings to the bleak summits throughout the
year. In some respects the Ptarmigan is a more interesting species
than the Red Grouse; there is more variety in its economy, and the bird
itself is one of the most beautiful examples of protective coloration
that the entire range of organic life can show. Our first acquaintance
with the Ptarmigan was made nearly twenty years ago, near the summit
of the Cuchullin Hills in Skye. Although the time was May, patches of
snow were lying in the hollows and a cold piercing wind swept along the
hillsides. Lower down the slopes we had lingered to watch the gambols
of a pair of Ravens that were haunting the rocks; whilst a Peregrine
Falcon had just swept by. Upon a small piece of level ground we flushed
several Ptarmigan, one after the other, that had been lying concealed
on the stony face of the mountain. They were readily identified by
their white wings. After the first bird had risen we scanned the ground
carefully for others, but none were seen until they rose in noisy
flight and sped away. It is interesting to remark that the Peregrine
we had seen a short time before must have flown right over the spot
where these Ptarmigan were crouching. Possibly the recent appearance
of the Falcon had made them lie closer than usual, and rendered them
loth to take wing. With the exception of a few weeks in the very depth
of winter, the Ptarmigan is more or less changing in colour throughout
the year. In mid-winter, as most readers may know, the bird is pure
unsullied white, with the exception of a jet-black patch in front of
the eye in the male, and the outermost tail-feathers, which are black
in both sexes. In early spring, sometimes it is said by the middle or
end of February, the first signs of the coming summer plumage are seen
on the neck, and during the three succeeding months the birds undergo
a complete transformation, the feathers on the breast, it should be
noted, being assumed last of all. It is a significant fact that the
parts of the plumage least exposed, such as the flight feathers and
the feathers on the belly, present the smallest amount of change
from the white winter dress. This is more apparent in the male than
in the female, doubtless owing to the fact that the latter is more
liable to injury whilst brooding on the nest. Broadly speaking, in
the male in summer plumage the upper parts and the breast and flanks
are dark-brown, more or less mottled, and barred with gray and buff;
whilst in the female the upper parts are darker, practically black,
mottled with gray and rufous, and the under parts are chestnut-buff
barred with dark-brown. This plumage prevails during June and July,
although subject to some change by sun and abrasion, whilst towards
the end of the latter month signs of the autumn livery begin to be
apparent. In this dress again the sexes are similar, as we might
naturally expect to be the case, now that the breeding season is over,
and both male and female are exposed to the same conditions of life.
The upper parts, the breast and flanks, are gray, vermiculated with
black. By the end of August this autumn dress is fully attained. It is
worn for nearly a couple of months, subject of course to some change
from abrasion and sun. Then comes the transition to the white winter
plumage, which in most cases becomes complete by the middle of November
contemporaneously with the snow that lies upon the mountains for the
next three months or more. This beautiful arrangement of nature becomes
even more impressive by certain comparisons. For instance, the Red
Grouse, living as it does amongst the ling and heath, and in a region
where snow seldom covers the ground for many days at a time, retains
a brown dress throughout the year; in this species also the flight
feathers are constantly brown in hue, just as those of the Ptarmigan
are white. But the nearest ally of the Red Grouse, the Willow Grouse
(the Lagopus albus of ornithologists), inhabiting the tundras of the
arctic regions right round the world, assumes a pure white plumage for
the winter (readily distinguished, by the way, from the Ptarmigan by
the absence of the black patch before the eye), and in this case again
the flight feathers are constantly white--a dress that is admirably
protective amidst the winter snows of its northern home. Here, then,
we have two birds distantly related, like the Ptarmigan and the Willow
Grouse, donning white plumage in winter for protection, whilst the Red
Grouse, so closely allied to the Willow Grouse, and resembling it in
many details of its economy, remains practically the same in appearance
summer and winter alike. The retention of the white quills is a very
interesting fact. These Grouse moult their flight feathers but once in
the year, in autumn; and probably the reason they are constantly white
is because this tint is no disadvantage to the species, being always
concealed except during flight. As we know, these birds take wing most
reluctantly, always endeavouring to elude observation by crouching
close to the ground. Similarly, the central tail-feathers of the Willow
Grouse and Ptarmigan are the only ones that change in colour with the
seasons--varying from white in winter to brown marked with gray and
buff in summer, and gray mottled with black in autumn--the remainder
being constantly black, and when the tail is closed of course concealed
by the central pair.
Ptarmigan are nothing near such noisy birds as Red Grouse, and their
usual note is a hoarse and guttural croak. Otherwise there is much
in their economy of general resemblance. They pair in spring, make
a scanty nest upon the ground, and their eggs very closely resemble
those of the more familiar species, but the markings are larger and
not so heavily dispersed--characters that are in perfect harmony with
the different nature of the ground upon which they rest. The eggs are
generally laid in May. Then again we remark the same tendency to flock
in autumn, as in the Red Grouse. As previously remarked, this single
species practically exhausts the resident avifauna of the mountain
heights. There are a few other species still to be noticed, but none of
them are confined to these localities, although they may be met with in
them at any season. Some of these birds are migratory, others wander
about visiting lower ground, and are therefore in no sense permanently
indigenous to the mountain tops, or even to their lower slopes.
Dealing with the resident species first, we have the two species of
British Eagles that in spite of persecution have managed to retain
their place in our avifauna. They owe their survival most probably to
the inaccessibility of their haunts. Time was when the Golden Eagle
frequented the Peak district of Derbyshire, and when the White-tailed
Eagle regularly bred in the area of the English Lakes and even in
the Isle of Man; whilst farther south still we find records of its
nest in Lundy Island and the Isle of Wight. Persecution has succeeded
in exterminating these Eagles in all such lowland haunts; even the
South of Scotland has proved no safer refuge, and at the present
day the mountains of the north are the sole locality in which they
are normally found. We can vividly recall our first meeting with
the Golden Eagle. We had spent many days amongst the Highlands in
fruitless quest of this fine bird, but all that rewarded us were a few
heads and feet, time-worn and ancient, nailed here and there to some
stable or kennel door of a gamekeeper's premises, and any number of
tales told by shepherds and keepers of how the species had been shot
and trapped without mercy. At last our search was rewarded by the
discovery of an eyrie in a magnificent cliff. We shall never forget
how we watched the big black bird soar out of the rocks and circle
overhead, and how we stood gazing in admiration as it swept down from
the air towards its nest, with its mighty wings held up and expanded
to their utmost, just as we had often seen the Kestrel do, or tame
Pigeons, to give a more familiar instance. We have seen a good many
Eagles--of both species--since that eventful morning nearly twenty
years ago, but never with such excitement as then. We are glad to say
that the Golden Eagle in one or two localities seems to be increasing.
This is specially the case in certain deer forests, where the bird is
held (and justly so) to be harmless. There is, however, plenty of room
left for the preservation of this fine bird, and we should like to
see the placing of poisoned meat made illegal. The White-tailed Eagle
is perhaps the most familiar species of the two, but this bird loves
the hills near the sea, and its favourite resorts at the present time
are amongst the grand mountain scenery of the Hebrides, the Orkneys
and Shetland. We have often watched the magnificent aerial movements
of this Eagle from the mountain tops in the haunt of the Ptarmigan
and the blue hare. Like the larger Gulls and the Vultures, it will
remain in the highest air for long periods, sailing round and round in
spacious circles, ever and anon gliding obliquely down, then resuming
its ordinary flight. We often used to meet with it high up the hills
in Skye, a district which we believe still continues famous for this
Eagle, and we knew of several nests or eyries scattered over the
island. Both these eagles breed very early in the year, long before
the ordinary stream of tourists flows northwards; but this, we regret
to say, does not prevent many an eyrie being robbed of its eggs by
shepherds and others, in the pay of the collector or dealer from the
south. The last pair of Scotch Golden Eagles' eggs that we examined
had been forwarded unblown from the Highlands, roughly packed in a tin
box, and both were broken. One of these eggs, we believe, is now in the
Weston Park Museum at Sheffield. Eagles are somewhat sluggish birds,
resembling Buzzards in disposition, and exhibit none of that dash and
activity characteristic of the Falcons, or even of the short-winged
Hawks. They are also very unclean feeders, being little better than
Vultures in this respect. Of the two the White-tailed Eagle is the
worst; he is a regular scavenger of the shore, and in not a few cases
we have known him lured to his doom with a mass of stinking offal,
a putrid lamb, or decaying fish. Healthy vigorous birds or animals
are seldom attacked by this Eagle; it confines its attentions to the
weakly and the wounded creatures that cannot move fast or offer any
serious resistance. The Golden Eagle is a trifle more fastidious in
its selection of food, and frequently captures living and healthy
creatures, such as Grouse and hares, but even he does not refuse to
make a meal on carrion. When we take into consideration the food and
the sluggish habits of these Eagles, we are at a still greater loss
to understand the ruthless war of extermination that has been waged
against them for so long. As birds of prey go they are comparatively
harmless, and should be left in peace. We have heard a good deal
about the destruction of newly-dropped lambs by these Eagles, but
there is much to be said on the other side. Lambs at this early age
are liable to many fatalities, and it is scarcely fair to attribute
their disappearance to the Eagles. Many lambs are drowned or killed by
storms, and by accidental falls over rocks and cliffs: their bodies
offer a welcome meal to the Eagles. Some of these fatalities are due
to the carelessness of shepherds and keepers, who take good care that
the sheep farmer shall be made to believe that Eagles are responsible
for them. Many years ago we were up the hills with a keeper and his
dog. The latter--a wild unruly brute of a retriever--chased a lamb, and
knocked it over a steep bank into a mountain loch. We recovered the
body, and then the keeper with a sly look informed me that he should
tell so and so that the loss of this lamb was due to an Eagle! It is
the tale of the lowland coverts over again. There a scarcity of game is
attributed to poachers or vermin, whilst in reality a dishonest keeper
has disposed of it to an equally dishonest dealer. In the Highlands
the loss of Grouse and lambs and deer calves is too often laid to the
Eagles' charge, but let us hope that such a custom will cease, and that
these beautiful birds will duly profit by the circumstance.
Another raptorial bird by no means unfrequently met with on the
mountains is the Peregrine. In some parts of the Highlands this Falcon
may be found breeding on the face of some towering storr rock amongst
the frowning hills. We had an interesting experience of such a nest on
the lofty storr at Talisker, in Skye. This charming little spot nestles
in a hollow in the hills, is surrounded by trees of goodly growth and a
wealth of other vegetation--literally an oasis among bare mountains and
upland moors. We used to sit out in the garden and grounds there and
watch the Peregrines about their nest, which was situated in a gaping
fissure perhaps two-thirds of the distance up the face of the cliff.
A pair of Ravens also had their nest in the same rock, together with
numbers of Jackdaws and Starlings. Whether the Peregrines respected
the lives of their more weakly neighbours we cannot say, but the
Ravens oft resented the near approach of these Falcons, sallying out
from the cliffs and buffeting them in mid-air. Time after time we
watched these Falcons dart down from the higher air with both wings
closed and enter the fissure which contained their nest. The late Mr.
Cameron, then residing at Talisker, informed me that these Peregrines
had frequented the rocks here for many years, notwithstanding the fact
that their eggs or young were taken every season. At such a vast height
the Peregrines looked no bigger than Jackdaws, whilst the latter birds
resembled Starlings flying to and fro before the rugged cliff. The
Raven, we are glad to say, is a familiar bird still among the mountains
of the north. The time has gone for ever when we could number this
fine species as a denizen of the mountains of the Peak and some other
English uplands, although we have heard that it still nests amongst the
hills of the Lake district. The hoarse croak of the Raven is one of the
most familiar bird-notes heard among the Highlands. Notwithstanding
gun, trap, and poison, the bird somehow or another still maintains its
position; possibly its excessive cunning and wariness are the chief
means of its salvation. This bird is one of the few species indigenous
to both the north and south of England that is still commonest in
some of the southern shires. In Devonshire, especially, it is by no
means uncommon, both on the central plateau of Dartmoor as well as
along the rock-bound coasts. Indeed, until within the past few years
it used to breed within a mile or so of Torquay. We own to a special
weakness for the Raven notwithstanding his questionable means of
getting a livelihood. He has been our sole companion in many a rocky
glen, and cheered us by his wicked croaking on many a lonely ramble
over the wild hills of the north. We specially recall his lively ways
at St. Kilda, when of an evening we used to wander up the heights of
Connacher to watch the Fulmars and admire the glorious sunsets that
canopied the lonely Atlantic. We can also remember how we were cheered
by his croak when wandering, lost and hungry and tired out, across
the mountain heaths enshrouded in a dense mist between Sligachan and
Talisker, just as night was falling, and when, after making up our
mind for a night on the hills, we had the good fortune to meet with
a shepherd and obtain from him our bearings. For a northern bird the
Raven is another early breeder; and it is interesting to remark that
there is very little difference between the date of nesting in the
extreme south of England and the Highlands, March being the month in
both areas. In the Highlands, Ravens' nests are invariably destroyed
whenever they are accessible; but fortunately the wily birds, in not a
few localities, select fissures and rock ledges quite inaccessible save
to a winged enemy. A dead sheep or other animal will almost without
fail attract Ravens from a large area, and we have on one occasion
counted no less than seven on such a carcass, sharing the prize with
the Hooded Crow. A keeper friend of ours informed us of a much larger
congregation at the body of a dead horse, the birds in time picking the
bones of every scrap of flesh. Speaking of Ravens brings us of course
to a passing notice of the Hooded Crow. In England we have plenty of
Hooded Crows during autumn and winter, especially in the eastern
counties, but they do not breed in the country (if we except possibly
the Isle of Man). In the Highlands, however, the bird is a resident
pest--like the poor, always with us, and, sad to relate, as little
welcome. Amongst the mountains of the north, especially in the littoral
districts, the Hooded Crow is certainly the commonest bird of the Crow
tribe. He practically replaces the Carrion Crow, the familiar species
of the southern shires. These Hooded Crows are wary birds; they need
to be, or their race would soon be exterminated in Scotland. But for
downright impudence and cunning commend us to the Hooded Crows of St.
Kilda. These gray-coated rascals would allow us repeatedly to approach
them within a few paces; indeed, they would sometimes allow us almost
to kick them out of our way, as the saying goes; but this was only as
long as we did not carry a gun. Had we such a weapon with us the crafty
fellows would invariably keep at a safe distance. This was all the
more remarkable, for at the time of our visit and stay on St. Kilda,
in 1884, there was not a gun on the island except the one we carried,
so that the birds could not have been taught to shun such an object by
experience. We might attempt an explanation of the fact by suggesting
that the birds became suspicious when they saw a person carrying an
unfamiliar object; but against this we have the behaviour of birds in
other localities where guns are common, being no more wary than these
unsophisticated crows of St. Kilda. The St. Kildans detest them, and
with good cause, for they commit sad havoc amongst their fields and
gardens, and are as keen "collectors" of eggs as the men themselves.
The Hooded Crow is a far more sociable bird than the Carrion Crow, and
we have remarked them gregarious at all times of the year. In winter,
of course, they become most so, and nowhere is this trait more apparent
than in the low-lying English counties. We shall have occasion to meet
with this interesting bird in a future chapter (conf. p. 276). This
brief list practically exhausts the typical land birds and Passeres
of the mountains, with the sole exception of the charming little Snow
Bunting. In not a few northern English shires this species is a fairly
well-known winter migrant, but it breeds sparingly on some of the
Scottish mountains, a few pairs finding an arctic climate by vertical
instead of latitudinal migration, but most of its kindred journey far
beyond our limits to rear their young.
[Illustration: The Dotterel.]
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.
[Illustration: 1. The Red-breasted Merganser.
2. The Black-throated Diver.]
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.