Chapter XVII: The Secret of the High Hills 215 (1)

INDEX 221

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

* _Those marked with an asterisk are in colour._

*September Snow, Loch Carron, Ross-shire. _Frontispiece_
By Finlay Mackinnon.

FACING PAGE

*“The joy of watching deer when they have no suspicion
that they are being watched” 1
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

Golden Days 4
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

*“See! from the tops the mist is stealing” 6
By Finlay Mackinnon.

*“The salmon leaped twice straight up into the air” 16
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

The Peregrine Falcon 26
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

Winter Sunshine--Wild Geese at the Foot of the
Applecross Hills 36
From a Photograph by The Lady Anne Murray of Loch Carron.

*The Spine-tailed Swift 40
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

*The Golden Eagle 64
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

Where the Golden Eagle reigns 68
From a Photograph by Frank Wallace.

*Preparing for Battle 76
By Frank Wallace.

*“Take the fifth, he’s the best” 80
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

In the Forest of Fannich 82
By Finlay Mackinnon.

“He had the advantage of some inches over my little
grandson, who was nearly five years old” 90
From a Photograph by Mrs. Noel Wills.

*Sligachan, Isle of Skye 96
By Finlay Mackinnon.

“Lying on a ridge we spied some deer” 98
From a Photograph by the Author.

The Five Sisters of Kintail 104
By Finlay Mackinnon.

Old Angus nearing Home 110
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

The Sanctuary, Kinlochewe Forest 124
By Finlay Mackinnon.

“The trusty allies of our fathers on the hill” 128
By Philip Stretton.

“I was spying for some time” 134
From a Photograph by the Author.

*The Applecross Hills, and a Highland Fishing Village 142
By Finlay Mackinnon.

Death of the Mallard 148
By J. Wolf.

Among the Western Islands 166
From a Photograph by Miss Diana Darling.

*Where Strome Castle looks over the Sea to Skye 168
By Finlay Mackinnon.

*“The big stag is still there” 176
By Frank Wallace.

*An Autumn Day, Loch Carron--looking West 184
By Mrs. Schroder of Attadale.

Sunset on the Shores of Loch Carron 192
From a Photograph by Miss Alexandra Fraser.

*On the Edge of the Deer Forest 200
By Finlay Mackinnon.

In Achnashellach Forest 204
By Finlay Mackinnon.

*Evening Glow, Poolewe, Ross-shire 212
By Finlay Mackinnon.

*“The morning cometh” 218
By Finlay Mackinnon.

Also pencil headings to each Chapter.

By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]

I

THE CHARM OF SPORT AMID THE HIGH HILLS

The fascination of deer-stalking is largely due to the romance of the hill--the hill as it is known only to those who love it and understand something of its hidden mysteries. The long day, all too quickly ended, with the silent but sympathetic stalker--alone with Nature in its most inspiring and elevating form--the ever-changing beauty of sky and hill--the joy of watching deer when they have no suspicion that they are being watched--the opportunities of seeing rare birds and finding rare plants--all these things apart from the difficulty and interest--and the greater the difficulty the greater the interest--of trying to outwit--in other words trying to get within shot of the particular stag one is after--go to make up the attractions of what some of us think is the very best of true sport.

I well remember a famous statesman, who had himself owned one of the best deer forests in the Highlands, saying to me that the greatest attraction of stalking is that it takes one to places where otherwise one would never go, and enables one to see the most wonderful things which otherwise one would never see. Further, there is probably no form of sport where less pain and suffering are inflicted, assuming that any one who stalks will take the trouble to know his rifle well, and will not take a long or risky shot. The shot itself after all plays only a small part in the pleasure of a day’s stalking. I have friends, first-class rifle shots, who delight in stalking, and who, when they have arrived within shot of the stag they have stalked, will sometimes not shoot at him at all. This would not always be easily accomplished by those who have strongly implanted within them the instincts of the hunter, or perhaps I should say the primitive man.

Again, to pass from stalking, what is the real explanation of the intense enjoyment of ptarmigan shooting on the high tops after the close of the stalking season? I have more than once heard this described as the most enjoyable of all kinds of shooting. As is well known, on a still clear day the ptarmigan is the easiest of birds to shoot, but on a wild windy day one of the most difficult--twisting and turning with extraordinary rapidity. Neither this latter fact, however, nor the exhilarating and bracing air at the altitude where these birds are to be found wholly explains the enthusiasm of those who have had this sport. I have no doubt that the environment of the high hills and all that this means are largely the cause of this enthusiasm. The delights of grouse shooting, whether in the case of driven birds, or over dogs, are greatly increased by the same cause. Without entering upon the well-worn controversy as to the respective advantages and disadvantages of these two forms of sport, is there any one who has enjoyed both of them amid the hills who has not ineffaceable memories of the vistas of marvellous beauty which he has revelled in again and again while waiting in his butt for the first birds of the drive, and--to change the scene--of the pleasures of many a glorious twelfth in the company of an old friend with whom he was in perfect sympathy, watching the dogs at work amidst the purple heather on the side of the hill or along the heather-clad banks of a burn?

It is true also of salmon and trout fishing in the Highlands that the angler’s sense of peace and contentment is largely due to the influence of the hills. This is especially so in the golden days at the beginning of August, those glorious days before the serious fun begins, when the trout in the loch are more of an excuse than a serious ploy, when one discusses the growing antlers of the big hart on the Home beat, when one basks in the sunshine of the High Hills.

By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]

Whilst writing what I have already said about stalking I recollected the following verses, which I intend to keep and read for my encouragement in days to come--days which are, I hope, still very far off:

NORTHWARD BOUND

(ONCE MORE)

Does your heart still beat with the old excitement
As you wait where the Scotch expresses are?
Does it answer still to the old indictment
Of a fond delight in the sleeping-car,
As it did when the rush through the autumn night meant
The Gate of Desire ajar?

Or has the enchanting task grown tougher,
And has that arrow beyond you flown?
For the hill that was rough enough is rougher,
The steepest climb that was ever known,
And the forest appals a veteran duffer
Sorely beaten and blown?

Oh! the years, the years, they be rusty and mothy;
Oh! the flesh it is weak that once was strong;
But the brown burn under the stone falls frothy
And the music it makes is a siren song;
Then the pony’ll take you as far as the bothy,
And that’ll help you along.

See! from the tops the mist is stealing,
Out with the stalking-glass for a spy;
Round Craig an Eran an eagle’s wheeling
Black in the blue September sky.
A fig for the years! Why, youth and healing
At the end of your journey lie.

(Reprinted from _Punch_, Sept. 14, 1921, by kind permission of
the Proprietors.)

II

STALKING IN ITS MOST ENJOYABLE FORM

By far the most enjoyable form of stalking is to be one’s own stalker, but this can only be done satisfactorily in a forest with which one is thoroughly familiar. It is astonishing what tricks the wind will play in certain corries, and as a result what mistakes even a good stalker will make in a forest which is new to him. Moreover, any one stalking by himself, unless he has experience, may easily make another kind of mistake. He may think that he has missed a stag when he has in fact killed him. Any one who has had experience in shooting deer knows that a stag when shot through the heart will sometimes gallop for forty or fifty yards or even further and then fall down dead.

By FINLAY MACKINNON.]

Some years ago, preparatory to a few days’ stalking in a deer forest in Inverness-shire, I arrived one evening at the Lodge; and later on about half-past ten there returned from the hill a guest in a state of great dejection who had never stalked until he went out in this forest a few days before. I felt very sorry for him, for he had been keen to secure a good head and said that he had had a splendid chance of a fine stag standing broadside at about eighty yards and had missed him. This was his last chance as he was leaving early next morning. Two days later I was out on the same beat when the stalker suddenly grasped me by the arm and said, “There is a stag lying down there to the left of that hill below us. Are you seeing his horns above the ridge?” We went cautiously down in the direction of the stag, but had not gone far before we discovered that the stag was dead. “That,” said the stalker, “must be the stag Mr. X. shot at two days ago.” We examined the stag and found that he had been shot apparently through the heart from the knoll from which X. had taken his shot; it was obviously the same stag. The stalker then told me that X. wished to stalk the last hundred yards alone and had asked him to stay behind, that X. had the shot and came back saying that he had missed the stag. Neither the stalker nor X. had thought it worth while to look for the stag. In the case of X., who was a novice at stalking, I was not surprised, but I was amazed that the stalker had not done so, although he was young and not very experienced. So X. secured a good head after all, and no doubt both he and the stalker learnt a lesson which neither is likely to forget, but at the cost to X. of much unnecessary misery and humiliation and incidentally to his host of much good venison.

It is sometimes difficult to be sure what is the result of one’s shot, and it is a great assistance to have the opinion of an experienced stalker whether he has his glass on the beast at the moment the shot is fired or not.

I was coming back one evening after a delightful day’s stalking in Glen Carron, when the stalker Macdonell said, “One moment, sir, there is a stag down there just gone out of sight. If you can shoot off your knee downhill you will have a chance directly.” I sat down and waited, and in a few minutes the stag appeared. I believed I was steady and on him in the right place. Directly I fired he galloped off. “I’m thinking you’d better shoot again,” said Macdonell. “What’s the use,” I replied, thinking I had shot the stag through the heart. However, as I spoke, I did shoot again out of respect to Macdonell, whom I knew to be a very experienced stalker, and the stag rolled over like a rabbit which has been shot in the right place. “Now we will see,” I said, “where the two bullets went.” “I’m thinking,” said Macdonell, “you missed him the first time.” “You may be right,” I replied, “but I don’t think so; one thing I know, and that is that if I did and had known it, I should probably have missed him with my second shot also.” On examining the stag we could only find one bullet mark, and on skinning him we found that one bullet only had struck him, and that was through the heart. Macdonell no doubt thinks to this day that I missed the stag with my first shot, and killed him with my second when he was galloping; but I still have my doubts. The moral is that though one sometimes hears the unmistakable thud of the bullet striking the stag, there are other occasions when it is difficult to be certain as to what has happened, and therefore it is always wise to satisfy one’s self in the matter as far as possible. Still more is this essential when stalking alone. In stalking alone, there is this advantage, that one can always secure the best position in which to shoot, whereas if one is accompanied by a stalker, he sometimes takes that position himself and it is not easy to get him to move on, or, as is more often the case, there is no time for him to do so.

Charles J. Murray of Loch Carron, to whose kindness I am indebted for many delightful days’ stalking, is particularly devoted to this form of sport. A few seasons ago I was obliged to come south before the end of the stalking season, and received from him a letter which describes, far better than I can, the pleasure of being out alone on the hill.

“You are missing the West Coast,” he wrote, “at its (_weather_) best! for we have a spell of gloriously fine weather when the stag can hear a footstep half a mile off, and the wind is so gentle that it cannot make up its mind which way to go, but strays gently to and fro and round in little circles, stimulating evil words among the stalkers.

“Yesterday I was out alone and worked up to a Pasha and his Harem--the ladies between him and me--he just out of shot on a hillock behind them--approach from the front impossible, but just a chance--almost a certainty with a fair breeze--from a rock to one side, _if_ he should come down to his ladies before they got a puff. I risked it and got a comfy corner in the sun and waited to see which would win--the affectionate impulses of the stag or the more wavering evolutions of the scarcely perceptible puffs of wind, the old lady sixty yards away looking serenely at the top of my head. Needless to say that after two hours, just when the stag stretched one fore foot and began to hum a love ditty, I felt a well-known cool feeling at the back of my neck, and the party adjourned the meeting. Luckily I am not bloodthirsty, but enjoy being among deer, and on these occasions driving snow and rain, or sunshine and a dry tussock to curl up on, make all the difference.”

III

A GREAT FISH AND A GREATER FISHERMAN

The river Wye goes out to sea
By stealth, in silent secrecy:
Among the hills she winds and wends
And wanders by the sombre woods,
And cleaves her way in circling bends
Through mountain solitudes.[1]

Towards the end of March 1921 I received an invitation to fish the river Wye, which, as every one knows, is famous for its heavy salmon. My own rods and tackle were in the North of Scotland, and there was not sufficient time to send for them. I knew that in the spring the fishing in this particular river was almost entirely by spinning with the minnow. I arrived at my destination on Monday, March 28, and had five days fishing before me. There had been a good deal of rain before I arrived, and the river was both too high and too much color. The fishing on my host’s beat had so far been very disappointing. During the preceding six weeks the river had been fished almost every day by my host and one or other of his friends; but although hardly any fish had been lost, only five had been killed, all with the minnow, the largest being 29 lb. My kindly host, who is a past master of all things connected with salmon and trout fishing, fitted me up with first-class equipment. I had never used a Nottingham or Silex reel before, and it took me the greater part of my first day to acquire the art of throwing the minnow effectively. For the next two days I fished with the minnow from morning till night without getting a pull or seeing anything. I have been a keen fly-fisher all my life and have killed a good many salmon and many trout, and on Friday morning, as the river had fallen considerably, I told my host that if I might do so I should like to try the fly. He readily assented, and said that I should have one of his own fly rods, and before we started he kindly gave me several salmon flies, and said that his butler, C., who was an experienced hand at gaffing salmon, should come with me. Among the flies which my host had given me was a “Mar Lodge” (size 4/0), and with this I fished all the morning and up to about three o’clock in the afternoon without, however, seeing or touching anything. C. said that he was afraid the day was going to be a blank again. I said that I would like to try once more a particular spot below a rock in the upper part of a pool higher up the river, which I had fished in the morning and which I thought looked a very likely place for a salmon to lie. In order to fish this pool it was necessary to use a boat. It was a beautiful afternoon and the sun was still shining. We crossed over the river at the bottom of the pool and rowed up on the other side, keeping close to the bank so as not to disturb that part of the pool which I was going to fish. C. worked the boat with great skill, and at my first cast I managed to place my fly exactly where I wished it to go below the rock. As the fly swung round with the current I suddenly saw for a second a huge silvery fish in the clear, transparent water upon which the sun was shining. At the same moment the line tightened. “I have him,” I said, as the line went screeching off the reel. The fish ran straight up-stream for about ninety yards, and then leaped twice, high into the air. It was by far the largest salmon I had ever seen, clean-run and glittering like a silver coin fresh from the Mint. This first danger safely passed, I gradually persuaded him to come back again. C. said, “He must be well hooked, and he’s a very big fish. That fish of 29 lb. which the Major got would look quite small beside him.” For some time after this the fish moved about the pool, but made no attempt to run. He then made a violent rush of about sixty yards, and lashed about on the top of the water, once more showing himself and giving us a fair idea of his size. Again I got him well under control, and for a considerable time he adopted the same tactics as before, moving slowly and steadily backwards and forwards at varying depths. I had been thinking for some time that perhaps I had been rather too easy with him, and that I had not acted on the maxim with which, I suppose, almost every salmon fisher will agree, that one ought never to let a fish rest, and that a big fish may take hours to land if he is not worried enough. The line and cast had been thoroughly tested before we started, and I felt that I might depend upon them. C. told me that as soon as I had hooked my fish he had looked at his watch, and that I had now had him on for an hour and twenty minutes. This greatly astonished me, as I had not realised how the time had gone. But it was nevertheless the fact, and I felt that we must do something to stir the fish. We accordingly decided to move a little way up-stream. C. had hardly begun to move the boat with this object in view when the salmon suddenly moved, and moved to some purpose. Neither I nor C. had ever seen anything in the movements of any fish to compare with the strength and rapidity of that rush. The salmon went at a terrific pace, straight up the river as hard as he could go for about 110 yards, and then leaped twice, straight up into the air, about a couple of feet above the surface of the water, broadside on, showing that he was a tremendously thick fish. At the very moment he was in the air the reel fell off the rod, and at that moment I became conscious, although, of course, I had lowered the point of the rod when he leaped, that the great fish had parted company with me for ever. “He has gone,” I said, as with a sickening sense of disappointment I reeled in the slack line in the faint hope that he might still be on, having turned and come down the river again--but no, it was not to be, and the line soon came back to me, the cast having been broken about a foot from the end. C. said not a word, nor did I for a time. No mere words are appropriate on such an occasion and cannot diminish the loss of a fresh-run spring salmon, so marvellously brilliant and beautiful, and in this particular instance probably half as large again, perhaps twice as large, as the biggest fish I have ever landed during the time, now more than forty years, that I have been a salmon fisher. Within a short time I started fishing again, but the day was done and we saw nothing more. After the catastrophe I found that the reel had been loose, and that the wedges used to make it fit closely to the rod had shifted and finally fallen out in consequence of the rushes made by the fish. I also learnt later on that the rod did not belong to my host, and that by a misunderstanding this rod, which happened not to have been taken down, but was among the other rods ready for use, was given to me. Probably, had I been warned about the reel, I could have prevented it from falling off, though whether this would have made any difference it is impossible to say, as many a good fish has broken the cast by falling back on it after jumping at the end of a long rush, and the more line there is out the more danger of losing the fish when he jumps.

By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]

In the words of one of the most experienced of fishermen, Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson: “There is one antic that a fish may perform which may, if you are unlucky, defeat you, however quick and skilful you are--that is, if he jumps and falls back on the cast. If you do not drop the point of the rod so as to let the gut go slack when he jumps, you are nearly sure to be broken if he falls back on it. If you drop quickly enough, it is bad luck if you are broken, but it is bad luck which sometimes does befall. If much of the reel line is in water, the drop of the rod top does not communicate slackness to the cast quickly enough; the fish may come on to it when it is tolerably taut--result disaster!”

Being a Highlander and therefore of a superstitious race, need I emphasise the fact that the day of this, the greatest, tragedy of my life as a fisherman was a Friday, and that Friday the 1st of April. In this connection it is worth recalling that no references to April Fools’ Day have been found in our earlier literature, and it seems that this country has derived the fashion from France, where April Fools’ Day is a very ancient institution, and where the dupe is known as “poisson d’avril.” The April fool in this story was the fisherman, not the fish. The following day, Saturday, I tried to make the most of my last chance and fished all day long, but without a sign of anything. Of course, there was a great discussion as to the probable weight of the fish, which had given both C. and myself several opportunities of forming some estimate on the subject. We both agreed that it could not have been less than 35 lb., and was more probably round about 40 lb. But my story has an interesting sequel. On the following Monday I returned to London; and on the Tuesday, when fishing the pool which was the scene of the catastrophe, my host made a discovery which I can best relate by quoting from a letter which he wrote to me on the following day.

“Yesterday afternoon,” he wrote, “when fishing your famous pool I found what I feel pretty sure were the mortal remains of your big fish. He had fallen a prey to an otter, which after your long fight with him is easy to understand. He lay on a rock just above the place where you hooked him, and considerably below where you parted company. A large ‘steak’ from the middle had been removed by his ultimate captor, but the head and tail portions were there. From examination of his head he had certainly been _recently_ hooked _firmly_ on the right side of the upper jaw. He was extremely thick, and must have been a most handsome fish of at least 35 lb. I took home two or three scales, and his age appears to have been between four and five years.”

I subsequently learnt that from its condition this fish had no doubt been killed some days before it was found, and as it seems highly likely it was the fish that had defeated me, it must somehow or other have got rid of the fly by rubbing it against the rocks, a feat which is generally believed to be by no means unusual and which in this instance would, no doubt, be rendered easier by the fact that the hook was a good-sized one, being about 2 in. long.

C., who was with my host at the time, said that he also felt sure that it was the same fish. So it would appear that the victory of the great fish was after all shortlived, and that he was probably captured by a far greater fisherman than any mere mortal man--let alone my humble self.

It is a very interesting fact that in the week before that in which I was fishing, among the salmon which were killed on the neighbouring beats were three, each of which weighed slightly over 41 lb. It seems not unlikely, therefore, that my fish may have run up from the sea in the company of these splendid fish, and have been much the same weight as they were.

Notwithstanding my great disappointment I heartily agree with the words of Arthur Hugh Clough in _Peschiera_:[2]

’T is better to have fought and lost,
Than never to have fought at all.

On describing my battle to an old friend, who is himself no fisherman, but a great sportsman, he replied by quoting from a writer, whose name he did not know, the following lines, which I had never heard before and the authorship of which was at that time unknown to my friend also:

Upon the river’s bank serene
A fisher sat where all was green
And looked it.
He saw when light was growing dim
The fish or else the fish saw him
And hooked it.
He took with high erected comb
The fish or else the story home
And cooked it.
Recording angels by his bed
Weighed all that he had done or said
And booked it.[3]

IV

THE BIRDS OF FASTEST FLIGHT IN THE BRITISH ISLES

Some little time ago, a correspondence appeared in the _Observer_[4] and the _Field_[5] as to which is the quickest bird in flight. Various correspondents, some of them well-known naturalists, writers of repute, and sportsmen of experience, expressed their views, by no means unanimous, on the question. I have always been greatly interested in the subject, and for many years past in the North of Scotland have been in the habit of watching bird life in some of the wildest and most inaccessible parts of the country.

I have examined the evidence contained in the valuable and interesting correspondence mentioned above, and have also obtained all the information I could get elsewhere from books of authority and persons who have had special opportunities of observation. At the present day a valuable and novel class of evidence is available--that of observers in aeroplanes. Upon all the material thus obtained I have tried to form an impartial opinion.

There appear to me to be four points to be borne in mind before arriving at any conclusion as to which bird is the quickest in flight, and the maximum speed of which each bird is capable.

Emphasis is laid on the first three of the following points in some of the letters in the correspondence above referred to, but I think that the fourth point is of at least equal importance.

1. Ground speed must be distinguished from air speed.

2. The path of flight must be horizontal.

3. There must be something to show that the bird is flying at its maximum speed.

4. There must be a standard length of flight to which the test is to be applied.

1. _Ground speed must be distinguished from air speed._

It is not generally realised that a bird has two speeds: its speed relative to the ground and its speed relative to the air.

“Ground speed” is “air speed” as influenced by the wind. In a perfectly still atmosphere “ground speed” and “air speed” are the same. To quote one of the writers in the _Field_ of February 11, 1922: “The wind has no effect on the speed at which a bird is capable of driving itself through the air. Take a parallel case, substitute for the bird a caterpillar, and for the atmosphere in which the bird is flying a sheet of paper. The caterpillar can always crawl at a constant speed across the paper, although it is possible to increase the relative speed of a caterpillar to the ground by moving the sheet of paper.”

Or to put the same distinction in the words of another writer in the same number of the _Field_: “It is the speed of the object over the ground or still water that matters; and if the medium (_i.e._ air or water) in which the object under discussion is either flying or floating is also in movement, then the pace over the ground will naturally be correspondingly increased or decreased.”

Wind, of course, varies in two ways (1) direction and (2) velocity, and is uniform only at a given height.

The direction of the wind must necessarily be either along the line of flight of the bird, against it, or at an angle with it. In the first of these instances the speed of the bird over the ground is determined merely by adding the velocity of the wind to, and in the second by subtracting it from the air speed of the bird, in the same way as a swimmer’s speed is increased or reduced by the speed of the current. The third case is more complicated, as in this calculation allowance must be made for “drift,” _i.e._ the tendency of a bird under such circumstances to deviate from its desired course. It is, however, unnecessary to say anything further as to this third case, as the comparison of speeds of various birds can only be made satisfactorily by ascertaining their speeds under identical conditions in horizontal flight.

2. _The path of flight must be horizontal._

In the words[6] of Captain C. F. A. Portal, D.S.O.: “If any one has seen a peregrine stooping from 1000 feet at between 150 and 200 miles per hour at a partridge, and has later seen the same peregrine chase the same partridge from a standing start, he will appreciate the importance of considering only level flight. In the first instance, the hawk is nearly 100 miles per hour faster than the quarry, in the second, he can only just overtake it at all. There is no conceivable way of measuring the speed of these downward flights accurately, but no one who has done any hawking will deny that 120 miles per hour is within the power of a great many species. When we come to consider level flight, there is a very different story.”

By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]

3. _There must be some evidence to show whether the bird is flying at its maximum speed or not._

As was recently pointed out in an interesting article[7] by Colonel R. Meinertzhagen, D.S.O.: “Birds have two speeds: a normal rate, which is used for everyday purposes and also for migration, and an accelerated speed, which is used for protection, or pursuit, and which in some cases nearly doubles the rate of their normal speed; some of the heavier birds can probably only accelerate to a slight extent. In this conclusion I am naturally excepting courtship flight, which is usually of an accelerated nature.”

To quote the words of Major C. R. E. Radclyffe:[8] “The only possible test we can accept is where two birds are matched one against the other, and we are certain they are both trying their hardest. No better test than this is the case of a hawk pursuing its quarry, when it means to one of them its food and to the other its life.”

The same writer draws attention to a common fallacy: “It is,” he says,[8] “purely a matter of optical illusion to imagine that a smaller-sized bird is flying faster than a larger bird of similar shape and make; for example, a snipe on rising ground seems to go much faster than a woodcock, similarly a teal than a duck, and possibly this may be so for a short distance, but put up the first two together, and also the last two, and let there be a peregrine after them--as I have seen many times--and the scene is amazing to a man who is not a falconer, as the smaller bird is overhauled first every time by the falcon, and presumably they are all trying their hardest.... I have dozens of times put up a peregrine over ponds and marshes where teal and ducks were sitting together, and then flushed the wild fowl all simultaneously. In every case without any exception the first bird overhauled and brought to the ground has been a teal and in the case of a long flight, when every bird has been flying for its life, the further they go the further the teal lag behind the wild ducks. The same remarks apply to woodcock and snipe, to black game and grouse, to pheasants and partridges--all of which I have flushed simultaneously in front of hawks.”

In dealing with the same point in a letter written to me, Major Radclyffe makes the following interesting observations:

“... Few people realize that a pheasant flies much faster than a partridge when they have both been going a short distance. If you flush an old cock pheasant and a covey of partridges together in a big field of turnips, you will see the partridges are quickest ‘off the mark’ and away with a bit of a lead, but the pheasant will catch them, and be first over the fence if they have 200 or 300 yards to go.

“Again take as an example a woodcock and a snipe. I have several times flushed these two birds together, and in no time the woodcock has left the snipe far behind him, and yet I believe that ninety-nine sportsmen out of a hundred would say the snipe flies faster than the woodcock.

“I have seen woodcocks give my hawks some great long-distance flights before they are overtaken and turned; but a snipe has no show at all when trying to keep ahead of a peregrine or merlin in straight flight.”

In his letter to the _Field_ already referred to, Major Radclyffe further says: “There is no doubt whatever that the heavier bird of similar type is far the faster on the wing when once it gets going.”

It was suggested in one of the letters to the _Field_ that whilst this is no doubt the general rule there is at least one exception to it. “If asked,” said the writer, “to quote any instance when the smaller bird is faster than a larger one of similar type, I should say that the pochard (_Fuligula ferina_) is faster on the wing than the common mallard, as I have seen the former pass mallards on the wing when both have been flying before a falcon. But from my experience of over thirty years as a falconer, a naturalist, and a shooter, I should say that the above case is one of the rare exceptions where the heaviest bird is not the fastest on the wing if each bird is trying its hardest and best.”

Colonel Meinertzhagen, whilst agreeing that the heavier bird of similar type is the faster flier once it gets going, has kindly sent me the following observations on the foregoing statements as to the pochard and mallard. “The common pochard is not a bird of ‘similar type’ to a mallard, the one being a diving duck and the other surface-feeding. They differ in the proportion of wing area to body weight, also in bone structure. The pochard and all diving duck, probably fly faster than surface-feeding duck under similar conditions, having heavier bodies in proportion to the wing area than is ever found among surface-feeding duck. The eider duck, which is even heavier than the ordinary diving duck (_Nyroca_), probably flies faster than them all when once started.”

4. _There must be a standard length of flight to which the test is to be applied._

If the question were asked, “Who is the faster runner, A or B?” the reply would surely be “To what distance are you referring?” A short or a long distance? Applying the analogy, it is obvious that a bird might be much faster than another for a short distance, but if the flight has to be prolonged, may not have the lasting powers of another bird, and therefore would be beaten on the longer course.

It seems likely that the fact of not considering one or other of these points may account for the difference in regard to some of the views held by observers of experience. For instance, may it not account for the fact that there is such a marked difference of opinion as to whether the peregrine is faster than the golden plover? May it not be true that for a short distance the latter bird may be the faster flier, but that in consequence of its lack of staying power it is overtaken before it goes half a mile unless it can elude its pursuer by twists and turns. In this connection it is worth recalling the experiences of that acute and accurate observer Charles St. John[9]: “The golden plover,” he writes, “is a favourite prey, and affords the hawk a severe chace before he is caught. I have seen a pursuit of this kind last for nearly ten minutes--the plover turning and doubling like a hare before greyhounds, at one moment darting like an arrow into the air, high above the falcon’s head; at the next sweeping round some bush or headland--but in vain. The hawk with steady relentless flight, without seeming to hurry himself, never gives up the chace till the poor plover, seemingly quite exhausted, slackens her pace, and is caught by the hawk’s talons in mid-air and carried off to a convenient hillock or stone to be quietly devoured.”

Colonel Meinertzhagen has been so kind as to consider the observations I have made above, and writes:

“I should doubt whether the golden plover has less staying power than the peregrine. The former migrates long distances (thousands of miles, in the case of the American golden plover, a bird almost identical with ours, which goes from Labrador to Brazil by sea), whereas the peregrine is nowhere believed to be a regular or persistent migrant over long distances. It is more probable that the peregrine is a faster bird than the golden plover and that the latter becomes exhausted by continued acceleration and fear, whereas the peregrine is accustomed to long periods of accelerated flight and is stimulated by hunger.”

Again in reference to the difference of opinion as to whether the teal is faster than the mallard, may it not be possible that both views may be correct? in other words, that it depends upon the length of flight which the writer is considering. It may be noticed that Major Radclyffe in the passage which I have quoted above (p. 28) seems to consider it may be possible that for a short distance the teal may be faster than the mallard, though he has no doubt that the latter bird will very soon overtake the former.

The falconer has certainly more and better opportunities of seeing birds flying at their maximum rate of speed than any one else. “He also has,” to use Captain Portal’s words, “the advantage of possessing in his trained hawk a known quantity with which to compare the performances of other birds.”

Captain Portal has flown hawks at many different kinds of birds during the last fifteen years, and has made certain estimates which have been arrived at after a great deal of comparison and analysis of data obtained while hawking, shooting, flying in aeroplanes, travelling in cars and trains, and walking in the country. He says:[10] “My figures cannot be correct for every member of each species, as I have seen one partridge in an October covey fly quite 15 per cent faster than any of its companions when all were at full speed. All I have tried to do is to strike an average for the species, the speed given being the maximum pace at which the bird can cover the ground in level flight through still air.”

The speeds given for the peregrine and merlin are those of good trained birds; the wild ones are faster. Here are the figures:

Golden Plover 70 miles per hour.
Teal and Blackcock 68 ” ”
Peregrine 62 ” ”
Pheasant and Grouse 60 ” ”
Mallard 58 ” ”
Merlin and Blue Rock 55 ” ”
Partridge 53 ” ”
Green Plover }
Jackdaw } 48 ” ”
Wood Pigeon 45 ” ”
Starling 44 ” ”
Kestrel 43 ” ”
Rook 40 ” ”
Landrail 35 ” ”

The speed attained by golden plover when pressed has been estimated by airmen at over 60 miles per hour.[11]

Colonel R. Meinertzhagen, from whom I have also quoted above, states that he finds, “after eliminating abnormal conditions and observations based on meagre evidence, that the normal and migratory flight in miles per hour (ground speed) is as follows:

Ducks 44-59
Geese 42-55
Waders 34-51
(but mostly from 40 to 51)
Starlings 38-49
Falcons 40-48
Corvidae 31-45
Tame Pigeons 30-36
The smaller Passeres 20-37”

Amongst the birds which are claimed by different high authorities to be the fastest British birds are the swift, the peregrine, the golden plover, the teal, the wild duck, and the curlew.

It is curious that in the various controversies on the subject no one appears to have contended that the golden eagle may possibly be the fastest flier amongst British birds. This may be because, except in certain parts of the country, the eagle is never seen, and there is necessarily very little opportunity of comparing his speed with that of other birds. In particular the falconer, whose opportunities of comparing the speed of birds are, as I have already stated, greater than those of any other class of men, has no opportunities in the case of the eagle. Moreover, the flight of the eagle, like that of some of the fastest flying birds, for instance, the blackcock, is very deceptive. He is in fact flying much faster than he appears to be--“The eagle’s flight, when passing from one point to another, is peculiarly expressive of strength and vigour. He wends his way with deliberate strong strokes of his powerful wing, every stroke apparently drawing him on a considerable distance, and in this manner advancing through the air as rapidly as the pigeon or any other bird which may appear to fly much more quickly.”[12]

From a Photograph by THE LADY ANNE MURRAY of Loch Carron.]

The answer to the question, Which of the two birds, the eagle or the peregrine, is the faster flier, must even on a horizontal flight be a matter of pure conjecture. On the one hand, the peregrine has the advantage of pointed wings which make for increased wing power and speed, whilst the eagle’s wings are rounded. On the other hand, there is a great similarity between the general build and structure of the two birds, and there is the fact emphasised by Major Radclyffe in the letters from which I have quoted above, that, as between two birds of different size but of similar shape and make, the larger and heavier bird will almost invariably fly faster than the smaller and lighter one once the former really gets going. It is, of course, true that the peregrine is much quicker in its movements and more agile than the eagle. It is constantly under the necessity of flying at its fastest (which the eagle is not) in order to secure its food; in other words, to use the language of a stalker in discussing this question with me: “The peregrine requires a warm diet, and lives on its prey. The eagle, on the other hand, will eat carrion.” The peregrine is probably quicker off the mark than the eagle, but this does not necessarily mean that he flies more quickly than the eagle once the latter gets going. Stalkers have unusual opportunities of seeing these two birds in flight, and almost all those with whom I have discussed this question believe that on a horizontal flight the peregrine is faster than the eagle. This in my opinion is probably the correct view.

It must not be forgotten that the Northern falcons, or, as they are generally called, the gyrfalcons, are entitled to rank as British birds, although they are rare visitors to these Isles. They are (1) the gyrfalcon or Norwegian variety (_Falco gyrfalco_), (2) the Iceland falcon (_Falco islandus_), (3) the Greenland falcon (_Falco candicans_). The gyrfalcon is a very rare visitor here, two recorded specimens only having been obtained here and one of these is doubtful. The Iceland falcon is a rare visitor also, although identified examples have been obtained here from time to time. The Greenland falcon is an irregular winter and spring visitor, but there are more recorded instances of this species than in the case of the Iceland falcon. The former bird, the prevailing ground colour of which is white, is the most beautiful of all birds of prey. By some authorities it is considered merely a race of the Iceland falcon, which it resembles in size and habits. The eggs of the two birds resemble one another. All these Northern falcons are about the same size and larger than, though very similar in structure to, the peregrine falcon. Speaking generally, the difference in length is about 5 inches, in wing 2 inches. They have been very highly valued in Europe for hawking, and, as would be expected from their superior size and similar structure, are undoubtedly faster than peregrines.

Writing in the _Field_ for March 15, 1923, Major Radclyffe says:[13]

“All the gyrfalcons are much faster on the wing than peregrines, and having trained and flown both species of these falcons for many years I have been enabled to prove this beyond doubt.”

The swift has still to be considered. There are three species of swifts which rank as British birds: the common swift (_Cypselus apus_), the Alpine swift (_Cypselus melba_), and the spine-tailed or needle-tailed swift (_Acanthyllis caudacuta_ or _Chaetura caudacuta caudacuta_). The Alpine swift is a rare visitor here, only about thirty having been satisfactorily identified at different times from April to October in different parts of these islands, but chiefly in the southern part of England. It breeds in mountains throughout Central Europe, and eastwards to India. The spine-tailed swift is even a rarer visitor here, only two recorded instances of specimens having been obtained--one in Essex in 1846 and one (said to have been in company with another) in Hampshire in 1879. It breeds in the mountains of North-eastern Asia, and in winter goes as far south as Australia.

By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]

Swifts are perhaps the most powerfully winged, in proportion to their weight, of all British birds. Their form is that which has been found to make the fastest sailing vessel--full forwards and lengthened, and tapering backwards. The difficulty in regard to these birds, and particularly in regard to the Alpine swift and the spine-tailed swift, is to obtain the necessary opportunities and conditions for comparing their maximum speed with that of other very fast birds. It is difficult to realise merely from a consideration of the description and measurements of these three swifts in the authoritative works of ornithologists how much larger the Alpine swift and spine-tailed swift are than the common swift. I have had opportunities of handling and examining the stuffed specimens of these birds in the British Museum (Natural History) at South Kensington, and should like to acknowledge here the courtesy and assistance given to me at the Museum by Mr. W. P. Pycraft, Dr. P. R. Lowe, and Mr. N. B. Kinnear.

The actual measurements of the three birds are as follows:

Length. Wing.
Common Swift 6·75 inches 6·8 inches
Alpine Swift 8 ” 8·45 ”
Needle-tailed Swift 8 ” 8·1 ”

It is not generally realised that the common swift, so well known in this country, which looks so imposing in flight as it glides overhead with wings extended, is hardly so large, when plucked, as a man’s thumb-joint and weighs slightly over half an ounce.

Bearing in mind that as between two birds of the same build and structure the larger will, when it gets going, fly faster than the smaller one, it would naturally be expected, as is the undoubted fact, that the Alpine swift and spine-tailed swift are faster fliers than the common swift.

The falconer has in the case of the swift very little opportunity of comparing its speed with that of the peregrine. This is partly because the peregrine, whether it be the falcon (the female bird) or the tiercel (the male bird), will probably not attempt to kill the swift, it being too small a prey. There is the further difficulty that the swift rarely continues on a level flight.

I have been so fortunate as to obtain the views of several well-known authorities on this difficult question--the comparative maximum speed of the swift and the peregrine.

Colonel Meinertzhagen says:

“I should certainly say that the swift is the fastest British bird, both in its normal speed and accelerated. But any of the falcons could catch it, if caught unawares, by stooping, or perhaps two hunting together. If the swift had, say, ten seconds’ warning,[14] I do not believe any falcon could touch it. As regards endurance, those birds with the greatest endurance are the swifts, swallows, petrels, and gulls. Swifts are probably endowed with the greatest powers, being denied by nature the advantages of perching, alighting on water, or resting on the ground. I have recently been studying the power of flight of various groups of birds, and find that the wings of the swift and petrel groups have wing outlines best suited for both endurance and speed. The falcon has a wing intended for short rapid flights and not for endurance.

“You have doubtless seen falcons hunting. When they set out on a regular hunt they are not usually much faster than their quarry, unless it is some unfortunate non-game bird, and they only gradually overtake it. But I think a falcon usually makes full use of surprise and force of gravity. If these fail, he often abandons the chase, recognising that wearing a bird like a golden plover or teal down by sheer endurance and honest straightforward flying is a troublesome and not always successful task.”

Major C. R. E. Radclyffe writes:

“The point you raise _re_ the relative speed of swifts and other birds is a difficult one to decide.