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| Curlew sandpiper - Cordeaux ' took a long shot and dropped three' |
This report by Lincolnshire ornithologist John Cordeaux On the Migration and Habits of the Curlew Sandpiper is taken from the October 1873 edition of The Zoologist journal. Whether is identification was accurate is perhaps open to question.
At the end of the last week in August and early in September, there was an extraordinary migratory arrival of curlew sandpipers in the Great Cotes marshes near Grimsby.
On the 31st of August, I was crossing a very bare sheep-walk, about a mile from the shore, when I came upon a flock of small waders sitting breast to the wind, and very much resembling little lumps of chalk scattered over the short green herbage.
I supposed them either dunlins or ringed plovers, hundreds of which at this season frequent these marshes, but, on bringing my binocular to bear, it became at once apparent that they were neither of these.
From the peculiar tint of the underparts they might, however, have passed muster for young knots in the plumage of the first autumn, but if so they were the smallest knots I had ever seen.
A nearer acquaintance therefore became absolutely necessary before I could determine the species, and I had no gun.
A slight hollow, where an old top grip had been filled in, favoured an approach, and up this I wriggled for some distance, and then, slowly bringing my eyes level with the surface, found I was within twenty yards.
One look through the glass at this distance was sufficient to show they were curlew sandpipers.
There were sixty or seventy, somewhat scattered at first, but, suspecting something was wrong, they ran together in a cluster, and stood looking towards my hiding-place.
A well-directed shot at this range would have half-exterminated them.
They appeared birds of the year, having the same buff-coloured wash on the lower neck and breast which we find in the young knot.
There was a rather conspicuous lightish streak over the eye; the bill was long and decurved at the end, but not more so than in the dunlin.
However, they stood higher and looked a larger bird than this species.
Some on the outside kept rising and flying over the heads of those in the rear, showing at the same time their most characteristic distinctive mark, the white upper tail-coverts.
In their habits, they more nearly resemble the reeve than the dunlin.
They run rapidly with the tibio-larsal joints much bent, and they have the same habit which we see in the reeve of raising themselves, stretching their necks, and peering about when they suspect danger.
Their flight also is very reeve-like, their long pointed wings increasing the resemblance.
They fly in a lump or cluster, close together, sometimes rising to a considerable height, and then again sweeping or skimming the ground, wheeling rapidly round the pasture and dashing up to windward, they will alight suddenly and commence feeding.
Later in the day I returned to this field with my gun, but did not get a shot: they had then got mixed up with a flock of peewits, rising and going off to the coast together.
September 1st. Again on the look out for the curlew sandpipers, but did not find them in this field.
In a marsh about half-a-mile further inland, there were about fifteen or twenty in company with peewits, and feeding with them.
I got a long shot at three, dropping one.
The survivors, instead of making off, continued to fly round and hover (winnowing the air like kestrels) above their wounded mate, and uttering the most piteous little bird-wail I ever heard.
It was wonderful to see such an exhibition of feeling and sympathy on the part of these little creatures.
In an adjoining field, a very bare summer-eaten clover, there were many more foraging in company with curlews and peewits; these latter rose, leading the sandpipers with them.
There were probably from one hundred to a hundred and fifty, these collected into two flocks, flying round in a wide circle and not offering a shot.
Their call is peculiar. It is not a whistle, but a "chirrup," and may not inaptly be rendered by this word.
When the flock are in full chorus, which is generally the case when they are on the wing, the effect is exceedingly musical and pleasing.
It is not unlike the twittering of snow buntings, and most opposite to the sharp distinct call of the dunlin.
I saw several other small parties during the next two hours, and later two flocks in a thirty-five acre pasture near my marsh farmstead - probably about seventy in one, fifty in the other.
I killed four out of these, some of the survivors, as in the previous instance, hovering for a short time over the dead birds, uttering the same pitiful wailing note.
These flocks all occurred within a comparatively circumscribed area, and I can speak positively as to their having been composed exclusively of curlew sandpipers.
I saw, however, during the day many very extensive gatherings of similar appearance careering above the marshes at great distances, much too far indeed for identification, yet, judging from what I had seen on my own land.
I feel tolerably confident that they also were curlew sandpipers, and probably all of them migratory flocks.
On the following day, as far as I could judge, they had entirely left the district, and I have only seen half a dozen since.
In the specimens procured, the bill and claws are black; the legs, tarsi and feet very dark green - the colour known as "invisible green"; iris dark brown.
The stomachs of three examined were filled entirely with insect remains - Coleoptera, Diplera, and their larvae - also several sharp angular fragments of quartz, not picked up in this district.
* Photo: JJ Harrison via Wikimedia Commons
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