Adventures in Woodcraft

By Marcus Woodward

“Adventures in Woodcraft” contains a fantastic collection of nature stories and studies by various authors. Written almost exclusively by people involved with the Girl Guide and Boy Scout Associations, this vintage book is highly recommended for lovers of nature writing and the Great Outdoors. Contents include: “The First Week”, “The Most Wonderful Nest”, “The Mistletoe-Thrush”, “The Speckled Thrush”, “A Pat for a Thrush”, “Birds that like Comfort”, “Leaning over the Gate”, “Portrait of a Lapwing”, “A Lesson in Woodcraft”, “The Pride that Fell”, “The Duellists”, The Lamb and the Lapwing”, “The Snow-White Lapwing”, etc. Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. It is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially-commissioned new introduction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A Thousand Fields
• Release date: Jan 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781528784351

Book preview

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST WEEK

THE STONE-CURLEW’S FAMILY

ONE memorable day of late March, after we had been roaming o’er the South Downs so free, and were resting awhile, watching a multitude of rabbits at play on a stony slope, we became suddenly aware of the presence of stone-curlew, birds which were to afford us many delightful studies in days and nights to come.

The portrait of the particular bird presented with this chapter is associated with what I believe to be the first record of a remarkable ceremony which takes place when one bird of a nesting pair relieves the other of sitting duty: the ceremony of the stone, as it might be called. A small stone, kept in the scrape serving for nest, is passed between the birds. Thus, should the hen be about to be relieved by the cock, as he approaches, she picks up the stone in her bill, and offers it to her mate. Either he takes it in his beak, or refuses. Should he be so unmannerly, she carefully lays it down between the two eggs, rises, bows, and in crouched fashion hurries from the nest.

We may see something akin to this in the behaviour of lapwings and of some of the sea-birds in their nuptial days, in the way the cocks, at least, will make presentations of various objects to the hens they court, such as shells, stones, seaweeds, rushes, or fish. A fantastic sight is that of a gull carrying a pebble or a cockle-shell in his beak, and with a bow laying it on the ground at the feet of his enchanter, then rising and throwing back his head to utter a mad peal of laughter.

The ceremony of the stone gives the stone-curlew an extra right to its first name. Its eggs are remarkably like stones, and are laid in stony places. But the bird would be better named stone-plover, being a member of the plover family. Its second name, Norfolk plover, also suits it, as it has many associations with Norfolk.

On the barren uplands of the South Downs, among scrub and stones, a few Downsmen know where to look for stone-curlew when they return in early spring from their winter quarters, the whereabouts of which is their own secret. By their running and squatting habits, they remind the Downsmen of the lamented great bustards formerly known to the Sussex hills. Partly nocturnal in habit, they have the great staring eyes of a bird of twilight, bright yellow eyes, forming their most outstanding feature. Their bill is plover-like; the yellowish-green legs are long, with feet which lack a hind toe; the plumage is of sandy brown, streaked with dark brown; chin and throat are white, and there is a white line beneath the eye. By day they are mostly silent, but at night their wild, shrill cry is heard, a weird sort of wailing, though some of the calls are musical. The young, when newly hatched, show a marked crouching instinct. By their stillness, and by blending with surroundings, they may fail to attract attention from the sharpest eyes.

So the eggs may easily be mistaken for stones. Small stones are frequently found in the hollow serving as nest, and sometimes the little black pellets, as dropped by rabbits, or a few bents; but I do not know whether these things are purposely put into the nest by the birds, or whether it may be that they happen to be present when the eggs are laid.

One of our band of note-takers (referred to in my foreword) has said well of the stone-curlew, that always it behaves with beautiful serenity.

When approached, it walks quietly away, and when running on its long legs at speed, it maintains a calm dignity, moving with a graceful action. And it differs from all other plovers and many other birds in that it utters no wild cries if disturbed, but vanishes silently. Marvellously still it sits on its eggs, staring fixedly with its great yellow eyes.

Most beautiful are the ceremonies when one bird relieves the other on the nest. The cock cuts a courtly figure as he advances to the nest with a mincing gait, bowing, then perhaps backing a little, to advance and bow again. His mate awaits him calmly, and they may touch bills in a bird kiss before she glides away.

The bird of our photograph, which gave our photographer his note of the ceremony of the stone, laid her first egg on May ist, and the second the next day, when she settled to brood. I now give some other notes from Mr. Hosking’s records of this nest:

The birds sit in turn for the last four or five days before the hatching of the eggs. The cock, after taking his spell of duty on the eggs, is heard softly calling, and then his mate dutifully comes running to him over the heath. On her arrival, he slowly rises, picks up a small stone, and offers it to her with a bow, then slowly and sedately walks away to a point not many yards from the nest—his observation-post. After the hen has been sitting for a long spell, upwards of an hour, the cock may be heard calling again with a low, soft whistle, not the loud call he utters when on the wing at night. The hen answers. He comes back to the nest. And there follows again the ceremony of the stone.

NESTING STONE-CURLEW

"Most beautiful are the ceremonies when one bird relieves the other on the nest."

Perhaps it happens that when hurrying off the nest the hen moves one of the eggs. The cock is then very disturbed. He may brood one egg for a time, but evidently knows something is wrong, for presently he rises and walks round the nest in circles, trying by various ways to roll the egg back to its place. At last he succeeds, hooking it back with his bill.

The length of time the birds spend on the nest seems to depend on the weather. In rough weather a spell of duty may be an hour long, but it is longer on fine days. As a rule the brooding bird will not leave the nest until the other is standing by.

The two birds keep up a continuous conversation. After a time a quiet listener may almost understand what their whistles mean. Thus, a short one from the bird on the nest seems to mean that all is well, that it has no desire to leave the nest. A series of low whistles from the bird at the observation-post means that it is about to relieve its mate. Having settled down on the eggs, it whistles in a higher key, and then its mate retires to the observation-post.

One day, the birds experienced what might well have been to them a terrifying adventure, but they treated it with amazing calmness. The hen was at the usual observation-post when a retriever came charging over the field. The hen saw the dog before the cock, and ran towards him with the utmost gallantry, to try to head him from the nest. At once the dog chased her, while she lured him farther from the nest. Flopping along, she led him all across the field, then sprang into the air, circled round, and returned to her duty. As to the cock, all that he did was to rise from the eggs and walk about until the dog had vanished, when he returned to the nest.

On the day before the eggs hatched, May 25th, during eight hours from early afternoon, the sitting birds changed places twice only. A strong wind had dropped and the birds were content to brood for a long time. An unusual departure from routine was noticed soon after the first change. The hen flew away out of sight, and when returning called from a distance. At once the brooding cock answered with his full, wild call, sounding wilder and weirder than ever to the observer at close quarters. While calling, the beak was opened wide, but the head was not raised.

Next morning was hatching morning. The chicks actually could be heard whistling inside their shells. The cock, brooding the eggs, whistled back to them almost continuously. At about ten o’clock a remarkable sight was seen: the cock pushed his head under his body, and cleanly, with his bill, took the top of the shell off one of the eggs. Holding the piece of shell in his bill, he brooded for another quarter of an hour, when he walked away from the nest. The next remarkable thing he did was to stamp on the piece of shell until it was crushed. And then—he swallowed the pieces!

Returning to the nest, he brooded on for a while. But soon he picked up the big piece of the shell, carried this away, and ate it in the same style. While he was thus engaged, the anxious hen hurried to the nest, and settled down to brood the wet chick.

From the time the egg-shell had first been chipped, by the chick within, until it was hatched, no fewer than sixty-one hours had passed. The second egg hatched about one hour and a half afterwards. The cock again helped out the chick, but, instead of brooding the two chicks for a while, he hurried away with the small piece of shell. The hen then came on the nest and brooded while the cock ate the shell, and soon she, too, went away with the large piece of shell, which she in turn ate.

One chick was soon dry. Then it changed its position and crawled upwards, between the body and the wing of the cock. And the second chick presently did likewise. This seemed to be in accordance with a natural plan, for the cock eventually carried the chicks away from the nest under his wings; but possibly it was by accident. By this time, some five hours after the cock had left the nest with the top of the first-hatched egg, the chicks could walk a little, though a few inches meant to them a long journey. Stage by stage the cock would carry them a little farther from the nest. If he dropped a chick, he did not go back for it, but called it to him after settling to brood the other. The family was soon out of sight in the field.

THE MOST WONDERFUL NEST

The week of the year in which we reaped the harvest of the notes making this chapter was the week when daffodils begin to peer. One of our first adventures in this week was the finding of the nest of mumruffins, as some country boys name the long-tailed titmouse.

Of all the nests, built by our British birds, none is more wonderful than the long-tailed tit’s, and there are few more beautiful nests in the world. Our photograph shows the oval shape, and how the nest is of the domed type, with a small entrance at the side. The outer wall is covered with lichen. Inside is a mattress of feathers for the eggs, and it may be made of between two and three thousand feathers.

When examining an old nest, it is difficult to count the exact number of feathers, since the very small ones become felted. After counting upwards of nearly one thousand, we become deeply impressed by the amazing diligence of the tiny atoms of birds in collecting so many. Where they find the feathers is often another mystery, since the nest may be far from any poultry farm, or other visible source of supply.

THE MOST WONDERFUL NEST

"Of all the nests built by our British birds, none is more wonderful than the long-tailed tit’s, and there are few more beautiful nests in the world."

In a well-known record, made by an old-time naturalist, Macgillivray, 2,379 feathers were used in lining one nest: and this number has been equalled by recent researches. One observer kept six nests under observation. One contained 2,024 feathers, and there was a source of supply in a farm nearby; another contained only 835 feathers, and the nearest farm was more than 600 yards distant. If only one feather were carried at a time, the two builders would have to travel 600 or 700 miles to make their feather bed; but they sometimes bring in the feathers in bundles.

Each bird of a pair takes a share in the building, work which engages them for a fortnight. The walls are marvellously felted with shredded wool, green moss, the silk of spiders, and lichens, all interwoven, the lichen on the outside giving a curious black and white appearance.

If the nest happens to be set on a lichen-covered tree, it is almost invisible. Otherwise, being a nest of distinctive shape, it may be very obvious, and especially if set in a bare and leafless bush in March.

Often it is in a furze-bush, and then it is a beautiful object indeed, its silvery lichen set off by the fresh