The Project Gutenberg eBook, Amid the High Hills, by Sir Hugh Fraser

AMID THE HIGH HILLS

AGENTS

SEPTEMBER SNOW, LOCH CARRON, ROSS-SHIRE.

By Finlay Mackinnon.

AMID

THE HIGH HILLS

BY

SIR HUGH FRASER

“But on and up, where Nature’s heart
Beats strong amid the hills.”
Richard Monckton Milnes.

A. & C. BLACK, LTD.

4, 5, & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1

1923

Printed in Great Britain by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.

TO ALL WHO LOVE THE HIGH HILLS, AND PARTICULARLY TO THOSE—MY DEAR KINSMEN AND FRIENDS (SOME OF WHOM HAVE PASSED TO THE GREAT BEYOND)—TO WHOM I AM INDEBTED FOR MANY HAPPY DAYS ON HILL, LOCH, AND RIVER.

PREFACE

For many years past from time to time I have contributed articles on sport and natural history to various journals.

It was recently suggested to me that I should publish these articles in book form, and I was fortunate enough to have friends who kindly offered to illustrate them. I have accordingly selected some of these articles, and have included others which have never been published before. Amongst the former are some which in the same or a slightly altered form have appeared in The Field, Country Life, The Scottish Field, The Salmon and Trout Magazine, and The Saturday Westminster Gazette. To the editors of these journals I tender my warmest thanks for their courtesy and kindness in allowing me to republish the articles in question. To my friends, Mr. Finlay Mackinnon, Mr. Vincent Balfour-Browne, and Mr. Frank Wallace, I am greatly indebted for the pictures in colour and black and white, and the pencil sketches which they have contributed.

To my friends and neighbours, Lady Anne Murray of Loch Carron and Mrs. Schroder of Attadale, my grateful thanks are due—to the former for the photograph, “Winter Sunshine—Wild Geese at the foot of Applecross Hills,” and to the latter for the water-colour drawing, “An Autumn Day—Loch Carron, looking West.”

To my friend, Miss Diana Darling, I am indebted for the photograph, “Among the Western Islands,” and to my son-in-law, Mr. Noel Wills, for the pencil sketch of Donald McIver, my gamekeeper and constant companion on the hill for many years.

I wish to thank Mr. W. R. Bousfield, K.C., F.R.S., for helpful criticism from the scientific point of view on my article “Birds of Fastest Flight in the British Isles,” and Mr. A. D. Bateson, K.C., for his kindness in reading the book in manuscript.

In conclusion, I should like to say that, having derived so much pleasure from reading the experiences of others who love sport and natural history, I venture to hope that these pages may bring back to some of my readers recollections of their own delightful days amid the High Hills.

H. F.

Stromeferry, Ross-shire,
August 7, 1923.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

* Those marked with an asterisk are in colour.

Also pencil headings to each Chapter.

“THE JOY OF WATCHING DEER WHEN THEY HAVE NO SUSPICION THAT THEY ARE BEING WATCHED.”

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.

GOLDEN DAYS.

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.

“SEE! FROM THE TOPS THE MIST IS STEALING.”

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.

“THE SALMON LEAPED TWICE STRAIGHT UP INTO THE AIR.”

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]

Fast Enough for Me!

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.”

THE PEREGRINE FALCON.

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:

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:

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]

WINTER SUNSHINE—WILD GEESE AT THE FOOT OF THE APPLECROSS HILLS.

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.

THE SPINE-TAILED SWIFT.

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:

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.

“I have, however, a strong recollection of a brother falconer (I cannot remember who it was) telling me that his trained merlins could easily overhaul a swift, and he told me that once or twice they had killed them. But this was many years ago, and I am not able to remember all the facts.

“I have often stood on the bridges here and watched swifts passing in hundreds close past me. They appear to be moving very fast when hawking after flies near the surface of a river.

“There is a long stretch of broad water in the river in front of my house here, and often there are hundreds of swifts flying up and down it. They go about half a mile dead straight and then turn back over this stretch of the river.

“I have flown fast carrier pigeons along this same bit of water, and they seem to do it in less time than the swifts. Only last summer, at my place in Scotland, I was sitting on the banks of the river watching some swifts, when a pair of blue rock pigeons came from their nest in the cliff, going out to feed, and they went clean past the swifts going in the same direction.

“Of course presumably the pigeons were in a hurry and the swifts were not, and unless we are certain that both birds are trying their hardest, you cannot accept these things as a test of speed.

“If I were asked to guess roughly at the six fastest flying birds in the British Isles, I should place them as follows:

and the fastest game bird is undoubtedly the blackcock. I do not know, however, if a capercailzie would not beat him if you could get them both to take a long flight across the open, because, generally speaking, in the case of birds of similar shape and species, the heaviest bird is the fastest flying one.”

Captain G. S. Blaine, another falconer of long and varied experience, has also been so kind as to give me his opinion on this question. He writes:

“I cannot say whether a peregrine falcon could overtake and kill a swift, but I do not think it would ever attempt the feat. Falcons do not, as a rule, attack small birds. The male or tiercel will sometimes stoop at them, but more in play than in earnest. The female, I should think, would never attempt to catch anything smaller than a thrush or starling.

“It is very difficult to estimate the relative speed of different birds. To do so, one would have to judge correctly of the time taken in passing a measured distance on a straight course. Very few birds, especially swifts, fly absolutely straight ahead.

“A hobby has been known to catch swifts and swallows, and possibly a merlin would do the same.

“A peregrine can fly faster than a merlin, but it would not be so quick in turning and following a bird.

“I think a peregrine can fly faster than a teal or golden plover, though, as you observe, the latter are quicker off the mark.”

There are very few recorded instances, as far as I have been able to ascertain, in which a hawk has killed the common swift. In two of these there was no evidence as to whether the hawk had not taken the swift by surprise. But there is at least one recorded instance in which a swift has been killed by a hobby in fair flight. This is to be found in that delightful book, Field Studies of some Rarer British Birds,[15] by Mr. William Walpole Bond. The description of the race is so vivid that, with the author’s kind permission, I reproduce it here.

“On June 14, 1907, as I lay in a spacious clearing of a big Sussex woodland, a sudden swirl of wings gave me instant pause in my meditations. Looking up, my eyes were held by a swift coasting earthwards in frantic haste, hotly pursued by a hobby not many yards in his wake. I literally held my breath with excitement, for here was an occurrence of dreamland only. Speeding on about a level with the tree-tops both birds measure the length of the long glade in fractional time, and the hawk gains almost imperceptibly.

“Then the pursued makes a mighty effort; he rises gamely, even slightly increasing his lead. Indeed it seemed he might shake off his deadly courser. Alas, my friend, it is to no purpose; the hobby has responded to your challenge, and now exhibits speed for which—glorious flier though he be—I should never have given him credit. Mounting with ease above his prospective prey, the lithe hawk compels him to describe an arc and once again to start a life—or death—struggle in a headlong slant across the clearing. That flight is his last—the swift has shot his bolt. Now inches only separate the birds, you could cover both with a very large handkerchief. Next instant the hawk rises straight and stoops strongly, pursuer and pursued become one. Binding to his quarry the hawk is away over the trees at my back without so much as the most momentary pause in the continuation of his eminently successful ‘shikar.’ Indeed, this continuity of action was possibly the most pleasing part of a praiseworthy performance, since you might reasonably have expected a break—however trivial—after what must have been a long and arduous chase. As a fact, the death-stroke was so featly and rapidly administered that, except that where a moment before there had been two birds there was now only one, and that a muffled clap and a few small dusky feathers twirling aimlessly in the summer breeze suggested some sort of untoward happening, it was difficult to realise that anything unusual had taken place.

“I have seen the irresistible death-stoop of the peregrine, the lightning rush of the tiny merlin, I have watched the earthward plunge after prey of buzzard, eagle, kite, and harrier; I have revelled in the agile snatch of the sparrow-hawk, in the silent hovering of the kestrel; and all have I enjoyed. Here was something quite different and even far better. Never have I seen skill so superb as was displayed by that hobby.”

It would therefore seem that the hobby, which is a peregrine in miniature, flies faster than the common swift even on a horizontal flight, but it is worthy of note that in both stoops referred to in this delightful description, the hobby gained by reason of gravity. True, he also gained altitude, but this may have been better manœuvring for position and not necessarily a greater speed. As the peregrine flies faster than the hobby, being a bird of the same structure but larger, the peregrine could no doubt overtake and kill the common swift if it would take the trouble to pursue so small a bird.

Next, as to the Alpine swift. This bird is much larger than the common swift—in length 8 inches as compared with 6·75 inches—whilst their wings are 8·45 inches and 6·8 inches respectively, and as the two birds are of the same structure, one would naturally expect that the Alpine swift would be much the faster flier. The flight of the Alpine swift, like that of the blackcock, which is probably the fastest flier amongst game birds with the possible exception of the capercailzie, is very deceptive.

Colonel Meinertzhagen, in the article already mentioned, describes some observations from an aeroplane in regard to the flight of a large flock of common swifts feeding at an altitude of 6000 feet over Mosul in Mesopotamia. He describes how they circled round the aeroplane, which was flying at 68 miles an hour, and easily overtook it. In commenting on this case he says: “The case of the Mosul swifts is interesting. The birds were probably not on passage but simply feeding. It is known that swifts travel great distances in search of food and ascend great altitudes.

“In the Middle Atlas of Morocco, in the Himalayas, in Crete, and Palestine, 4000 or 5000 feet and 50 miles or so in distance seems nothing to these incomparable fliers. I have had splendid opportunities of observing the Alpine, common, and spine-tailed swifts (Chaetura), and it has been a great disappointment to me that I have never been able to get a satisfactory estimate of their rate of flight, as they never continue on a level course. On a small island on the coast of Crete I was recently given a good exhibition of what an Alpine swift can do. I was watching some of these birds feeding round cliffs in which several pairs of Eleonora’s falcons were about to breed. Now, this delightful falcon is no mean flier, and as these swifts passed their cliff, the falcons would come out against them like rockets. The swifts would accelerate and would seem to be out of sight before the falcons were well on their way. So confident were the swifts in their superior speed, that every time they circled round the island they never failed to ‘draw’ the falcons, and seemed to be playing with them. I may add that these same falcons have little difficulty in overhauling and striking a rock-pigeon—itself no mean performer. I have also seen on record the case of falcons and swifts somewhere in India, where the former failed time after time to come up with his quarry. I, unfortunately, cannot trace the reference.

“I hesitate even to guess at the speed to which a swift can attain when the necessity arises, but the main point is that this, the fastest of birds, can increase his feeding speed of, say, 70 miles per hour, to a velocity which must exceed 100 miles per hour.”

In the tables given above[16] Colonel Meinertzhagen estimates the speed of the normal and migratory rate of flight of falcons at 40 to 48 miles an hour, whilst Captain Portal estimates the maximum speed of the peregrine falcon in level flight through still air at 62 miles an hour. Captain Portal adds that the speed given is for a good trained bird, and that a wild bird is faster.

In view of Colonel Meinertzhagen’s observations from his aeroplane and the figures given above, it would appear to be certain that the Alpine swift is faster than the peregrine falcon in horizontal flight.

We have now to consider the speed of the spine-tailed or needle-tailed swift. There seems to be no doubt that this bird is a much faster flier than the Alpine swift, though at first sight and without a careful examination of the skeletons, it is difficult to state why this should be so. I have compared various specimens of the two birds, and there appears to be little difference in their size. Colonel Meinertzhagen, who has been so kind as to discuss the subject with me, agrees that the spine-tailed swift is the faster flier, and tells me that he thinks it is probably the heavier bird of the two, and that this may account for its greater rapidity of flight.

The wing of the Alpine swift is 8·45 inches, that of the spine-tailed swift is 8·1 inches. The length of both birds is 8 inches,[17] although Dresser[18] gives the total length as 8·5 and that of the spine-tailed swift as 8·1 inches.

The genus Chaetura, to which the needle-tailed swift belongs, is easily distinguishable from the genus Apus (to which the common swift and Alpine swift belong) by the wedge-shaped tail in which the shafts of the feathers are longer than the webs and protrude like spines. The tail in the only species (Chaetura caudacuta caudacuta) occurring in the British Isles, compared with that of the Alpine swift, is very short. It is almost square, and has ten feathers, which are very stiff and the shafts of which project 4-6 mm. (·156-·234 inch) beyond the web in a stiff point like that of a needle or spine.[19]

The shafts of the primaries are very strong and the wings very long. Gould[20] says, in reference to the spine-tailed swift, in a passage which is quoted in Seebohm:[21] “The keel or breast bone of this species is more than ordinarily deep and the pectoral muscles more developed than in any of its weight with which I am acquainted.” Probably the last-mentioned facts largely account for its superiority in speed over the Alpine swift.

In an article entitled “The Twelve Swiftest Birds of Australia,”[22] in which Mr. E. S. Sovenson gives the views of himself and various friends of his as to the relative speed of Australian birds, he says that after long observation he and they have no hesitation in stating that the spine-tailed swift is the swiftest Australian bird, and states that its speed has been computed at 180 miles an hour.

“Besides its swiftness,” he writes, “it is almost tireless of wing, being second only in that respect to the frigate bird, the bird of eternal flight. Both have very long wings in relation to the body—an indication of rapid flight. The swift, a bird of passage which crossed the wide sea after breeding in Japan, is not known to alight in Australia, where it spends a considerable time hunting its insect prey in the upper air.”

In A History of the Birds of Europe,[23] Dresser writes: “The present species (Acanthyllis caudacuta or Chaetura caudacuta caudacuta) and Acanthyllis gigantea are said to be the swiftest birds in existence. Tickell says that he never witnessed anything equal to the prodigious swiftness of its movements.”

Chaetura caudacuta cochinchinensis (which is to be found in Malacca, Sumatra, and Cochin China) is a form of the spine-tailed swift allied to that species (Chaetura caudacuta caudacuta) which is so rare a visitor here. I have examined and compared numerous specimens of these three species of spine-tailed swifts, and it would seem practically certain, in view of their similarity in size and structure, that their speed must be similar.

Mr. E. Stuart Baker, who has made experiments as to the speed of the Chaetura nudipes and the Chaetura cochinchinensis, writes:[24] “Both these species have a normal flighting speed of something very nearly approaching 200 miles an hour, enormously in excess of the powers of any other bird with which I am acquainted. In North Cachar, Assam, these birds used to fly directly over my bungalow in Haflang, flying thence in a straight line to a ridge of hills exactly two miles away, and when over the ridge at once dipping out of sight. We constantly timed these swifts and found that stop-watches made them cover this distance in from 36 seconds to 42 seconds, i.e. at a rate of exactly 200 miles an hour to 171·4.”

Writing of the Chaetura nudipes Mr. W. T. Blanford, F.R.S., says:[25] “This and the other large spine-tails are, I believe, absolutely the swiftest of living birds. Their flight far exceeds that of the Alpine swift, and I doubt if any falcon can approach them in speed. They are generally seen in scattered flocks that play about for a time and disappear at a pace that must be seen to be appreciated.”

The same ornithologist refers[26] to the Chaetura indica or brown-necked spine-tailed swift, which is a larger species (length about 9 inches, tail 2·6—wing 8—tarsus 6·8), as being “equal or possibly even superior in speed to Chaetura nudipes—so wonderful is their flight that Mr. H. R. P. Carter remarked that a flock of Alpine swifts, passing over immediately after some of the present species, ‘seemed to fly like owls after the arrow-like speed of the spine-tails.’”

I think, therefore, that if the speed in horizontal flight is alone to be considered, the spine-tailed swift is the fastest bird which flies in the British Isles, that the Alpine swift comes next; then come the northern falcons (or as they are usually called, gyr-falcons) and the peregrine falcon, in the order named, except in the case of a very short flight, in which case the Golden Plover and teal, being faster off the mark and better sprinters, will fly more quickly than the falcons, though they will, when the latter really get going, be gradually overtaken.

There remains for consideration the speed of the golden eagle and falcon in their downward flight, when stooping at their prey. There is no certain method of comparing their respective speeds in this unique kind of flight either with one another or with the speed of other birds which never fly in this way. In considering the question of the relative speed of the two birds in this particular kind of flight, I will first deal with the matter on principle and then consider such evidence of eye-witnesses as I have been able to obtain. The falcon has of course one great advantage over the eagle as regards equipment for swift flight. He has the long pointed wings typical of the true falcon, whereas the eagle has rounded wings. As between birds of similar size and spread of wings, the bird with pointed wings is faster than the one with rounded wings. Thus a blackcock is undoubtedly faster than a pheasant although their bodies are about the same size, or to be more accurate the blackcock is rather smaller than the pheasant. A striking instance of this was recently given in the Field[27] by Mr. G. Denholm Armour, who wrote: “Some years ago a friend asked me to come to Argyllshire late in the autumn to shoot some black-game which lived in the birch and fir woods hanging along the lower parts of the hills.

“Our method was to place ourselves in a break in the line of woods at the bottom of the hill, sending two or three men to drive the wood towards us. The result was usually very high birds flying downhill and very fast. On several occasions at the same time came a blackcock and a cock pheasant, of which there were a few in almost every drive. Incidentally, most of the pheasants we shot were old birds with long spurs, so were very strong on the wing. In each case—and I noticed several—the blackcock outflew the pheasant by what seemed to be about 50 per cent in pace, leaving him as a racing car would a ‘runabout.’

“The chance of comparison was very interesting, being between birds of much the same weight and size, both started under the same conditions, and I think ‘doing their best.’ Had the blackcock come alone, I think his much slower wing beat would have made one think him the slower flier of the two.”

The blackcock and grouse have wings exactly alike—but the blackcock is heavier than the grouse and much faster.

With the exception of the difference in the wings mentioned above, the structure of the eagle and falcon is very similar, and as has been pointed out, the larger of two birds of similar structure once it gets going is almost invariably faster, owing no doubt to its superior muscular power and driving force.

In comparing the downward flight of the eagle and falcon it is also necessary to recollect the advantage which the former has by reason of its much greater weight.

It is difficult to obtain thoroughly reliable records of the weights of the golden eagle and the different falcons; but so far as I can ascertain, the weight of the eagle varies from 8½ to 12½ lb., that of the gyr-falcon from 3 to 3¾ lb., and that of the peregrine from 2 to 3 ounces under 2 lb. to 2¾ lb., in each case of course the female bird being heavier than the male.

But for the resistance of the air, all bodies, light or heavy, small or large, would fall at the same rate. In fact, however, as velocity increases a notable air resistance is set up which increases rapidly. The velocity of a body falling freely in vacuo is over forty miles per hour at the end of two seconds, over sixty at the end of three seconds, and so on.

We all know by experience the great force exerted by a wind of a velocity even as low as thirty miles an hour, which most people would call a hurricane. But it is not perhaps so generally known that in proportion to its weight, other things such as shape and specific gravity being similar, a small body experiences much greater resistance than a large body. The resistance of the air to the fine particles of vapour which constitute a cloud is such that they only fall at the same rate of a few feet per hour. And in the case of two birds of similar shape and specific gravity, but one eight times the weight of the other, the larger bird would ultimately attain a velocity roughly twice as great as the other, if both fell for a sufficient distance to attain their limiting velocities, i.e. the velocity at which the resistance offered by the air is equal to the attraction of gravity. Similarly if the one bird were four times the weight of the other, the velocity ultimately attained under the conditions mentioned would be roughly one and a half times as great as the other.

In “Notes by an Old Stalker” in the Field for September 9, 1922 (p. 370) there appears the following interesting account of a duel between a golden eagle and a peregrine which the writer himself witnessed:

“Although by a long way our most powerful bird, the eagle is by no means a match for some much smaller combatants. Once I saw an eagle soaring placidly along when from a range of precipices immediately below him a falcon shot up into the air. Without a moment’s hesitation he attacked the giant bird. The eagle at once joined combat, and through the telescope I could see his efforts to hit his adversary with beak and wing. One blow from either and it would be all over with the falcon; but the latter evidently realised this and regulated his tactics accordingly. The movements of the eagle were slow and cumbrous compared to the rapid action and lithe activity of his adversary. Every time he dodged the eagle’s stroke and, wheeling rapidly, got in his blow before the huge bird could recover himself. That the eagle was in a great rage was evident, for I could hear him emitting sounds that resembled nothing so much as the bark of a terrier. Finally, realising the hopelessness of the contest, he took to flight. I previously knew that the eagle was fast on wing, but the speed he now exhibited was a revelation to me. With half-extended, half-curved wings, showing never a tremor, he cleft the air straight as a bullet. The falcon pursued, but, being left hopelessly behind, soon gave up the chase.”

The flight of the eagle here described was obviously a glide or downward flight, when, as I have pointed out, gravity would assist his speed to a greater extent than it would in a bird of less weight—the peregrine.

In the case of a bird of prey descending from a height on its quarry, the nearer its downward flight is to the vertical the faster will it descend. In coming down on its prey, neither the eagle nor the falcon completely closes its wings, probably because if it did so, it would lose control. This is also true of the gannet or solan goose, which has been described as the largest and noblest-looking of our sea fowl. The great speed which a bird of large size can attain in downward flight can to some extent be realised by watching the gannet when he drops head first as he descends perpendicularly on to the fish in the water. I have carefully examined and compared the skeletons of the eagle and peregrine and have tried to form some idea as to the relative muscular power and driving force of the two birds, and bearing in mind the facts stated above, and the greatly superior size and weight of the eagle, it seems reasonable to conclude on principle that the eagle is probably faster than the gyr-falcon or peregrine in a downward flight, assuming that both birds are putting forth all their powers.

As regards the evidence of eye-witnesses, I have discussed this question with many stalkers. The majority of them have never seen the eagle stoop at its quarry and strike it a blow which sends it to the ground as the peregrine so often does—though they have seen the eagle seize its quarry in the air or pounce on it on the ground and carry it off. Only a few of these, however, have any doubt as a result of what they have heard from other stalkers and keepers that the eagle on occasion does adopt the former method.

It is, however, an undoubted fact that although the eagle generally captures birds which he is pursuing by seizing them in his talons or, to use the falconer’s term, binding on them, he occasionally stoops on and strikes them in the air, sending them hurtling to the ground in the same way as the peregrine does.

The reason why the eagle so rarely adopts this method is probably because it can secure its prey without doing so, and further if it were to exert all its powers when descending from a considerable height at an angle near the vertical on a grouse, blackcock, or ptarmigan (which do not usually fly very high above the ground), it would incur a serious risk of injury in consequence of being carried on by its impetus and dashing against the rocks or ground after striking down its prey.

THE GOLDEN EAGLE.

By V. R. Balfour-Browne.

The interesting, and I think significant, fact is that although some of these stalkers with whom I have discussed the question think that the peregrine probably flies faster than the eagle, every one of them who has seen the eagle kill its quarry in this way (and I know several) has told me that in his opinion the eagle in its final rush is faster than the peregrine. It is also important in this connection to bear in mind the fact on which Major Radclyffe lays such stress—that it is an optical illusion to imagine that a smaller-sized bird is flying faster than a larger bird of similar shape and make, and that, as he says, ninety-nine sportsmen out of a hundred would probably tell you that a snipe flies faster than a woodcock—whereas the converse is true. An old keeper in the North, whom I have known for many years, told me that he had seen the eagle stoop at and strike his quarry in this way on two occasions, and that it moved in its final downward flight with the same lightning-like rapidity as the peregrine.

John Finlayson, the head stalker at Killilan, wrote to me last February as follows: “I have once plainly seen the eagle driving after grouse and striking it down very similar like what the peregrine falcon does. It happened at the north end of Corrie-ach. I was going up to Patt from Mulbuie way. A covey of grouse came tearing down from the low end of Aonachbuie in front of me, about 300 yards away, and an eagle in hot pursuit, wings gathered up, and making a swishing noise; going through the air it struck one down, with a cloud of feathers knocked out when it did so. The eagle glided up a little, then balanced and dropped down where the bird fell; it was a little over a ridge out of my view; when I got up to the place I saw the eagle well up the glen going fast with the bird in its talons.”

My gamekeeper, Donald McIver, who has lived all his life in Ross-shire, on one occasion saw an eagle strike and kill a blackcock. This is his account of it. “In the forest of Strathconan, where I was for a number of years, I once saw a very fine sight of an eagle pursuing a blackcock. The blackcock got up at the head of a very deep corrie and came over at a very great height. The eagle was about and soon after it. I could see him overtake the bird, and I would say that he struck him the same way as the peregrine does with his claw. I saw something drop, but could not make out what it was at the time; then the eagle doubled in the air and caught the bird before it reached the ground. None of the other eagles I have seen after their prey have struck it like this in the air. They have always clutched at their prey, but this time the eagle struck the bird and went right past him. I was not far off, and could hear a tremendous noise of the wings. When the eagle doubled back and caught the bird in the air I would judge that the bird would be as high up as three hundred feet, and when he doubled back I should think he was not fifty.

“Perhaps the narrowness of the corrie might be the reason for him taking the bird in the way he did—I went to the place and found the head of the blackcock; there was about three inches of skin hanging to the head, a tear like what would be done with the claw. This is the only time I ever saw an eagle kill a bird in the air, but it was a grand sight. This happened in January 1895, in Corrie Vullin, Strathconan.”

This amazing feat in aerial gymnastics is no doubt also performed on rare occasions by the peregrine. One of the most experienced of living falconers wrote to me as follows: “I have seen a very celebrated falcon which I owned for years bring off a remarkable trick several times. She used to strike at the back of the grouse’s head, and I have seen her just scalp the grouse, taking a piece out of its skull not as large as a pea, and thus killing the bird in mid-air just as if it was shot; often, when the grouse was high above the ground, I have seen the falcon then take a sharp turn in the air as the grouse was falling, like a spinning leaf, and pick it up in her feet before it could touch the ground—a very wonderful sight.”

An old friend of mine, who is head stalker in one of our best-known deer forests and whose veracity I have every reason to accept, told me an interesting story which further illustrates what fine feats in the air the peregrine falcon can perform. He said that on one occasion he saw a falcon strike and carry off a crow. As the falcon was circling higher and higher up, carrying off this crow, it was mobbed by a considerable number of other crows. For some time it ignored them, continuing its steady upward circling flight until one crow, becoming rather bolder than the rest, provoked the falcon into retaliation. Dropping the crow it was carrying, the falcon stooped on the troublesome crow, struck and killed it and, turning with extraordinary rapidity, caught in the air the dead crow which it had been carrying, and then recommenced its upward flight without further trouble from the crows.

WHERE THE GOLDEN EAGLE REIGNS.

From a Photograph by Frank Wallace.

The marvellous speed of the golden eagle and peregrine in their final rush, when stooping from a height at their quarry, must be seen to be believed. Few persons have been so fortunate as to have this opportunity in the case of the golden eagle, although this grand bird is often to be seen in some forests and has no doubt increased in numbers in recent years. On the other hand, there are of course many persons who have seen both the wild peregrine and the trained gyrfalcon and peregrine strike down their quarry.

The well-known ornithologist and wild-fowler, Mr. W. H. Robinson of Lancaster, in a letter in the Field of January 28, 1922, after stating from his own experience that the peregrine can overtake the golden plover and the curlew with the greatest ease, says: