Bird Watching

by Edmund Selous

However the meeting takes place, when the birds are together one of them will commonly bow its head down towards the ground in a heavy sort of manner, whilst the other stands facing it with the head and bill lifted into the air. All at once one of the birds—usually, I think, the caller, if either has remained at home—turns round, raises its wings above its back, and holding them thus, makes a heavy sort of spring or running leap forward along the ground. This it does several times, lowering the wings each time that it pauses, and raising them again to make the leap. From this it might be thought that the bird flew rather than leapt, but this, when I saw it, did not appear to me to be the case. It did not fly, but only jumped with the wings held up. The birds are now apart again as before, but after a short interval the one that has behaved in this odd way returns, and they again stand vis-à-vis, regarding each other, but this time without so much bowing or raising of the head. Then one of them—and I think it is the same one—turning as before, there is almost an exact repetition, and this may take place some three or four times in the course of an hour.

The two will then often take wing and fly for a while together, sometimes over the sea, but more often in a series of wide circles round and about their home. They are masters of flight, and, after two or three flaps, will glide for long distances without an effort, alternately rising and sinking, varying their direction by a turn of the head or, as it seems, by presenting the broad surface of their wings to the different points of the compass, and sweeping either with or against the wind, apparently with equal ease. Or, with the wind blowing violently (its normal state), they will neither advance nor recede, and it is certainly a very surprising thing to see one of these great sombre-plumaged birds hanging motionless, or almost motionless at but a foot or so above the long coarse grass, which is being all the while bent and swayed in the direction towards which its head is turned; if it advances at all, it is against the bend of the grass.

But though I have said that the great skua is a master of flight, I have not yet termed its flight either graceful or majestic. For a long time, indeed (during which I had only seen it near its temporary home), I was unable to do so, not, at least, with a full conviction, for though I admired it, yet there seemed always to be in it some want which I felt, but was unable to define. It puzzled me, but at last I discovered what it was, and my discovery, which acquits the bird and is to the honour of nature, I will give as I wrote it down directly after I had made it.

"One of the great skuas has now flown right out to sea. There its flight, which is peculiar, becomes instantly very graceful. Descending with a sweep, which, though majestic, is yet soft and gentle, it seems about to sink upon the waves, when, almost as it touches them, it glides again softly upwards, to descend once more in the same manner. Thus, ever rising and sinking, seeming always about to rest, yet never resting, it glides, tireless, and seems to coquet with the sea. On land, too, these wide circling sweeps had had a grace and charm, but it had not entirely pleased the eye. Something had been absent, but what that something was, it had been beyond me to say. Now, I knew it. What it wanted had been the illimitable plain of the ocean which, in a moment, took away all heaviness from the form and all harshness from the colouring. The sombreness of the sea blends now with its own, and the waves are moving with its own motion. All is in harmony, the picture has found its frame." Gulls, too, are more graceful when they sweep over the sea than the shore near it. They have then softness and expanse as a background. The latter, I think, is the more important, and may be unconsciously demanded by association of ideas. Earth had not been wide enough for the great skua.

Great Skuas: Nuptial Flight and Pose.

Often when one of the great skuas is circling round, and the other standing at its post, this one will stretch itself up and raise its wings above the back every time its partner passes. This raising of the wings enters into one of the most salient of the many nuptial antics of this bird, which I will now describe. In its completest form it commences aerially. "The two birds have been circle-soaring one above the other, and are now at a considerable height above one of their chosen standing-places, when the lower one floats with the wings extended, but raised very considerably—half-way, perhaps, towards meeting over the back—an action which, in their flight, is uncommon. As it does this it utters a note like 'a-er, a-er, a-er' (a as in 'as'), upon which, as at a signal, the other one floats in the same manner, and both now descend thus, together, to the ground. Standing, then, the one behind the other, at about a yard's distance and faced the same way, both of them throw up their heads, raise their wings above their backs, pointing them backwards, and stand thus for some seconds fixed and motionless, looking just like an heraldic device. At the same time they utter a cry which sounds like 'skirrr' or 'skeerrr.' The foremost bird then flies off, and is instantly followed by the other."

If the wings were not extended, this pose would somewhat resemble that of the great plovers, for though the neck is stretched more forwards, it is curved in the same curious way, and the head, though held high, is bent towards the ground. The wings, however, give it quite a different character, and I have, I feel sure, seen some figures of birds on a shield whose attitude bore a wonderful resemblance to that of these skuas. May not some of the figures of animals in heraldry have come right down from savage times, even if they do not represent totems? Savages, as we know, catch the more salient and strongly characterised attitudes of animals with wonderful truth and force.

The two birds will often (as might be expected) assume this pose without any previous descent on upraised wings, and, presumably, such descent need not be followed either by this or any other special attitude. Also, when so posing, they do not always stand in line, but indifferently sometimes, as far as relative position is concerned, though at the same approximate distance from one another. I have seen the descent followed by the pose, but not in line, and I have seen the pose exactly as I have described it, but not preceded by the descent.

Obviously (or, at least, in all probability), the birds would be as likely to stand in line when posing on one occasion as on another, and I have therefore put them into line here to give a picture of this nuptial sport when at its best and fullest.