The upper Caithness moors are breeding ground for wildfowl, geese, ducks, widgeon, teal, plover, and snipe, all, or nearly all, make their way down to the lower ground, so soon as they can flap or fly.
They are not killed in the country to any extent, and if reduced by shooting, it must be by the punt guns in the south, wielded by Sir Ralph Payne Galwey and his colleagues.
As to golden plover, where seventeen years back there were a dozen pairs in the spring time, there will not be more than one or two.
A number of arctic birds nest on the flows, gulls of various kinds—the skua gull, redshanks, and greenshanks (a rare bird), black ducks, divers, and many others.
In the late October, there are considerable flocks of snow buntings.
[ Conclusion.]
My tale is now told. Despite the many bad seasons, the many disappointments, the rod and the gun have kept me going, more or less, year by year, and will, I trust, again, upon the home manor, the trout loch, and the salmon pool, and I have nothing to regret in my Glenmarkie and Dalnawillan leases.
They have afforded me, occasionally, splendid sport, and endless pleasure to my family and to myself.
The fine air of Caithness, direct from the Arctic Pole, the good water, and the healthy exercise, have contributed to their good health and mine, and to their well being, far more than trips to the English coast, or the Continent, whilst the lads have been made good sportsmen with rod and gun, and their holiday pursuits have given them genuine, honest tastes, as well as healthy recreation.