. The peregrine falcon at the eyrie. er and darker than her young, with her blackcap, she looks like a cowled monk engaged with his acolytes insome mysterious rite. Eagerly pressing on her, they graduallydrive her backwards until all are lost to sight under the rocks ;but still the whimpering continues. In a few minutes the youngcrowd into view again, and I perceive the Falcon on C. She hasher back to the eyrie, is staring haughtily towards me and paysno attention to the suppliant crowd behind her. Then she is gone,the whimpering dies out, the young go one by one, the gloom deepensinto night a
. The peregrine falcon at the eyrie. er and darker than her young, with her blackcap, she looks like a cowled monk engaged with his acolytes insome mysterious rite. Eagerly pressing on her, they graduallydrive her backwards until all are lost to sight under the rocks ;but still the whimpering continues. In a few minutes the youngcrowd into view again, and I perceive the Falcon on C. She hasher back to the eyrie, is staring haughtily towards me and paysno attention to the suppliant crowd behind her. Then she is gone,the whimpering dies out, the young go one by one, the gloom deepensinto night and I settle down to sleep with the thunder of thebreakers as a lullaby, interspersed with the reedy grunting of theshag coming home late to her nest below me. When I awake inthe chill dawn to the thunder of the surf, I find the eyrie grey andsilent and turn to the comfort of hot tea from a Thermos, fromwhich I am disturbed, at , by loud whimpering, and amjust in time to see the Falcon, with some effort, dragging a razorbill. A YOUNG MALE IN FOURTH , PUUe speed 250, Subject number 100, Stop Fll, Exposure l-lOOsec. 56 It takes many puffins to make a peregrine. up into the eyrie. As the bird is just about her own size, itshows how powerful she is. This time all disappear under the rocksand I see nothing of the feeding. After about ten minutes sheappears again, looks sternly in my direction, raises her wings,jumps on to C and, as she stands there for some minutes haughtilyignoring her clamouring young, a gory white feather sticking toher beak quivers disregarded in the cold morning breeze. Thewings of the razor-bill have been lying in the eyrie all the morning,and I had intended to identify them at the end of my watch ; butat II , after the sixth meal, the Tiercel picked them up in hisbeak, then bent down and transferred them to his talons and,stumbling to the edge of the eyrie, dropped into the air and flew I heard the Tiercel calling, and the
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