Bird Lovers' Victory

First they came in a trickle, then by the hundreds and thousands, to look up at the 50-ft. pine beside Loch Garten, 35 miles southeast of Inverness, Scotland. By last week, little more than a month since the announcement, more than 10,000 pilgrims had viewed the untidy nest of sticks among the branches. Its occupants: a family of ospreys (fish hawks) with three fledglings--the first to be hatched in Britain since 1916. When the young birds flap off on their own in a week or two, they will mark a signal victory of British bird lovers over their ancient enemies, British egg collectors.

No bird ever had a rougher time from ooelogists than the osprey. The great hawk is fascinating enough in life, with its striking black-and-white plumage, 5-ft. wing span and spectacular 100-ft. plunges into the water after fish. But the eggs are truly remarkable: as big as hens' eggs, and speckled in a kaleidoscope of purple, orange, red, lilac, buff, chestnut, violet and black. After the turn of the century, osprey eggs were so much in demand that a set of three brought up to $140--and the bird was on its way out in Britain.* In 1916 the British government put ospreys on the protected list (current penalty: up to 28 days in jail, $70 per egg), but it was too late. The last pair in the British Isles had died or emigrated.

In April 1958 a wave of excitement swept through Britain's museums and bird clubs. After a 42-year absence, a pair of ospreys was spotted at Loch Garten. Ornithologist George Waterston, Scottish representative of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, stood guard while the hen laid three eggs. The ooelogist enemy was watching, too. At 2 a.m. one dark night, an egg snatcher climbed the tree. The defenders gave chase, but the ooelogist escaped into a nearby forest, dropping and smashing two of the eggs as he fled.

Ospreys normally return to the same mating place year after year. Would these return? As bird lovers waited, the first report came on April 18: the male was back; three days later, the female followed. The ornithologists were ready. In a campaign that rivals the efforts to protect North America's whooping crane, Waterston and his aides strung barbed wire around the base of the tree, planted the vicinity with booby traps, built an observation post with a covered approach. Relays of guards kept 24-hour watch, helped at night by a parabolic microphone so sensitive that they could hear the female panting on the nest--or any sly ooelogist footsteps.

Not until the middle of June, when the young were safely hatched, did Waterston tell his proud secret. By then the young birds were almost as big as squabs on their diet of a pound of fish daily, and the written record of their family life filled 1,250 pages. Next year, if all goes well, there will be more osprey families on bonny Scotland's barbed-wire braes.

* Though not in the U.S., where their bulky nests are common sights along both coasts and on inland waterways.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.