Outer Green Island off the coast of Maine is an islet well off shore. When we anchored under its lee, rollers from a previous storm were breaking on its seaward edge. In this turmoil of waves a flock of about fifty PHALAROPES were playing and feeding, evading the tumbling walls of water with incredible ease. Only about half a dozen were full-plumaged females and I watched with trepidation what seemed like deliberate flirting with death. When the sickle seemed swinging directly at one, a flirt of wings or feet and the blow failed. Under the lee of those few rocky acres was quiet water but they would have none of it. They did They did not seem to be feeding — just twisting the tail of the Old Fellow with a scythe and getting plenty of thrills out of the sport.
Arctic North America to southern South America.