Back in days when mosquitoes, muck and heat were merely incidents, I stumbled on a nest with the bird on it. She flicked her head rapidly while sliding off and there was only a mound of reeds. Underneath were six dull green-brown eggs — they had been covered in a few seconds. I wanted that bird for my collection and camped right there for three hours. Her patience won. As the years went by and I met "Water witches" more often, the characteristic which impressed me most was their voice! I have watched youngsters riding on the parents' backs, following them in a hurrying little bunch — I've caught them, too, but never extinguished their lamp of life. Others have not always kept finger off trigger and how these birds survive in face of so many enemies is a miracle. Unless caught in close quarters they often evade danger, pseudo hunters, Hawks or minks, by diving and seeking reed-havens where only the bill is out of water.

All accomplishments fade before their extraordinary voice.

In Spring from our meadow comes — how-how-how-how-er-how-er-how?

It sounds like a lost spirit questioning the mystery of life. Then the love notes of the female — uh-her — uh-her — uh-her — huh! perhaps followed by a silly series of keggies. The male answers with loud queries War-you? war-you? war-you?

Sometimes the noise is so full of wailing that the first mate runs into the house! "Why — something is being killed down there!"