He was trying to shoot curlew as they passed over his hiding-place on their way to the mud banks where they feed further along the coast.
Now if there is a thing in the world which calls for the exercise of man's every faculty it is curlew shooting in a mist.

Perhaps he may wait for an hour or even two hours and see nothing, not even an oyster-catcher.

Then at last from miles away comes the faint wild call of curlew on the wing.

He strains his eyes, the call comes nearer, but nothing can he see.

At last, seventy yards or more to the right, he catches sight of the flicker of beating wings, and, like a flash, they are gone.