BIRDS NEAR MUIR GLACIER 213 



Of the more delicate land birds, however, it seemed im- 

 possible that any could exist in such a spot. At the head 

 of the inlet the glacier wound down from the distant moun- 

 tain range, and discharged its bergs into the water with an 

 intermittent roar like thunder. Upon both sides the shores 

 were treeless and precipitous, save where the dreary mo- 

 notony of the moraine stretched out its undulating mass 

 of gravel. The mountains were dark, forbidding, and 

 steep, with nothing to cover the naked rock or soften its 

 outlines. To search for song birds in such a spot would 

 seem an idle task. 



On a memorable Sunday morning I went for a tramp in 

 company with John Burroughs. Provided with lunch, 

 field glasses, and camera, we were landed on the eastern 

 shore. Crossing the rough mass of gravel piled into hills 

 and valleys, we jumped the rushing torrent that carried 

 the melting water from the glacier, and began to ascend. 

 It was steep, rough work, compelling us to stop fre- 

 quently for breathing spells. Climbing up the wall of 

 shale and slate we found ourselves upon a little flat space 

 where a clump of low alders grew, and here, to our sur- 

 prise, the dainty summer warbler in his golden coat, with 

 the fine reddish streakings upon his breast, was singing 

 the same animated song that he sings along the Hudson 

 River and in the groves of California. He and his little 

 mate had sought out this oasis amid rock and ice, and 

 hither they had come the long journey to rear their brood in 

 seclusion. 



We rested amid the alders, took a drink from the moun- 

 tain torrent that poured down over the rocks from the 

 snow drifts above, and finally started on what proved to 

 be a very hard, rough scramble over the precipitous shale 

 to the summit. 



After we had looked long and lingeringly at the view, 

 we turned our attention to the birds, a goodly number of 



