may CANOEING AND NATURE-STUDY 129 



Now we leave the lake and enter the narrow stream which forms 

 the outlet. Lay aside your paddles and be ready with bird glasses 

 and note books, while I paddle "Indian style," not taking the blade 

 of my paddle from the water. A king fisher "winds up his reel" 

 angrily and flies down the waterway between the trees ahead of us. 

 Swallows are darting back and forth in numbers, hawking for mos- 

 quitoes, a service which we should appreciate. Glossy tree swal- 

 lows are carrying food to their young in the woodpecker's hole in 

 the dead willow, dull colored bank swallows skim low over the wa- 

 ter, and barn swallows and eave swallows twitter incessantly. 

 A few big purple martins are down from the colony at a nearby 

 farm, and if we are very lucky we may catch a glimpse of the pair 

 of rough-winged swallows whose nest I found one year on this 

 Ashland River, the only breeding record of the birds in the entire 

 State. If so, we will have seen all the species of New England 

 swallows in one small area. 



Many of the taller trees along the river have been killed by the 

 water backing up from the sawmill dam, and their dead tops 

 furnish observatories for a dozen different species of birds. Scores 

 of waxwings are flycatching from them, as well as kingbirds, chebecs, 

 wood pewees, redstarts, and vireos. We hear a few woodpeckers 

 drumming and are on .the alert for a possible glimpse of the big 

 pileated woodpecker whose work we often see in the woods. 

 In the lower growth, the alders and maples and tupelos, several 

 different kinds of bright-hued warblers are hunting, and we see 

 nests of kingbirds, yellowbirds, and a catbird. In a tussock of 

 coarse grass a redwing has woven his basket of grasses, and we pad- 

 dle over to watch the young birds. All is quiet in the nest for a 

 time. Now touch the edge very lightly with a finger tip, as a 

 returning bird might touch it in alighting. Presto! Every 

 blind and sleeping baby has suddenly waked, the yellow bills 

 have popped open and we seem to be looking at a bowl of small 

 orange tulips, as we gaze into the wide spread mouths. Insert a 

 fingertip into one of the mouths and feel the effort to swallow 

 made by the nestling! 



We worm our way up a narrow tributary brook, the birches meet- 

 ing over our heads. On both sides song sparrows and swamp spar- 

 rows are singing, and we hear the loud call of the northern water- 

 thrush. A phoebe calls persistently from, the bridge rail, and as 



