The Red-tailed Hawk 59 



a shaky bridge, up which we clambered a third of the 

 way to the nest. Hope led us on. We lassoed upper 

 branches, dug our climbing-irons into the bark and worked 

 slowly up. 



We found a stack of sticks the size of a small hay- 

 cock. They were not pitched together helter-skelter. A 

 big nest like a hawk's or heron's always gives me the im- 

 pression that it is easily thrown together. I examined this 

 one and found it as carefully woven as a wicker basket. 

 It was strong at every point. Sticks over a yard in length 

 and some as big as your wrist, were all worked into a 

 compact mass. In the hollowed top, on some bark and 

 leaves, lay the two eggs. 



I never saw a more commanding stronghold. It over- 

 looked the country for miles in every direction. From 

 where the hawk mother brooded her eggs I looked out 

 far up the Columbia, and I could see the cavern-cut slopes 

 of Mount Hood. Extending to the westward was the long 

 line of ponds and lakes, the red-tail's favorite hunting- 

 ground, while to the north lay the broad expanse of water, 

 and in the distance loomed up the domelike peak of St. 

 Helens, covered with perpetual snow. 



How could we ever secure a good series of pictures 

 at such a distance from the ground ? It looked impossible 

 at first, but a careful examination showed a rare arrange- 

 ment of nest and branches. If we could but hoist our 

 equipment there was no question as to photographs. Eight 

 feet below the aerie the trunk of the tree branched and 

 spread in such a way that we could climb to a point just 

 above the nest on the opposite limb. We strapped the 

 camera in a crotch that seemed built for the purpose, with 



