284 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



breasts, with a groove at each side worn by the 

 feel like this U\ fU 



The sitting room was large enough for the male 

 to -hare it at night. The nest was a rim of fish 

 bones, crayfish shells, grasshopper bones, and berry 

 seeds that the brooding bird had regurgitated in 

 a wall around her. After the young were a few 

 days old, I dug into the tunnel, where it entered 

 the nest, cutting out a piece of surface sod, and 

 arranged a board to support it. In this way, I 

 had access to the nest while the old birds were 

 fishing. I frequently removed and photographed 

 the young. At the same time, I began training the 

 old birds to become accustomed to a camera, fo- 

 cused on their location from the top of a tall ladder, 

 set up in the frog pond below the nest. During 

 the winter, the rains ran into the opening I had 

 made, causing the tunnel to cave in. On their 

 return in the spring, the same pair of birds dug 

 another tunnel and nest not two feet north of and 

 on a line with the first. The face of the wall from a 

 distance looked like that of a frowning giant, hav- 

 ing deeply set eyes. I always have felt rather 

 conscience stricken over imposing this second task 

 of tunnelling on these birds. They surely were 

 experts, taking turns at the work and completing 

 the heavy task in ten days. 



I never have seen larks or bobolinks construct 

 their nests, so I d<> not know whether these males 

 work. I should think probably not. There is 



