140 Bird - Lore 



flash out once more to beat the air three times in rapid succession, and are 

 stayed again while the bird draws himself erect, braces his tail across the log, 

 and seems to fling the whole force of his physical being into the next wing- 

 strokes, till the short, staccato thumps run together and reverberate in the 

 roar of the roll. While the madness of the moment is still on him, he rises on 

 tiptoe, his tail carried high, his ruffs spread, as if to challenge an unseen rival. 

 A moment after, his tail droops slowly and the ruff's subside. 



From a hillside a quarter of a mile away there travels on the still air the 

 measured thumping of another Grouse, while from the shelter of a swamp, 

 even farther away, comes a half-heard pulsation, like a distant echo. It is a 

 mysterious and subtle summons. 



If you have withstood all temptations to move hand or foot during the 

 interval of silent watchfulness that follows the drumming, you may see a repe- 

 tition of the performance, but seen or heard a hundred times, the mystery will 

 remain. It is white magic played in open sunshine. 



Though the dawn receives the larger share of this martial music, the setting 

 sun is not without honor, and even the moon has power to wake in the Grouse 

 the desire to mount his log and beat the night air with his wings. It was on a 

 cold night in April that I lay on the ground in the moonlight and the mist, 

 about a hundred yards from a well-used drum-log, while a cock Grouse, 

 unmindful of the hour, drummed until just before the sun rose. A Whip-poor- 

 will sang, and I shivered under a single blanket, but in spite of the cold, or 

 because of it, the Grouse sent out his booming call at three-minute intervals, 

 like an inland fog-horn of the dripping woods. 



I will confess to an absorbing fascination in the habits of this bird, and, 

 oftener than any note of Thrush or Warbler, the drum-beat of the Ruffed 

 Grouse has lured me from the trail, and led me, like a will-o'-the-wisp, upon 

 many a winding quest; for there is a ventriloqual quality to the drumming 

 that provokes curiosity as to its source and at the same time disarms pursuit. 



You must be an adept at crawling if you would watch this bird at close 

 range, and even then fortune must favor you. By walking swiftly in his direc- 

 tion every time that the bird drums and by remaining motionless during the 

 interval of quiet, you may sometimes approach to within thirty yards, if the 

 cover be thick or an intervening ridge hide you from view. Whether you 

 succeed in creeping nearer depends upon the position in which the Grouse is 

 standing, the cover which you may utilize for your concealment, and your 

 capacity for remaining motionless in whatever intolerable position the cessa- 

 tion of the drumming may find you. On one occasion, by taking advantage of 

 two large stumps that lay between me and the log on which he was strutting, 

 I was able to crawl to within twenty feet of a cock Grouse, from which point of 

 vantage I watched him drum to my heart's content. At another time, at the 

 edge of a little alder swamp, where the ground was soggy and no tell-tale leaf 

 or dry twig betrayed my tortuous progress, I succeeded in reaching the upturned 



