Bird-Life in the Klondike 



BY TAPPAN ADNEY 



Author of ' The Klondike Stampede,' etc. 



IT is less from the point of view of the naturalist than of the miner 

 that I know the birds of Klondike — we were all 'miners,' in a 

 sense, who went to Klondike in the midst of that unparalleled ex- 

 :itement. So strenuous were the exertions required to keep body and 

 soul together that there was small time to think of anything which did 

 not supply one with food or raiment. We were somewhat like the 

 >avage who names only conspicuous and useful birds, and throws aside 

 :he rest as unworthy of notice. In summer many birds might escape 

 jbservation ; in winter, in the dead silence of arctic winter, it would 

 5eem, surely, that no stir of any kind would fail to be noticed. Yet a 

 :rained observer, the author of one of the best books relating to the 

 human affairs of that country, who used to pass my cabin on Bonanza 

 :reek almost daily, has written : ' The Raven and the little Starling are 

 the only birds, except the game birds, that one ever sees or hears for 

 sight long, dreary months.' 'Game birds' doubtless means Ptarmigan; 

 ' Starling,' I cannot guess. Surely a short list. 



In the Raven, however, he has pointed out what I should call ' the 

 bird of the Klondike.' In winter and in summer this great Corvus is 

 everywhere seen and its hollow, metallic ' klonk ' is the most characteristic 

 sound. Conspicuous its black flapping against the white snows, its 

 uncanny croak falling upon the ear; to the traveler along the dreary 

 wastes of the frozen Yukon, it seems so fitting a part of the somber 

 landscape that the impression is not readily effaced. Partaking of the 

 cautious disposition of its relative of the cornfield, nevertheless in winter 

 it visits the cabin yards of the miners in search of the few waste morsels 

 of food and it follows the hunters and the roving bands of wolves, feed- 

 ing on the offal of moose and reindeer which they kill. But it ever 

 remains a mystery how life is sustained during those long, dreary months. 

 In summer they build their nests and rear their young upon the tall 

 inaccessible cliffs which line the Upper Yukon. 



Had I known my friend was about to write, virtually, ' there are no 

 birds in Klondike,' I could have taken him, almost any day in winter, 

 to the door of my cabin and this is what he might have seen and heard. 

 First let me describe the spot : 



Bonanza creek, coursing through a V-shaped cleft in the almost 

 barren hills, reaches the broad alluvial valley of the Klondike river. This 

 flat is covered with tall spruce, many being a foot in diameter, and 

 growing as thickly together as anywhere in the world. Among the 

 evergreens are thickets of small white birches, nowhere whiter or more 



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