74 Bird - Lore 



Almost before we realize it, the brief summer is passing; heavy frosts are 

 upon us. Then there are twitterings and consultations — and suddenly the 

 song-birds have gone. 



The Arctic song-birds often elude classification. Their characteristics pecu- 

 liar to the mating season are apparently not always well known to the orni- 

 thologist in the south. 



Among the larger birds that visited us were the Emperor Goose, Canada 

 Goose, Old Squaw or Long-tailed Duck, Pintail (nesting near the village), and 

 the Mallard. I saw only one Canada Goose in our vicinity, a crippled gander 

 feeding by himself in a stream-bed. The Red-faced Cormorant and the Black- 

 throated and the Red-throated Loons nested on Sledge Island. On June 16 a 

 native shot a Whistling Swan on a lagoon back of the village. The bird meas- 

 ured 56 inches and weighed, when dressed, eighteen pounds. On the lagoons 

 we had both the Northern and the Red Phalarope. Back of the village, on 

 Bolder Creek, the little Sanderling nested. We also had the Pectoral Sand- 

 piper, the Dowitcher, and the Hudsonian Curlew. On lonely hillsides the 

 Golden Plover ran, uttering its sweet wild ter-lee. Our most common Gull was 

 the Herring Gull. Back on the banks of Synuk River nested that little des- 

 perado, the Arctic Tern. He darts at the heads of passers-by, and the Eskimos 

 believe he wishes to pick out their eyes. 



When the game-birds go south, they do not leave so unpretentiously as do 

 the little songsters. The Sandhill Cranes were apparently the first to go. The 

 miners who are back among the hills, where are their nesting-places, say they 

 begin to congregate several weeks before they migrate. Some convenient hill- 

 side is the meeting-place, and here there is much noisy coming and going. Early 

 and late they keep up a constant clamoring, consulting and arguing. At times, 

 too, a large party will make a short tour, perhaps trying out for captaincy. In 

 due time the plans are complete. The flock rises in the air, all the while bidding 

 us a noisy good-bye. They stretch their long necks like magnetic needles to 

 the south, and they are off. There is no changing of plans now. There is no 

 returning for something forgotten or a new start. They have gone and we will 

 see no more of them for seven long months. The Swans are the next to go, 

 flashing their great white wings against the blue sky. Then quickly follow the 

 Ducks and Geese. 



Of all the birds who come to us, I should dislike most to miss the passing of 

 the Canada Goose; and, indeed, they would not have us miss them. Their 

 honking may be heard before they are in sight, and it swells in volume until 

 the great flock in a symmetrical V, their strong wings beating the air in unison, 

 sweeps overhead. They are the embodied spirit of the changing seasons. When 

 they have gone, the portals of the Arctic, which opened in the spring to let the 

 birds come north, close again behind them. 



