88 



THE OOIOGIST. 



and, in the Sapsucker's case, at least, 

 it is now, perhaps, purely instinctive. 



More light on this subject is needed. 

 Who knows? 



Ten years ago the entire row of trees 

 was so badly tipped over during a wind 

 storm that it was necessary to take 

 them oat and the Yellow-bellied Sap- 

 sucker is rarely seen and does not make 

 any extended stay there now. 



ERNEST H. SHORT. 



SOME HAWKING TRIPS. 

 II. A Day with Swainson's. 



By HARRY H. DUNN. 



As has not infrequently proven the 

 case with other oological finds, I came 

 into possession of my first set of Swain- 

 son's Hawk eggs in an entirely acci- 

 dental way. I was driving slowly up 

 the bed of the Santa Anna River in 

 Orange county, California, when I saw 

 the mouth of what was seemingly a 

 short and narrow canyon, breaking out 

 of the hills on the south side. The day 

 was very warm, I was alone and did 

 not feel like tackling the dense growth 

 of willow scrub which covered the 

 banks of the stream, so, unhitching my 

 horse and staking him -in a luxurious 

 bed of wild clover, I struck out up this 

 canyon. 



One of- my inseparable companions on 

 all these trips is a small hatchet and a 

 pocketful of large nails. I have climb- 

 ed some tough trees thus armed, nailing 

 steps as I went up, and, if I wished to 

 keep the tree for future visits, tearing 

 them off as I came down. I am willing 

 to admit that this method is not so good 

 as the use of a rope, but it is much less 

 work to carry the hammer and nails 

 than to burden one's self with a hund- 

 red feet or so of rope of a suitable size. 

 Then, too, rope, like a ladder, some 

 times arouses suspicion in the farmer's 

 breast. And you can bet that the farm- 

 er is a "bird protectionest" every time 

 when the oologist comes to him with a 



request. Anent this I can and will tell 

 a good story on a deputy game warden 

 of Southern California in a later one 

 of these papers. 



Well, to return to my Swainson's — 

 the date was April 16th, late for Rap- 

 tores in this region, but I hoped to find 

 a stray Screech Owl covering four or 

 five fresh eggs provided the canyon 

 were at all wooded. A few hundred 

 yards up the gorge widened out and I 

 could see it stretching on for some two 

 or three miles into the heart of the 

 hills. All the way it seemed heavily 

 wooded with Sycamores and water 

 beeches, with here and there an oak. 

 Here was a field indeed, one into which 

 I had reason to believe no collector had 

 ever stepped. Kingbirds and other 

 Flycatchers were busy among the green 

 branches. Sparrow Hawks wove leisure- 

 ly their way to and from their nests in 

 dead trees further up the canyon and 

 then, suddenly out of the clear sky, fell 

 the scream of a hawk. There was no 

 mistaking the family to which the mak- 

 er of the noise belonged. He was a 

 Hawk, but what species? Not a Red- 

 tail, that was certain ; not a Sparrow 

 Hawk ; maybe Krider's. I had long 

 been watching for this form of the Red- 

 tail, which I am sure breeds in Orange 

 county, but once more I was disappoint- 

 ed. The second scream drew my 

 straining eyes to a very dark bird, not- 

 iceably smaller than a Red-tail, tumb- 

 ling and playing in midair a short dis- 

 tance up the canyon. At first I did not 

 recognize the bird, and it was evident 

 that he had not even sighted me as yet. 

 Keeping under cover of the trees, I 

 made my way toward a tall Sycamore 

 I had marked as quite near his play- 

 ground. Arrived there, looking upward 

 through the dense canopy of leaves, I 

 saw, not the flying bird, but a small 

 and compact nest, built close to the 

 body ofjthe tree and not over thirty-five 

 feet from the ground. Here was luck, 

 and I^saidjto myself "Cooper's Hawk! 



