48 DUCKING DAYS ' 



flight (usually at a great altitude) become bewildered at 

 the sight of a seductive lake in the heavens. They seem 

 to be inspired with the same feeling of intense interest 

 and awe which possesses manlrind when they first look 

 upon the face of Crater Lake. 



The wonder, surprise and amazement of our feathered 

 friends was depicted in their "killing flight," uncertainty 

 of locality and unwillingness to alight on a body of water 

 that was so misplaced and difficult of access for them. 

 Every movement they made truly denoted indecision and 

 alarm. At the time I arrived at the crater a blinding 

 snowstorm shut out the view. The atmosphere was very 

 ''snappy" and bracing — a temperature that starts one's 

 blood rapidly coursing through the veins and his chest 

 to expand as the uncanned ozone was inhaled. 



As I walked up to the rim the veil of snow was dis- 

 sipated by the appearance of the sun breaking through 

 the mist and glinting down upon a bank of settling 

 clouds one-half mile away, which to the eye was im- 

 penetrable. Shafts of light were seen dancing upon the 

 surface of the water 2,000 feet below the point I was 

 then standing on, anchored in awe and amazement. 



Circling around the walls of the crater, a flock of mal- 

 lards were on a tour of inspection. They swung near 

 my vantage point, their kaleidoscopic colorings flashing 

 in the reflected sunlight as they made their spiral glides, 

 dips and counter flights. Every move they made was 



