PATROLLING THE BEACH 



the Pacific fulmar petrel, a relative of the albatross, although 

 much smaller in size. It appears to be one of the most fre- 

 quent victims of the winter gales, despite its powerful and 

 sustained flight. I have seen it in its Alaskan summer home, 

 nesting upon the bare rock cliffs of Bering Sea, or lightly 

 skimming the waves on outstretched pinions, motionless save 

 for an occasional flutter; but here it has found a last resting- 

 place upon the wave-swept sands of our inhospitable coast. 



Farther along on the beach are some little creatures in mo- 

 tion, and we press on for a nearer view. They are running 

 about perilously near to the crashing breakers, but nimbly 

 escaping every onrushing wave. They resemble plovers or 

 sandpipers with their slender legs, long, sharply pointed wings, 

 and white breasts, but they prove to be surf birds, and as we 

 get nearer to them we see the plain brown color of their backs. 

 They are too shy for close inspection, however, and go scud- 

 ding away with the wind at the first intimation of danger. 



Again our attention is arrested by a dead bird on the beach, 

 a Brandt's cormorant, which has succumbed to the elements, 

 and, not far from it, a Pacific black-throated loon. Here is a 

 creature almost as much at home underneath the water as upon 

 the surface, yet unable to endure the fierce shock of the waves. 

 Continuing our quest we find that other redoubtable diver, the 

 western grebe. The smooth sheen of the white breast is con- 

 spicuous even when the feathers are wet and soiled with sand, 

 and we notice the black cap extending in a line down the back 

 of the long, slender neck, and merging into the dark grayish 

 brown of the back. That long, sharp beak will never more 

 cause consternation among the schools of little fish that throng 

 the coast waters. 



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