the willow warbler, and the red-throated pipit, occur as wanderers 
from Siberia at the end of July or in August, but return to Asia for the 
southward migration. 
The Pribilof, or Fur-Seal, Islands are the most notable part of 
Alaska for the number of Old World strays which have been taken 
there. Among these are the tufted duck, the European pochard, the 
long-toed stint, the ruff, Tegmalm’s owl, the Kamchatkan cuckoo, 
and the Japanese hawfinch. The information on this subject already 
obtained on these islands, despite so small an amount of work done, 
indicates that numerous other Old World birds are likely to be 
added to our fauna there. Wandering species appear to drop in at 
these islands much as they do on the island of Helgoland in the 
German Sea, which has become famed in bird-annals for the extraor¬ 
dinary number of its strange visitants. 
Braving an Arctic Winter 
In spite of its northern situation and the arctic conditions that 
prevail in winter over the greater part of the Territory, Alaska 
possesses a long list of birds that remain within its borders the year 
round, some even in the extreme north—hardy spirits that hold their 
own through all the severities of a boreal winter. 
Conspicuous among these is the Alaskan jay, the northern repre¬ 
sentative of the well known Canada jay, from which it differs only 
a little in coloration. Like the Canada jay, it is called “camp-robber” 
and “whisky-jack,” and is a common and familiar visitor to camps 
and villages, especially in winter, when these jays are amusingly, 
and often exasperatingly, audacious in their raids on any unguarded 
food. If encouraged they become extremely tame, and will enter 
cabins to enjoy the hospitality of the occupant, or will even fly to 
meet a friend when he goes abroad, alighting on his head or shoulder, 
and otherwise making themselves interesting companions to the 
lonely dweller in an isolated winter camp. A typical instance of the 
impish humor of these birds was given by an encounter I had with 
one early in June on the coast of Bering Sea. I was crossing from 
the mouth of the Yukon to St. Michael in a large kyak, with two 
Eskimo companions. About midway we camped and slept for a few 
hours on the low point of Cape Romanoff. When the sun arose, very 
early in the morning, we made a fire of driftwood and had our break¬ 
fast close to a scraggy little patch of leafless alders near the beach, 
which were the only shrubs in sight and appeared too small and scat¬ 
tered to conceal any bird. Finally we launched our kyak and started 
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