LIFE HISTORY OF THE QUETZAL—SKUTCH © O71 
the breast and much of the belly are dark gray and only the lower 
belly and under tail coverts are red, of a shade paler than these parts 
of the male. The outer tail feathers, instead of being pure white, are 
narrowly barred with black.” 
HABITS AND VOICE 
While perching, the quetzal, like other trogons, assumes a very up- 
right posture, its tail directed downward or even inclined slightly 
forward under the perch. If alarmed, agitated, or suspicious, both 
sexes have the habit, widespread among trogons, of rapidly spreading 
the tail feathers fanwise and closing them again, sending forth flashes 
of white from the outer rectrices, which to one viewing the bird from 
the rear are usually concealed by the dark central feathers and the 
coverts. In quitting his perch, the male commonly drops off back- 
ward, instead of flying straight forward in the usual manner. 
Thereby he avoids dragging his train over the branch each time he 
takes wing, which would in the course of months fray it greatly 
through friction against the rough bark. My notes are not explicit 
as to whether the female, lacking the train, takes off in the same 
fashion; but my impression is that she does not. 
The flight of the quetzal is undulatory, but less strongly so than 
that of some of the smaller trogons. Its method of plucking small 
fruits from a tree is the same as that of the other members of the 
family. Starting from a resting position, it darts up to a cluster of 
berries, seizes one in its bill, and detaches it by throwing its weight 
against it as it drops away, all without alighting. Such fruit-catch- 
ing is spectacular with all trogons; and with the magnificently at- 
tired male quetzal it is indeed a striking display. The cottage at 
Vara Blanca steod on the cleared back of a narrow ridge, with forest 
on either slope a short way down. From the porch I sometimes 
watched a pair of quetzals foraging in the crown of a great iva rosa 
(Ocotea pentagona) that grew in the pasture on the slope to the west, 
its upper boughs on a level with my eyes. The birds would emerge 
from the forest, snatch a few of the big, green fruits in their usual 
dashing way, then dart down into the wooded ravine whence they had 
come. 
From my arrival at Vara Blanca in July until the last days of 
February, I had attributed only a single kind of call to the quetzal. 
This was a loud, startled-sounding wac-wac, wac-wac that they often 
voiced in flight. The call bears a certain resemblance to the notes of 
alarm of the smaller trogons, most of which have a startled, cackling 
character, but are less powerful than the corresponding utterance of 
the quetzal. But in late February, as the mating season approached, 
I began to hear notes of a very distinct kind. During March, the 
