422 Bailey, Wild Life of an Alkaline Lake. \_oa 



we came out of our brush house and started home. The wind was 

 blowing hard and on the tule lake the coots were huddled in black 

 masses or snugly riding the waves with a great show of bobbing. 

 During the day a variety of birds were seen in the surrounding 

 country which included open plains, juniper orchards and yellow 

 pine woods, sandstone ledges, bottom lands and marshes that 

 attracted in turn Marsh Hawks, Killdeer, Meadowlarks, Rock 

 Wrens, Woodpeckers, Jays — crested and uncrested — Solitaires, 

 Kinglets, Western Chipping Sparrows, Chewinks, Goldfinches, 

 Mourning Doves, and Horned Larks. 



That night with our early morning hunt on our minds we woke 

 at intervals mistaking the moonlight for dawn, and by 4.40 with 

 blankets wrapped around us and guns in hand were starting for 

 our blind, an almost imperceptible line of light in the east telling 

 us that we were just on time. As we stumbled over the stony 

 trail along the cliff on our way to the lake our horse bell jangled 

 drowsily, and an owl hooted; while across the big lake a sheep 

 bell tinkled, and from the moonlit hills came the yapping of coy- 

 otes. As we rounded the corner of the tule lakes the Coots cackled, 

 making us turn off through the sagebrush to stop their telling 

 tales. By a long detour, picking our way through sagebrush 

 interspersed with cactus, our blanketed figures casting accom- 

 panying shadows in the moonlight, we finally came to the shore. 

 The moon was partly obscured by clouds and we crept silently 

 toward our blind, but nevertheless the nearer ducks saw us and with 

 a disheartening roar flock after flock arose. 



Once inside we straightened up the bushes, drew our blankets 

 close around us, for the water gave the air a penetrating chill, 

 and settled ourselves for an hour of waiting. As we got colder and 

 more cramped a band of light grew in the east till at last it was 

 reflected in the lake, the stars faded out of the sky, and the dark 

 vault began to lighten. Meanwhile the ducks gradually returned 

 and those that lit down the lake under cover of the dim light 

 swam up so close that by peering through the chinks in our brush 

 screen we could distinguish the species, making it unnecessary to 

 shoot. An old Mallard feeding in the weeds with the Green- 

 winged Teal acted as a good decoy, her barnyard quack calling her 

 friends; but though the thin slazy note of the male answered her, 

 he would not join her. 



