AMONG THE WATER-FOWL 



This time I was determined not to be thwarted. So, 

 when my companion appeared, we drove back, 

 hitched the bow of a canoe to the back of the wagon 

 and, after dragging it more than a mile over rough, 

 wet ground, I managed to get afloat in it with camera 

 and all needed apparatus. As I came within sight 

 of the Grebes, they sank like stones, a submerged 

 company indeed, for I saw them no more, save for 

 an occasional head thrust momentarily out of the 

 water to reconnoitre. One of them I saw swim 

 under the boat, only a little way below the surface. 

 It used wings and feet as oars, and was indeed flying 

 through the water. But what of the nests? Not 

 one could I find, though I explored the edges of the 

 open water all around, and penetrated into the grass 

 in every direction. No photographs of Grebe 

 colonies was it that season my lot to take. 



But the time came when this ambition was grati- 

 fied. Late last June I was encamped, with three 

 companions, upon the timbered shore of another large 

 Dakota lake. One morning, we were poling a 

 heavy boat, the only one available, through a maze 

 of grass growing out of four feet of water, far 

 out from shore. Another push, and we glided to 

 a partial opening, where a wonderful sight greeted 

 us. We had run with our boat almost into a 

 large colony of American Eared Grebes, sur- 

 prising the birds right upon their nests. Perhaps 

 they had heard enough to arouse their suspicions, for 

 they were in the act of covering their eggs. But no 

 sooner did they see our heads over the grass than 

 there was a general plunge, which sounded like the 

 beating of a rain-squall as it first strikes a body of 



