Arbor and Bird Day Bulletin 11 



A VISIT WITH THE BOHEMIAN WAXWINGS 

 (By Adelaide L. Pollock) 



The first week of 1917, residents of our various suburbs began 

 telephoning to newspapers inquiries about the vast numbers of 

 strange birds to be seen in their localities, and many strange theories 

 arose as to their visitation. From Mt. Baker Park to Lincoln Beach, 

 from the University of Washington to Queen Anne Hill the birds 

 were seen by hundreds feeding on madrona berries and those of the 

 mountain ash. Where they came from and where they will go, who 

 can tell? They lit on the dead fir trees on Mr. Charles Black's yard 

 and the whole character of the tree changed from decrepit winter to 

 autumnal splendor. 



A pair of binoculars brought near the soft brownish gray bodies 

 of the Bohemian Waxwings with the dainty crest outlined below with 

 black and the pretty white and sulphur yellow blotches on wings and 

 yellow tail band. With them were many Western Robins. In the 

 city the birds kept well up in the bare tree tops, but not so on the 

 boulevards or at the University. 



Sunday, January 21, will be a day long to be remembered by the 

 author. A friend had telephoned that large flocks of birds were 

 near the pumping station and two enthusiastic women hurried across 

 the city. From the bridge where the road winds down to the lakeshore 

 just above the pumping station on Lake Washington we caught our 

 first glimpse of the flock. Several ancient monarchs of the primeval 

 forest rear their heads here above the surrounding trees and this day 

 they wore a strange garment of feathers. Birds were so thick upon 

 the limbs that you could not see the foliage. I counted on the topmost 

 branches of one tree 132 birds, on another 115, and on a third 84; and 

 this count was only a beginning. 



A noise startled the birds and with a roar of wings they circled 

 around and dropped down the hillside. We followed into a little 

 woodland where the branches of the trees appeared to quiver with 

 their heavy burden. The deep wagon track of an old road served as a 

 bird bar and dozens of the Bohemian Waxwings and Western Robins 

 fluttered up and down in and out, crowding into edges, daintily showing 

 that to them Seattle was not a dry town. Their saucy crests had a 

 knowing air as they courteously yielded one to another. An occa- 

 sional robin showed so much white on its tail that it proved it must 

 be an American Robin of the far East which had strayed out of its 

 range along with the erratic Bohemian Waxwings. 



Both Bohemian Waxwings and Western Robins were there by the 

 hundreds, possibly thousands, and the air thrilled with the harmony 

 of their song. It was noticeable that they were clannish. A tree 

 usually held only one kind of bird, although the next would be covered 

 by the other. None of the birds were timid. We felt as if we could 

 almost touch them. They fascinated us so that we paid little attention 



