XVI 



ROSEATE SPOONBILL 

 188. Ajaja ajaja 



While viewing the surroundings on the first after- 

 noon after my arrival on the shore of the Laguna de la 

 Madre, I beheld a sight that would thrill any nature- 

 lover, especially an ornithologist. I saw approaching 

 a rose-colored streak, like those of the rays of the setting 

 sun on the top of a distant lofty mountain peak or cloud 

 bank. 



It was my first view of the Roseate Spoonbill, a bird 

 once plentiful but now rarely seen on our coastline. 

 There were twenty-three in this flock. I watched them 

 with my glasses until they lighted on a sand spit a mile 

 away, where I frequently observed them, afterward, as 

 long as I remained in that vicinity. 



A few miles west and south of this point, in Old 

 Mexico, there is a large breeding ground occupied by 

 these birds. 



Like the Egrets, they have been killed for their 

 beautiful-colored plumage, practically to the point of 

 extermination. One view of this flock was more refresh- 

 ing to me than to stand on a busy thoroughfare and watch 

 a long parade of women wearing ornaments made from 

 the feathers of the birds. 



Even when they were two miles away, on a sandy 

 beach, the beautiful rose-red line, could be plainly seen. 

 How I longed to be within photographing distance of 

 them ! I trust our United States bird-killing restrictions 

 may become more firm and that the Roseate Spoonbills 

 will return in large numbers to decorate our gulf shores, 

 and not some fair lady's head-wear. 



Late one morning I tried to get within picturing dis- 

 tance of this flock. When I had approached to within one 

 hundred yards of them they took flight. I stood watch- 

 ing the procession, as with measured wing-beats it slowly 

 made its way toward an island in the Gulf of Mexico. 



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