294 WILD WINGS 



not for me to assume what the Psalmist attributes to the 

 Creator, "I know all the fowls of the mountains." 



Because the doings of the owl are shrouded in mystery and 

 his ways almost past rinding out, the spell of the secret things 

 is upon me and has inspired many a wild ramble, aggregating 

 thousands of miles. My earliest searchings for the mysterious 

 owl were in and around the outskirts of Boston. Ever mem- < 

 orable was my first view of an owl in nature. It was many 

 years ago, a cold, blustering morning in early March. Trav- 

 ersing a frozen cedar swamp on the shore of Hammond's 

 Pond, Newton, my heart fairly bounded as I came right upon 

 a tiny little Acadian or Saw-whet Owl lying prone upon a 

 spreading cedar bough just over my head, sound asleep, 

 pretty, cunning creature ! 



Only a few owl episodes in those days were vouchsafed 

 me, a glimpse of a Long-eared Owl one fall in the same 

 swamp, mobbed fjy crows ; a nest of the Great Horned Owl 

 in Canton, with one quaint, fuzzy youngster ; one of a Barred 

 Owl in Sharon, deserted before the eggs were laid ; another 

 Barred Owl prowling in a Brookline orchard ; a Snowy Owl 

 on the Back-Bay marsh one winter ; a Short-eared Owl on 

 Thompson's Island, Boston Harbor ; a red Screech Owl in 

 the outskirts of Brookline ; these treats were about all. But 

 subsequent residence in old Plymouth County, with its many 

 fine groves of tall pines and its lonely swamps, and more 

 recently among the rugged Taconic Mountains of western 

 Connecticut, together with various expeditions north, west, 

 and south, have furnished far more extensive opportunities 

 for acquaintance with owl secrets, especially with those de- 

 partments, most recondite of all, the nesting of owls and the 

 photographing of them from life. 



As I think how delightfully owling and hawking some- 

 times converge, I love to recall a day when a friend and 



