112 WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 



This was the cause of the wardens' anxiety, and, 

 halting only long enough to count the new nests 

 and get some photographs at the mouth of the 

 river, we pushed on up the lake. 



I shall try to describe that trip sometime — the 

 long lines of white water kicked up by the rising 

 birds; the clapping of wings, the splashing of 

 feet ; the tule islands trodden flat by the rookeries 

 of young gulls and pelicans and cormorants ; the 

 diving of the grebes about us; the soaring of the 

 majestic pelicans far above us — but not any of 

 that now. 



We had paddled for an hour or two when on 

 the water in the distance appeared a wide wash 

 of pink, as if the clouds of a sunset were reflected 

 there. It was the purple of the milfoil in the nests 

 of the great grebe colony. We quickened our 

 stroke, and as we drew nearer, marveling at the 

 extent of it, we were struck with the silence at 

 our coming and the absence of birds in the nests. 

 A few were on wing; a few were seen covering 

 their eggs ; that was all. There was no clangor of 

 the crowd, no diving multitude about us — but 

 such a sight of destruction as I hope never again 

 to see I 



