A Night Among the Clouds With Bicknell's Thrush 



By John Lewis Childs 



THERE is hardly a bird breeding in the eastern United States the life 

 history, song and general habits of which are so little known as that 

 of Bicknell's Thrush {Hylocichla aliccc bicknelli). This is owing to the 

 fact that its breeding grounds are on the highest mountain tops of New 

 England and New York. It is known to breed in the Catskills and on the 

 White Mountains. It no doubt breeds, also, on Mount Marcy and Mount 

 Katahdin. Why the bird selects these very high points for its summer home 

 is probably not so much its love for high altitude as its liking for cool, damp, 

 cloudy weather, as the birds breed also on some of the low islands off the 

 coast of Nova Scotia where the same cool, foggy dampness prevails. 



A bird inhabiting only these little-frequented and almost inaccessible 

 places must of necessity be a rare and little-known species, even to many .good 

 ornithologists. The Thrushes are our most delightful song birds, and I am 

 familiar with the melodies of the Hermit, Wood and Wilson Thrushes, and 

 it was to hear the song of Bicknell's Thrush and observe something of its 

 habits that I made a trip to the White Mountains of New Hampshire, ac- 

 companied by my friend F. B. Spaulding of Lancaster. 



We left the Revere House at the foot of the mountains at 2 p. m., on 

 June 17th, to walk to the top of Mount Adams, four miles, where this 

 Thrush was known to be located. We went by the "air line , ' trail which, 

 though direct, was very hard and it took us five hours to gain the summit. 

 The last mile above the timber line we had to fairly climb on hands and 

 knees up over a broken, rocky cliff so precipitous and rough as to be well 

 nigh impassable. Here we found some ice and snow and a delightfully cool 

 and invigorating atmosphere, and some beautiful alpine flowers blooming 

 modestly in the crevices of ledges and rocks. 



After reaching the top we found on the other side a little valley where 

 there was a dwarf, stunted growth of balsam and spruce trees only four to 

 six feet high and exceedingly dense. Here, for the first time, I heard the 

 wiry, high-pitched song of Bicknell's Thrush, not unlike that of Wilson's 



