80 



The Canadian Field-Naturalist 



[Vol. XXXIII 



and lacking the characteristic red neck of the adults. 



The lake at noon is like a polished steel disc and 

 a faint heat haze shimmers on the surface. Through 

 this medium the grebe are seen as distorted shapes, 

 suspended a foot above the water, or so it appears. 

 Presently a faint breeze comes; the surface breaks 

 into millions of scintillating points of light; the 

 decoys bob up and down and make short journeys 

 to the length of their anchor lines. The steamer ties 

 up at the dock two miles away and the small flock 

 of Herring Gulls that attend its daily voyage take 

 this opportunity for a prowl along the shore, on 

 the lookout for dead kokanees or squaw-fish. This 

 is their daily habit. When the mid-day voyage is 

 over they rest on the water opposite the dock until 

 the steamer leaves in the morning then rise slowly 

 one by one and follow with their leisurely tireless 

 flight, keen eyes ever on the alert for the scraps 

 that are thrown overboard from the cook's galley. 



For several hours, a flock of twelve Green- 

 winged Teal have been feeding in the shallow 

 water, behind the thin line of rushes twenty yards 

 cut from the shore. They are very nervous, rising 

 every few minutes and swinging out over the lake 

 several times before pitching in again. With what 

 marvellous speed can they check their headlong 

 flight and drop twisting and turning down to the 

 water! After one of their periodic flights they 

 settle in the shallow water and from there waddle 

 on to the beach and feed along the windrows of 

 Fotamogeion that drifted in during yesterday's 

 storm. This mass of water weeds is full of the 

 small crustaceans and insects so eagerly sought for 

 by surface-feeding ducks and the Teal glean the 

 abundant harvest until a passing wagon puts them 

 to flight. 



A brown Marsh Hawk, a bird of the year, flies 

 along the beach with business-like flight, alternately 

 flapping, or sailing on set wings. He is overtaken 

 and routed by several hostile crows and departs in 

 a panic, twisting and dodging across the beach until 

 he reaches the sheltering brush where he loses his 

 pursuers. Crows are arriving in small bands and 

 settle on the beach close to the water's edge, some 

 two hundred yards from the blind. These are only 

 the forerunners of a great noisy stream, that pass 

 in a long straggling line, some high in the air, others 

 close to the ground. Soon the beach is black with 

 a cawing multitude. This is the great pre-migra- 

 tcry caucus; only a few of these will winter in this 

 part of the valley. Four birds arriving by them- 

 selves are attracted to a muddy stretch of beach 

 near the blind: they swerve from the main flight 

 and alight in the oozy mud near the water's edge 

 where some dead kokanees have washed in. As 

 they feast on these a passing merlin sees them and 



unnoticed, stoops like an arrow. He misses or 

 perhaps decides that the quarry is too formidable 

 so swings in a wide circle and settles on the top 

 of a dead poplar in the brush, while the crows fly 

 off with squawks of alarm and join their fellows 

 farther down the shore. 



Apparently crows do not expect enemies to ap- 

 pear from the water as one can approach in a canoe 

 within a few yards while the appearance of a man 

 on foot is the signal for their hasty departure. 



The lake is still again and woolly cumulus 

 clouds gather in the south, several sweet-voiced 

 Mountain Bluebirds alight on the beach, their backs 

 vividly blue against the dim-colored sand. For 

 several minutes they quietly hunt for spiders among 

 the debris of the beach and then continue on their 

 way, calling as they fly. 



The Osprey that yearly raises a brood in the 

 vicinity and whose fishing grounds lie off this beach 

 is lingering at this favored spot although the two 

 young of her brood departed a week ago. Her 

 clear whistle is heard at a distance, but the bird is 

 not seen. In the shallow water fifty yards from the 

 blind stand a number of upright fir logs, once used 

 as mooring-posts by a long-since defunct saw-mill. 

 One of these has been used for several summers by 

 the Osprey as a resting place and a convenient perch 

 on which to tear up the fish that were for her own 

 consumption. 



From far out in the lake comes the single note 

 of a Loon, mellowed and subdued by the distance. 

 An American Merganser swims past, neck curved 

 and head below the surface watching for the little 

 kokanees that are running up the creek to spawn. 



A straggling flock of soft-voiced Pallid Shore 

 Larks come drifting down the beach, like a cloud 

 of autumn leaves blown by the wind. They flutter 

 in a circle around the blind, alight for a moment 

 and run to the water's edge, but without bathing 

 or drinking they are away again like a flash, for 

 no apparent reason. On all sides they pass, with 

 slow undulating flight, so close, that the breath of 

 air from their wings is felt on the cheeks. Again 

 and again they return, always rising again before 

 the binoculars can be levelled in the hope of pick- 

 ing out a Longspur among them. A short half- 

 mile to the west, rising abruptly for a thousand feet 

 above the lake is the bare hillside where they feed ; 

 ihcy come to the beach only for gravel and water. 

 It is curious how all the alpine or northern breeding 

 birds that travel in large flocks, Rosy Finches, 

 Shore Larks, Snow Buntmgs and Pipits, have this 

 restless habit of circling and wheeling before alight- 

 ing, and of flying off suddenly again in nervous 

 haste. 



A month later there is a decided change in the 



