THE OOLOGIST 



133 



separated these tough fibres from the 

 stalk is bej'ond me. 



The last queer position for a Wren 

 nest that I remember, I found two 

 summers ago. About half a peck of 

 material was piled in the fold of a 

 palmetto leaf, and the tiny nest was 

 formed in the center of the mass. But 

 the foundation was too insecure, and 

 the structure was thrown out by the 

 winds, before the young were hatch- 

 ed. ' R. J. Longstreet, 



Orlando, Fla. 



An Account of Two Trips to the 

 Summit of Mt. Greylock. 



At the Northern end of the Berk- 

 shire Hills, in the far Northwestern 

 corner of Massachusetts, rises a lit- 

 tle group of peaks — Saddle Ball, Si- 

 monds Peak, the Bluffs and overlook- 

 ing all, old Greylock itself rears its 

 forest clad head three thousand five 

 hundred feet above the sea level, the 

 highest point of land in the state. 

 While this height may seem trivial in 

 comparison with many larger peaks 

 in other parts of the country, it is 

 sufficient to furnish a strong Cana- 

 dian element to the fauna of the re- 

 gion; and of course, renders it par- 

 ticularly interesting to the student of 

 bird life. 



Mt. Greylock lies between the towns 

 of North Adams, Adams, Williams- 

 town and Cheshire, and the peak may 

 be reached by paths from each of 

 these places. The paths from Adams 

 and Cheshire Harbor unite when three 

 miles from the summit and this com- 

 bined path again imites with the car- 

 riage road from North Adams two 

 miles farther on. 



The Cheshire Harbor trail is con- 

 sidered shorter and less steep than 

 the others and is for that reason, per- 

 haps the one most frequently used 

 by parties visiting the peak. 



The summer and fall of 1905 the 

 writer spent in the Berkshire Hills 

 and during that time tramped and 

 rode through much of the country, 

 and climbed many of the smaller 

 peaks. As the needle of the compass 

 swings toward the North, so when- 

 ever I viewed the mountains about 

 Pittsfield, my gaze would turn North- 

 ward to where Greylock's forest clad 

 head was lifted far above the sur- 

 rounding heights. To climb to the 

 summit and view the valley below 

 me; to count the mountains in four 

 different states; and trace the course 

 cf river and stream in their varied 

 course toward the sea; this had been 

 my desire since I first visited this 

 beautiful region. Nevertheless it was 

 not until toward the close of Septem- 

 ber that I was able to make the trip. 



Sunday, the 24th, dawned bright 

 and fair. The air was clear and crisp 

 with just a suspicion of frost in it, 

 and the sun rose upon a world of min- 

 gled gold and green. No haze obscur- 

 ed the view toward the mountains. 

 Each peak stood forth plain and clear. 

 It was an ideal day for a climb, and at 

 an early hour, I started on the long 

 anticipated trip. The view from the 

 car window as I rode northward was 

 delightful. The green of a fortnight 

 before was gradually giving way to 

 the brighter colors of autumn. The 

 Birches were already yellow. The 

 oaks varied from a bronzed green to 

 Indian red. Here and there a Maple 

 in its flaming scarlet stood out with 

 startling distinctness from among its 

 less conspicuous neighbors. .Juncos 

 were present everywhere; — flocks 

 rising continually as we sped along. 

 Crows cawed overhead and Blue Jays 

 screamed from the trees on the hill- 

 sides. Species were few, but individ- 

 uals many. 



Leaving the car at Cheshire Har- 

 bor the path led up the side of the 



