146 



THE OOLOGIST 



Glimpses of Bird Life in Utah, 

 By Mrs. Antwonet Treganza 



Wonderful are the hosts of feather- 

 ed creatures that live everywhere 

 about us, a few miles from our very 

 door. If Utah had a sea coast, she 

 could boast of more birds than any 

 other state in the Union; but, even 

 without a coast, she lays claim to 

 some two hundred and ten species that 

 have actually been found breeding 

 here. There are many others; for the 

 varying topography attracts widely 

 different species. The great long val- 

 leys that lie between the mountain 

 ranges, the rising foothills, the coni- 

 ferous forests of the slopes, and even 

 the crowning summits are tenanted 

 with bird life. Countless thousands 

 are to be found in the rookeries on 

 the Islands of the Great Salten Sea, 

 and on that eternity of marsh and 

 slough formed by the Bear River over- 

 flows; over the great waste of alka- 

 li fiats, the seemingly barren stretches 

 of desert, every canyon, every green 

 field — in fact, there is hardly an acre 

 that does not provide a home for some 

 bird. Besides the birds that are resi- 

 dent from year to year, others from 

 the Rockies and the Sierras and from 

 Canada and the South have often 

 been found breeding here, far out of 

 their prescribed range. Then, too, 

 what a blessing are the hosts of mig- 

 ratory birds that pass northward in 

 the spring, southward in the fall, de- 

 vouring the eggs and larvae of insect 

 — enemies of the horticulturist. 



On a bright, clear day in early 

 March we are tramping up City Creek 

 Canyon. A few miles onward are 

 some precipitous cliffs, and with rope 

 ladder we have gained access to a 

 sheltered crevice where a sober, big- 

 eyed Western Horned Owl sits erect 

 beside his crouching mate, who is per- 

 haps brooding over a clutch of three 

 white eggs. Above us are several pairs 



of Prairie Falcon; from the scrub oak 

 come the discordant notes of the 

 Woodhouse Jay and Magpie. For a. 

 moment all is still, when a flood of 

 music bursts into the air — a rippling, 

 joyous melody from the throat of a 

 tiny, Dotted Canyon Wren. We visit 

 the nest of a Water Ouzel fastened to 

 the side of a rock, but the little fel- 

 low is not at home. Along the way are 

 cheery groups of Mountain Chickadee 

 and Mountain Bluebird. The year is 

 yet too young for these birds to be a 

 nesting, but they are all here waiting 

 for the balmier days. . 



On a cold, bleak day in late March, 

 we are ninety miles from Salt Lake, 

 9,000 feet on the side of a mountain, 

 making our way over the crusted 

 snow to the home of the Clark's Crow 

 or Camp Robber; and justly is he 

 named, for time without number, has 

 he not invaded your mountain camp 

 and robbed you of your piece of soap 

 or your tooth brush hanging on the 

 side of a pine tree? During the breed- 

 ing season this bird is silent, and so 

 shy and wary, that to gain any knowl- 

 edge of its home life is almost impos- 

 sible unless one lives in the high 

 mountains the year around. Here 

 where pine nuts are plentiful we find 

 the Pinon Jay, the Mountain Chicka- 

 dee, and the Lead-colored Bush-Tit. 



The spring rains have come, but 

 the first week in April is clear, so we 

 take the train to Brigham City, and 

 from there go out to the sloughs. Tt 

 is late when we make our camp, but 

 we are astir with the first rays of the 

 morning's sun. The air is filled with 

 a medley of honks and squawks and 

 the dull whirr of wings as the birds 

 are preparing for their flight inland to 

 breakfast in the neighboring fields and 

 sloughs. There are hundreds and 

 thousands of birds. As we sit about 

 our camp fire at breakfast, we watch 

 them pass by — single birds, pair after 





