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THE OOLOGIST 



FALCO PEREGRINUS ANATUM 



How many of you ardent oologists 

 ever actually looked into the eyrie of 

 the American Peregrine Falcon — and 

 saw there a set of four beautiful eggs 

 — and finally got them, brought them 

 home, blew them successfully and 

 placed them among the other treasures 

 of your egg collection? 



That's a fair question, isn't it? Well, 

 I wish some of you would answer it, 

 without the aid of a personal question- 

 aire. 



This Falcon is certainly uncommon. 

 It is quite a thing to locate a pair of 

 the birds, even. But it is this very 

 rarity and difficulty that ought to add 

 zest to the pursuit for a real live oolo- 

 gist. 



I don't know how many active col- 

 lectors are on "The Oologist's" list of 

 subscribers, but there must be many, 

 and all of them ought to be. I know 

 that four of them have enjoyed the 

 experience suggested in the question 

 above. I'd like to hear more about 

 it through these columns. It is cer- 

 tainly worth writing about — and worth 

 reading. 



How many can not only answer 

 "yes" to the above question, but can 

 say they have repeated the perform- 

 ance? How many have done it more 

 than twice. How many hav6 collected 

 nine sets? Have I done it myself, you 

 aSk? Oh, yes. I collected nine sets 

 personally last season, and hope to do 

 as well this year. But I'd like mighty 

 well to read about you other fellows' 

 experience along this line. 



The taking of my first set of Duck 

 Hawk's eggs in 1922 was accompanied 

 by some rather interesting features. 

 Having been down in Massachusetts, 

 visiting Mr. R. L. Coffin and his Duck 

 Hawks, I was returning home on the 

 train, late in April. It was a fine 

 spring day and I decided to stop off 

 and visit one of my pairs of Duck 



Hawks and try and locate their nest. 

 The year before these birds had fooled 

 me and I was anxious to land them, 

 if possible. So I got off the train, got 

 on a trolley for a couple of miles, got 

 off the trolley and walked a mile, 

 trundling suit case and overcoat; 

 branched off the road into the woods 

 where I could change my clothes in 

 peace and quiet; did this, and finally 

 reached the top of the cliff, which I 

 call the "Delta" location. 



This cliff is about 800 feet long and 

 from one to two hundred feet high. 

 A fringe of trees runs along the top, 

 and a strip of woods fills the space be- 

 tween the foot of the cliff and the 

 highway and river. It is a beautiful 

 and sightly location, but one that 

 would hardly be suspected as the 

 abode of Falco Peregrinus Anatum. 

 It was, however, for no sooner had I 

 reached the south end of the cliff and 

 showed myself than Mr. Duck Hawk 

 flew off the cliff below me, with a 

 great clatter and cackling. I gradually 

 worked my way along the cliff, exam- 

 ining as carefully as possible the 

 whole area as I went along. Nothing 

 occurred until I had nearly reached 

 the other end and was fast losing 

 hope, when Mrs. Duck Hawk flushed 

 and joined her mate in the air, both 

 flying up and down the river, well 

 away from the cliff face, and scream- 

 ing and cackling no end. 



Peeping over the highest sheer point 

 of the cliff I saw about 15 feet below, 

 me on a narrow shelf three very darkly 

 and heavily marked eggs. Beauties 

 they were; one of the finest sets I 

 have. You who have experienced this 

 thing will know how I felt at this time 

 — I hardly feel capable of expressing 

 it adequately myself. 



However, I took a good look at them, 

 calculated how to get them, and 

 started back well satisfied with the 

 luck thus far. George met me with the 



