THE NIDIOLOGIST. 



27 



AN APRIL OUTING. 



Two white mules, our old spring wagou, 

 plenty of blankets, and an abundance of 

 camp provisions, besides a sack of green 

 peas, which we used for trading, constituted 

 our outfit, i. e., to say nothing of a well 

 selected arsenal. 



Our destination was a long, unfrequented 

 canyon in Napa County, between Pope and 

 Berryessa Valleys. We chose this place 

 because of its undisturbed wildness and 

 beauty. Many miles back on the oat 

 ranges are large herds of sheep; and from 

 their haunts in the neighboring canyon go 

 forth many beasts and birds of prey, for 

 whom mutton is a luxury. 



Our first encounter with any of the in- 

 habitants was with a California lion, who 

 did not seem any more anxious than our- 

 selves for a better acquaintance. We had but 

 one volley at him before he was lost to 

 sight in the thicket But a more interest- 

 ing adventure, it was, that we had with a 

 Golden Eagle. 



From our camp on the bank of the creek, 

 we had discovered a large nest in a "diggar" 

 pine which grew among the rocks on a 

 high cliff, and we determined to explore 

 it. 



So armed with guns, pistols and knives 

 we made the ascent. When within a hun- 

 dred yards of the tree, the female bird flew 

 off the nest, much to the delight of the 

 egg-man, who in high glee exclaimed, 

 " Kggs ! eggs! ! a set of Golden Eagle's," 

 and with new enthusiasm rushed on and 

 up the tree to the nest. 



Perched there on the dirty mass of sticks 

 and bones, he was taking account of stock 

 and lamenting that he had counted his 

 eggs after they had been hatched, when 

 like a flash the mother bird was there to 

 defend her fledglings. She darted by with- 

 in six feet of where my companion sat 

 clutching the branches. Her fiery eyes 

 took in the situation. She rose to return 

 and strike him. But as she turned in her 

 upward flight, she slowed her pace — it was 



my only chance — and ao the mountains 

 echoed and re-echoed the report of my rifle, 

 that fierce bird had closed her wings and 

 gone headlong two hundreds yards, to the 

 foot of the cliffs. 



It was close shooting. The bird did not 

 pass the nest more than two yards before 

 turning to wage war on the intruder, and 

 a hard battle she would have fought. She 

 was well provided with weapons — a sharp 

 beak, four inches long; talons, two and a 

 half inches long, and a blow from her 

 powerful wings would have knocked one 

 almost senseless. 



We took home with us the gosling-like 

 little Eagles, and they seemed to be doing 

 nicely, when, one day, the larger of the 

 two tore all the flesh off the others back, 

 causing its death. His unnatural meal did 

 not disagree with him for he became more 

 ravenous as he grew larger. An Eng- 

 lisn Sparrow, however, proved too much for 

 him. It was killed and thrown to him to 

 pull to pieces, but instead he swallowed it 

 whole and gave up the ghost trying to di- 

 gest its bones. 



Six feet ten inches of the wall of my 

 companion's summer home is now covered 

 with a handsome pair of wings, and I have 

 discarded my locket for a unique charm — a 

 mounted claw two and a half inches long. 

 Frank A. Leach, Jr. 



A NEST ON A STAKE. 



Not in hole, like a Wren's, nor on a post 

 in a thicket, which a Towhee might select, 

 but square on the top of a bare support for 

 a small tree on the edge of a much used 

 sidewalk in the city of Alameda. It was 

 an Anna's Hummingbird which chose this 

 curious nesting site, the finder being W. 

 Probst. 



The nest was fully a foot below the leaves 

 of the small tree which the stake supported. 



A pair of American Baru Owls have nested in the 

 belfry of the University of the Pacific at College 

 Park, Cal. 



