114 



THE NIDIOLOGIST. 



AMONG THE WATER BIRDS OF 

 MINNESOTA. 



BY OTTO EMERSON. 



One who sits in his den or room of cab- 

 inet treasures of bird life, and attempts to 

 write of the habits of this or that species 

 from the field notes of other collectors, 

 knows not the true pleasure, nor gains a 

 knowledge of Nature's ways. 



He knows not the watery smell from 

 overflowed meadows and sedgy plants, nor 

 the balmy winds laden with the gummy 

 aroma of bursting poplar and cottonwood 

 buds, as they are wafted to you from dis- 

 tant woods, while plying the oars through 

 cat-tails and rushes. The harpstring notes 

 of the marsh Blackbirds are unheard in his 

 den. 



New life is added to one's blood as he 

 seeks out the secrets of Nature's feathery 

 children, which adds years of after-thoughts 

 of a day afield. 



It was my joy to spend a day with a 

 brother collector of Minneapolis, among 

 the birds found nesting by hundreds amid 

 the back waters of the Minnesota bottoms, 

 along the Mississippi, one June day of 1890. 

 A fine drive of some nine miles by a num- 

 ber of wood-surrounded lakes, where pairs 

 of water fowls were mated off — Ducks, 

 Coots, and Killdeer — along edges of fern- 

 breaks, where was heard the Cuckoo's and 

 Dove's woody notes. 



At one place, where we stopped to look 

 over a water hollow, several nests of Black 

 Tern were found, with nests on small float- 

 ing masses of dead water plants, rushes, 

 and leaves. 



We were soon at the old farm place, 

 where we were told that lunch and boats 

 could be had. At the landing a small boy 

 had just come in. On asking him what 

 luck he had had, he said nothing but Mud 

 Hens' eggs, and they mostly had chicks in 

 them. A basketful was shown us. Nev- 

 ertheless we were going to have more than 

 that, if we had to wade to our necks till 

 next morning. 



Coats laid aside, out we struck, for it was 

 to be a hot day's work. To describe those 

 vast acres of back waters would be an easy 

 matter, as they were only the overflow from 

 the Mississippi river spring freshets, that 

 covered the vast acres of meadows of the 

 lands lying between the river banks and 

 the plateau, some three or more miles back. 

 The water was from two to five feet deep 

 for miles upon miles, as far as the eye could 

 see. 



All through these back waters, great 

 stretches of rushes, wild rice, and cat-tails 

 grow — the home of Marsh Wrens and Yel- 

 low-headed Blackbirds. 



Our first nest examined was a Coot's 

 (Mud Hen's), far advanced in incubation, 

 placed on amass of stemming roots, twigs, 

 leaves, moss and drift stuff", in general be- 

 ing about as large as a bushel basket. It 

 was built up some eight to ten inches from 

 the water level, so that the water did not 

 enter the nest proper, which is a slight 

 hollow, saucer shaped; the interior is lined 

 with fine sedges or dry bleached cat-tail 

 leaves. The nest is well trodden down all 

 around, where the Coot enters and leaves 

 the nest many times a day, with its lobated 

 feet. So compactly is this nest constructed 

 that it may rise and fall with the water 

 under all conditions or changes of weather. 



The Coots were all around us by hun- 

 dreds, playing about the water after one 

 another, splattering and diving, their black 

 plumage fairly sparkling like diamonds 

 from the falling waters. Nest after nest 

 was looked into. From five to thirteen 

 eggs were found in the nests, one having 

 a clear clay-colored egg in it. We could 

 have soon loaded our boat with Coots' eggs 



alone. 



After hunting around for a long time to 

 find a nest of young ones, my friend called 

 my attention to one he had just caught 

 sight of, the chicks scrambling off" the nest 

 into the water. We rowed up to it. Not a 

 chick in sight — had disappeared entirely; 

 only an empty shell told us of its armor 

 thrown aside. Seven eggs remained, all 



