24: THE OSPREY. 



old home. As the train approaches San Mateo, the barren hills on the west 

 gradually become wooded, and when the town is reached, they loom up heavily 

 timbered, and further back, rising in majestic grandeur is "Montara", the 

 highest peak of the rugged Sierra Moreno mountains, on whose rocky sides 

 the tall redwoods are easily visible. On returning from the Orient, this peak 

 and Mt. Tamalpais, in Marin county, are the first land that is seen, at first 

 resembling small islands but gradually merging with the mainland. The Far- 

 allones, 30 miles out, appear like small rocks near the coast, from a distance, 

 and are not seen until an hour or so later. 



The place where I first made my acquaintance with the Californian avifauna 

 seems about the same as it did a dozen years ago, with the exception of the 

 salt marsh bordering San Francisco Bay. 1 visited the marsh recently but 

 what a change had progress reaped ! Where waterfowl once sported along the 

 reedy sloughs and clumsy rail took flight, where Marsh Sparrows sang and 

 nested in the low bushes along the levees, and myriads of crabs retreated from 

 the incoming tide along the muddy banks, is now a promising field of waving 

 grain soon to feel the keen edge of the mower. Meadow-larks now hold the 

 post of song-laareate to the district and their tuneful pipe is heard on every 

 hand. The old boathouse stands beside a long since dried and cracked up 

 slough with the nearest water about a mile distant. Now one hears the 

 squeaking of a windmill where once echoed the sharp report of a gun and the 

 hasty departure of the more fortunate members of a flock of ducks. 



As late as 1889, I remember sportsmen returning with as many as 200 

 Clapper Rails while now one would find it exceedingly hard to bag a dozen, 

 although one obesrver* in another locality finds them as plentiful as ever. If 

 no law is passed for their protection and the reclamation of marsh land con- 

 tinues, 1 predict the extinction of Ralhcs obsoletus in the near future. 



We return to the farm; the House Finches are as noisy as ever and the 

 loud chirp of a female betokens the nearness of a nest, which a child could 

 spy, as we entered the gate. I noticed the feathered tenants have assembled 

 in their usual numbers excepting a marked scarcity of the Willow, Arkansas 

 and Lawrence's Goldfinches so numerous in former days. 



One must leave the ranch before Old Sol has made his presence felt, to 

 do justice to the beauties of Casey's Canon. The birds are up and greet us 

 from all sides as we plod along with the "ornithologist's burden." One road 

 turns to another, one lane to a bypath, and at last we approach the ravine. 

 If I mistake not, our way leads us through a field where we will have to tread 

 gingerly, for Casey is wont to have a herd of "green" steers who, perchance, 

 may seek to take offense at our modest retinue. Not to prevent the smooth 

 passage of this article, I eliminate any manoeuvers we make in order to elude 



*Adams— Condor, Vol. II, p. 31. 



