76 THE OSPREY. 



THE DESTRUCTION OF BIRDS BY LIGHTHOUSES. 



By Bernard J. Bretherton, U. S. Lighthouse Service. 



The destruction of birds by lighthouses has formed the theme of more 

 than one newspaper article of the sensational type, but as far as the writer's 

 knowledge goes the subject has yet to be treated in a more sober vein, and it 

 will be my endeavor to show in this paper that there are other sides to the 

 question. 



First, it should be remembered that the whole coast-line of the United 

 States, every harbor-mouth, dangerous rock, outlaying island and prominent 

 headland, is marked and guarded by a lighthouse, and as nearly all these are 

 in the direct line taken by the birds in their migratory flights the wonder is 

 that so few are killed. 



For the same reason it will be seen that on account of their geographical 

 position some light houses are more destructive than others to bird life. 



There are two generally accepted ideas as to why birds are killed by light- 

 houses. Ono is that they are attracted to the light after the manner of moths; 

 and another is that they are dashed against the lantern in stormy weather. 

 The first of these is partly true but the second is entirely erroneous. 



Birds seldom come to the light when the atmosphere is clear and the light 

 can be seen for a long distance, but in calm foggy weather there are always 

 birds either striking the light or flying around it; generally both. 



This would point to the conclusion that they are not attracted by the 

 light, yet on the other hand I have known of instances where small bands of 

 certain species have remained in the neighborhood several days and come to 

 the light every night leaving one or more dead behind each morning, but this 

 has always happened in hazy weather. One particular instance of this kind 

 excited my sympathy. It was the case of seven little Phalaropes. There 

 might have been more of them when ill fate brought them to Cape Fowl- 

 weather, but they were a merry little band of seven when I first knew them. 



I noticed them one day swimming about in a small pool left by the reced- 

 ing tide. There were four old birds and three young ones, and they seemed 

 to be enjoying life as they bobbed about pecking at invisible atoms on the 

 placid surface of that sunlit pool. But the sun heats the earth and the night 

 cools it, and the river mouths belch forth great banks of summer fog bring- 

 ing danger and destruction to our little feathered friends. 



That night two young Phalaropes were killed on the lantern, and next 

 day I went to the pool again; five of the birds were there but two of the im- 

 mature ones were missing. And so it went on for about a week; in the day- 

 time they would resort to the same pool to feed and at night they would fly 



