Accordingly, I let go, pike-point hard pressed against the rasping snow. The 

 first hundred feet might have been a parachute drop. The course was narrow. 

 Ominous ledges suddenly flashed up at the side. The startled snow, half ice 

 rather, flew up and engulfed my glasses. Steering had to be by instinct, and 

 only frantic efforts kept the hurtling pilgrim right end up. But soon the pace 

 slackened. Sun-kissed wells in the snow began to act as bumpers, and motion 

 ceased presently, while the heart was still in a sort of panic. A Leuco spoke. 

 Tearing off the blinded snow glasses, I looked up — just in time to see a female 

 Leucosticte disappear into the face of an obliquely fronting wall, and at a point 

 a hundred feet or so up. Moments passed, and still she stayed. "A location" 

 thought I, and backed off, slowly, across the snow, with eyes glued to the myster- 

 ious spot, until I felt the impact of the west wall, and, scarcely turning, clambered 

 out upon a ledge. It was a cold ledge but not so cold as that penetrating snow. 

 Sure enough, the bird has never stirred from that spot. But now comes a male 

 sidling up to a neighboring point and giving a chirrup, whereat the hidden female 

 darts out and joins her mate for a frolic. It is a probable location, albeit un- 

 confirmed. 



Two evenings later, fortified by the presence of my son, William Oberlin, 

 a stripling of nineteen, I take up a station with him on the identical ledge which 

 had witnessed the location. There is barely room on this rocky shelf for two 

 persons to lie down; and if one rolls off, why it is only a hundred foot slide over 

 snow. We have brought up grub and blankets and a jag of wood. While Wil- 

 liam makes camp, although it is beastly cold, I man the binoculars and watch 

 every bird that stirs over the snow or works across the face of the towering cliffs 

 beyond. There are birds in plenty — for Leucos — say three or four in sight at 

 once. Usually two or three are gleaning industriously over the face of the snow- 

 field. The snow is in full shadow and the birds are most active at this time, 

 partly because the glare of midday no longer blinds the eyes and makes snow 

 work practically insufferable, even for birds, and partly, no doubt, because it 

 is the last chance. 



•* > 



SUNRISE LEDGE: CAMP OF LEUCO NESTERS. 1919 



11 



