162 Union Bay 



There are still some ospreys left in the state, and when 

 I have flatboated on the Snoqualmie, the Stillaguamish, or 

 the Yakima rivers, I have often heard a cry overhead and 

 have looked up to see one or two of these birds as they 

 followed the bends of the river in search of sustenance. Only 

 once have I seen an osprey feeding in the marsh; at that time 

 it took a fair-sized catfish from shallow water and ate it 

 while I approached with my camera and managed to photo- 

 graph it. The reappearance of the bird has become an event 

 of greater significance as time passes, for since this incident 

 five years ago I have not observed the bird over the marsh. 



I have the records of other famous casual -and irregular 

 visitors: the bald eagles which have never nested in the area 

 but which pass infrequently while on migration; the black- 

 bellied plover, the small shorebird for which I have always 

 had a tender regard. It has only to raise its wings and it 

 shows a black patch which instantly identifies it. There was 

 the red-throated loon, a handsome migrant which died al- 

 most in front of the canoehouse after a thoughtless lad had 

 shot it with a .22 rifle. The only consolation is that its skin 

 is now in the museum on the campus. The whistling swans 

 which have appeared about every other year have given local 

 observers a fine chance to see them for they have allowed 

 remarkably close approach. 



The birds mentioned in this chapter are neither regular nor 

 frequent in their visits. I have seen but one or two from 

 this class in an entire year, but I have been content to Watch 

 the normal flow of life in this marsh, to witness what would 

 be called ordinary routine in city life, and to know that, 

 sooner or later, the canoe would flush a strange bird and 

 send me to the records in an effort to learn its name, its 

 histoiy, its habits, and the places from which it had come and 

 to which it was going. 



