198 



THE OOLOGIST 



rises from 90 to 130 feet above the 

 rocky beach of the Bay of Fundy. He 

 said that when he was a small boy — 

 over twenty years ago, his grandfath- 

 er, a sea-captain of eighty odd years, 

 had taken him along the beach and 

 shown him the nest, and each year as 

 he grew bigger, he and other village 

 boys would amuse themselves by 

 stoning the nest, but on account of its 

 height most of their shots fell far 

 short of the mark. His grandfather 

 recalled having indulged in the same 

 pastime when he was a boy, for the 

 Ravens had nested on this ledge as 

 far back as he could remember, and 

 every spring had been known to kill 

 their young lambs in the field along 

 the bluff. These depredations would 

 account in part for the hostility 

 Fhown by the farmers in the district 

 to the birds. It was not possible to 

 see the nest from above due to the 

 fact that there was at this place a 

 five- foot overhang of rock, I at once 

 decided that I must have a set of eggs 

 from that ledge. 



The following March, despite the 

 protest that I was a month too early 

 for any signs of nesting, I again visit- 

 ed Margaretville, and with my friend 

 set out for a walk along the beach. 

 The cliff covered with hanging cas- 

 cades of ice formed by the tiny wa- 

 ter-falls, many of which in summer 

 would hardly be noticeable, my friend 

 felt certain that no birds could be 

 nesting among such cold and uninvit- 

 ing surroundings, but as we drew 

 near the vicinity of the ledge, I was 

 not surprised to see an old Raven 

 soaring in Majestic circles over the 

 cliff. 



As we drew to the place where he 

 first appeared we caught only occa- 

 sional glimpses of him. He would ap- 

 pear just for a fraction of a second, 

 liigh up over the brow of the cliff, and 

 the alacrity with which he would flap 



his great wings in his efforts to get 

 out of sight, seemed to tell of long 

 years of persecution from rifles and 

 shot guns. 



My guide was not sure that he 

 could even find the old nesting site, 

 on account of the ice, but from the 

 way the old Raven was acting, I felt 

 reasonably certain it could not be 

 very far off. A few moments later, 

 I saw another Raven leave the side of 

 the cliff not forty yards ahead of us. 

 Yes, this was the same old nesting 

 place — ice all about — but none on the 

 narrow ledge itself, due as I found 

 later, to the fact that its surface 

 sloped backwards and gave a natural 

 drainage off into the crevice. Proba- 

 bly one reason this site was original- 

 ly chosen and so long favored was be- 

 cause it was always so dry. We es- 

 timated that the nest was about 70 

 feet and the cliff itself, as we learned 

 later was 110 feet at this point. The 

 next morning we set off with two ex- 

 tra men, one of whom, a husky sail- 

 or, had volunteered to reach the ledge 

 by means of a strong rope which we 

 were to make fast to a tree back over 

 the brow of the cliff. He went up 

 from the beach, sailor fashion, hand 

 over hand, seldom stopping to rest, 

 but we soon saw that this plan was a 

 failure, as he was too far out, due to 

 the overhang above, on which in our 

 haste we had not calculated. We de- 

 cided that a more elaborate scheme 

 would be necessary. That afternoon 

 was spent in preparing our equipment 

 and next morning (March 24th, 1915) 

 we loaded the outfit on a team and 

 drove to the woods on the cliff just 

 above the nest. To one end of a rope 

 cable was fastened a sort of sailor 

 chair and this was lowered to the 

 beach. To prevent the rope from be- 

 coming frayed and also from dislodg- 

 ing the loose rocks, it was run over 

 a roller which was fastened to two 



