22 THE AUDUBON BULLETIN 



Nature Studies in the Great West 



Gulls were everywhere. They hung over us in great clouds ; 

 they swarmed about the rigging, fighting for position on the 

 wireless aerial ; they trailed the ship and circled about her, their 

 raucous cries sounding even above the hoarse scream of the 

 whistle as the S. S. Avalon left Los Angeles harbor bound for 

 Catalina, the "Magic Isle." These Western Gulls certainly had 

 ear-splitting abilities. However they were protected by law in 

 the harbor because of their value as scavengers, and I, for one, 

 enjoyed their humorous antics and graceful flight. 



Although I live in Evanston, this bright June day found me 

 2000 miles from home with the blue, blue waters of the Pacific 

 about me and the ship's engines throbbing underfoot. I was 

 first impressed by the mountains on the island. They were low 

 for the most part, the altitude ranging from 100 to 2400 feet. 

 The mountainous character of the land is explained by the fact 

 that Catalina is a volcanic isle, in fact the different layers of 

 lava can still be seen on some of the bare cliffs facing the sea. 



These steep precipices are also of interest in that they are 

 the chosen eyries of the island's largest birds, the Bald Eagles. 

 On the tops of these precipices one could usually descry the huge 

 pile of sticks and rubbish in which, safe from the pillaging 

 hands of man, the young had been raised to eaglehood. Well 

 do I remember watching the spectacular dive of an old bird from 

 the top of a 300 foot cliff to the water not ten feet behind our 

 boat where he seized a fish and winged his way slowly upward 

 again to devour it. 



Many of the land birds are peculiar to Catalina and the sur- 

 rounding islands. One of the strangest of these is the Catalina 

 Raven who makes the lonely canyons echo with his hoarse, weird 

 cries. I shall never forget the evening in a wild canyon when I 

 first heard these ghoulish sounds. At that time I was not aware 

 that they came from the throat of a bird and will have to admit 

 of being thoroughly frightened. 



In the eaves of a summer-house, part of an unfrequented 

 park on the mountain top, many House Finches or Linnets as 

 they are popularly called had their nests. These were compactly 

 woven structures composed largely of dried grasses. One of 

 them contained five bluish eggs spotted with black; the others 

 were occupied by young birds in all stages of development. I 

 spent some exciting half-hours in trying to photograph these 

 bantlings but without success. 



The sweet voiced Linnet in the West replaces our brawling 

 street gamin, the English Sparrow. How much better to see the 

 cheery Linnet about our doorsteps than the bullying passer 

 domesticus, for the former's scarlet head and breast are much 

 more beautiful I am sure than the latter's dull plumage. 



