190 



THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



THE PORTRAIT OP A GREAT BLUE HERON 

 EROM BEEOW 



The eyes of a Heron are in the lower sloping 

 side of his head. He can stand as still as an 

 old stick in the water and yet, without the side 

 turn of his head, see a minnow that swims past 

 his toes. 



of clouds began to rise in tlie east, and 

 we heard the distant peal of thunder. We 

 hurriedly started back, but the wind was 

 soon lashing the waves into whitecaps. 

 Before long the advance drops began to 

 strike us. 



It was impossible in the midst of the 

 marsh to haul the boat out and crawl 

 under. The nearest cover was our small 

 tent, two iniles away ; so we wrapped the 

 cameras in our coats and put our strength 

 to the oars. 



We were suddenly enveloped in a shaft 



of green light as the sun broke through 

 a rift in the clouds. There were green 

 shades in the water, backed by the dark- 

 ening of the pouring rain. Then over the 

 wide stretch of the marsh the birds began 

 to rise — ■ white-winged Gulls, Red-head 

 and Teal Ducks, all winging up and away 

 to their nests and young. 



Gaunt Cormorants lifted from the sur- 

 face and beat along over the water, leav- 

 ing a trail of little splashes in their wake. 

 Terns began to cry and flit up from all 

 sides, and here and there along the sedgy 

 water's edge, a Bittern or a Night Heron 

 rose with a frightened "Quork ! Quork !" 

 and was away with the gale. Blackbirds 

 were all a-flutter, as the rain and hail 

 began to pelt. 



The whole surface was a-splatter with 

 the flood of the clouds pounding the river 

 below. Ahead and back and all about 

 hung a misty spray from the clashing 

 waters. 



SEEEPING AMONG WATER EOWL 



After spending two weeks along Kla- 

 math River, we set out overland for Kla- 

 math Falls, and then went to the town of 

 Merrill, 20 iniles south. Here we secured 

 a staunch rowboat, loaded in our supply 

 of provisions, and started down Lost 

 River for Tule or Rhett Lake. 



That night we camped at the mouth of 

 the river, a great rendezvous for water 

 fowl. Avocets were swooping past with 

 a loud "Whit-whit-ie ! Whit-whit-ie !" 

 Stilts were crying "Quit ! Quit !" loud and 

 fast, and Killdeers running and flapping 

 about in great distress. They kept crying 

 long after we had crawled into our 

 blankets and well into the night. The 

 next morning we discovered the reason, 

 for we found four nests of the Killdeer 

 and five of the Stilts and Avocets near by. 



Toward evening the Ducks came in 

 from the lake in bands and settled down 

 for the night where the reedy bogs lay 

 scattered about and the water was shal- 

 low. At dusk we lay in camp and listened 

 to the rush of wings, as the night-comers 

 flocked in to their resting places. We 

 could catch the faintest whir at first, 

 which increased to a loud swish as the 

 band passed. Out on the water came the 

 light flappings, as flock after flock settled 

 for the night. 



