Among the Water-Fowl 



isle, whereon I had hoped to warm myself, proved 

 to be a delusion ; and I realized that submersion 

 did not make me a Grebe, for I was already shud- 

 dering with the cold. So, hurriedly placing a tew 

 sets of eggs in the creel that I had dragged out 

 over the water, I reluctantly returned from my bird- 

 slumland, and made for the shore, which I finally 

 reached, shivering and shuddering, after being three- 

 quarters of an hour in the icy water. Though it 

 was an uncomfortable experience, I was more than 

 repaid by what I had seen. My one sorrow was 

 that it was impracticable to use the camera. 



Rush Lake is an area some twelve miles long and 

 four wide, with water only waist deep, out of which 

 grows long grass and occasional patches of tall 

 rushes. Years ago, it is said to have been entirely 

 open, but now even an open lane is a rarity. A 

 settler piloted us to it the first day. After walking 

 a mile or more, he suddenly announced — " Well, 

 here we are." " But where is the lake," I asked, 

 looking perplexedly over the grassy plain? "This 

 is it, right before you," was the reply. My first 

 feeling was of great disappointment, but as Ducks of 

 all sorts began to fly out in squadrons along the 

 margin, I was soon reassured. 



The day after the Grebe colony incident, I spent 

 the morning alone near the west end of Rush Lake, 

 if end, indeed, there was, my friend agreeing to 

 drive the team up for me after dinner. In time, I 

 waded out to quite an open lead of water, adjoining 

 which many Coots had their nests in the grass. 

 Over near the other side were fifty or more Eared 

 Grebes swimming about, evidently another colony. 



6 



