4H Quail and Grouse of the Pacific Coast 



little chicks know how to hide in the smallest 

 cover. The old one, instead of flying away, flut- 

 ters into a tree near at hand where she walks 

 about on a limb and inspects you with a touching 

 krrrrrrrrrrrrrr-uk-uk. Where they have never 

 been disturbed, as in the wilder parts of Oregon, 

 they allow you to come very near when doing 

 this. Otherwise I can hardly see how it can be 

 called a very tame bird, although it will vary in 

 different places the same as the mountain-quail. 

 Nor have I found it plenty enough to cloy any 

 one who quickly tires of anything too easily done. 

 During three weeks spent in the wildest part of 

 the Coast Range of Oregon, in 1896, all the time 

 beyond the last sight or sound of man or any of 

 his works, I saw many every day, but nowhere 

 were they as abundant and tame as in the little 

 meadow where we got the seventeen. And I doubt 

 if any one could average seventeen a day by any 

 means, fair or foul, unless where concentrated by 

 berries. In the Cascades I found it still more 

 scarce. 



Yet the dusky grouse of this coast has nearly 

 all those qualities that charm so many who care 

 nothing for the size or quantity of game. In the 

 rich bottoms where the fir doubles its size, and 

 the grand Port Orford cedar forms a roof against 

 which the sun's brightest rays struggle in vain, 

 this grouse springs from the shade with a roar of 



