At the border of the Yukon Delta, Eskimos familiar with the 

 country were employed to lead us to the desired nesting-ground of 

 the emperor goose. Nearly half a day's journey among the maze of 

 ice-covered channels of the delta brought us to a low, flat island, 

 where our guide assured me many nachau-thluk would soon arrive 

 to rear their young. It was a bare, desolate spot, with only a few 

 scattered alders on the upper side of the islands, and an unbroken 

 view out over the frozen sea to the west. A tent was put up on a 

 slight rise and, after a stock of drift-wood had been gathered, the 

 guides took the sledge and left me with my Eskimo companion to 

 await the arrival of the birds. Later, when the ice went out, they 

 returned for me with kyaks. 



A few white-fronted and cackling geese gave noisy evidence of 

 their presence, but it was not until May 22 that the Eskimo brought 

 in the first emperor goose — a male in beautiful spring plumage. Af- 

 ter this small flocks came in rapidly until they were plentiful all 

 about us. They arrived quietly, skimming along near the ground 

 quite unlike the other geese, which appeared high overhead with wild 

 outbursts of clanging cries that were answered by those already on 

 the ground. The river-channels and the sea were still covered with 

 ice, and the tundra was half covered with snow, at the time of the 

 first arrivals. 



At first, the emperor geese were difficult to approach, but as their 

 numbers increased they became less shy. When on the wing they 

 were easily distinguished from the other geese, even at considerable 

 distances, by their proportionately shorter necks and heavier bodies, 

 as well as by their short, rapid wing-strokes, resembling those of the 

 black brant. Like the latter, they usually flew near the ground, 

 rarely more than thirty yards high, and commonly so close to the 

 ground that their wing-tips almost touched the surface on the down 

 stroke. While ffying from place to place, they give at short intervals 

 a harfh, strident call of two syllables, like kla-ha, kla-ha, kla-ha, en- 

 tirely different from the note of any other goose I have ever heard. 

 A group of them on a sand-bar or mud-flat often utter lower, more 

 cackling notes in a conversational tone, which may be raised to wel- 

 come new arrivals. They are much less noisy than either the white- 

 fronted or cackling geese, which often make the tundra resound with 

 their excited cries. Occasionally I could cause a passing flock to 

 leave its course and swing in close to my place of concealment by 

 imitating their flight-notes. 



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