The Band-tailed Pigeon 



leaf-buds of oak or manzanita. Indeed, Evermann records an instance 1 

 of a bird, near Ventura, which had stuffed its crop with the young balls 

 (crowded flower-clusters, or "buttons") of a sycamore. 



In the presumed absence of enemies, these Pigeons indulge in loud 

 cooing, not unlike that of domestic varieties. In the presence of danger, 

 however, they know how to sit very quietly, and they are so successful in 

 escaping attention, especially in the deeper evergreen forests, that often 

 the first inkling one has of their presence is given by the loud flapping 

 wings of hurried departure. To stumble unexpectedly upon a berry-patch 

 crowded with Pigeons, say to the number of several hundred, is a memor- 

 able experience. The alarm may not be general — the birds are loth to quit 

 their feast — but they will rise by tens and twenties, by volleys and pla- 

 toons, until the beholding hunter thinks he has discovered Pigeon Paradise. 



But the flocking of Band-tailed Pigeons must not be exaggerated. 

 These large concourses are rare. For the most part the birds move about 

 in smaller bevies. Even in country where they are well distributed and 

 common, scattering flocks, of less than a hundred each, are the rule. 

 Flight is direct and vigorous, but it has the appearance of being labored — 

 the bird weighs a good twelve ounces — and ever and again, overhead, 

 there is the tell-tale clap of wings too vigorously smitten. 



Whatever lack of caution these birds may display when they feel the 

 support of a hundred fellows, is more than compensated at nesting time. 

 The birds at this season scatter widely and become imbued with a pre- 

 ternatural cunning. Approach and departure from the nest, a mere wisp 

 of crisscross twigs in oak or fir tree, is accomplished with the greatest 

 circumspection. When flushed, the bird makes off and disappears with 

 almost magical directness, and she (or he) is very careful not to put in an 

 appearance again to establish identity. 



Once the writer put in several days on the west slopes of the San 

 Jacinto range, at an altitude of some 6000 feet, hunting for pigeons' nests. 

 The cover was mingled black oak, golden oak, yellow pine, and white fir, 

 with clinging stands of chaparral, and much open ground. Upon our 

 first appearance on an open shoulder (where camp was later established), 

 we glimpsed a Band-tailed Pigeon as it left the middle depths of a certain 

 fir tree. A hundred feet or so away, it did not see us at first, for we 

 became motionless; but it scented trouble, and instead of following 

 its first impulse to return, took the top of a neighboring tree instead. 

 Here it began cooing softly, then, catching sight of us, it fled toward us, 

 upon the instant, with accusing directness. When not twenty feet away 

 it gave a sharp scrat note of comprehension and alarm, the like of which 

 I never heard before, swerved sharply, and took another tree top at some 



1 Barton W. Evermann. Auk, Vol. 3, 1886. p. 92. 



u 5 8 



