The California Clapper Rail 



easy — well, they lie. What would tempt an honest birdman to tramp 

 these interminable acres of "pickle weed," and to flounder across these in- 

 terminable mud sloughs, anyway? Obviously, only the presiding genius of 

 San Francisco Bay, the California Clapper Rail. Here comes one of these 

 dandies of the mud, now, a symphony in browns with insertions of white. 

 Stepping forth from the curtain of salicornia, which leans over the sloping 

 sides of the slough, Sir Clapper plants a careful foot, and eyes you quizzi- 

 cally. If passably reassured, he moves over the mud in a gingerly manner, 

 hitching his head and jetting his apology for a tail. He is like a horse with 

 a tight crupper, and his under tail-coverts flash a white distress signal each 

 time he hitches forward. But he is only putting on airs. Let a worm ap- 

 pear on the mud and the Rail seizes it by a nimble dash, in which dignity is 

 utterly forgotten. The worm he bolts on the spot, or else retires to shelter 

 if the victim requires disciplinary measures. If the bird, also, has business 

 on the other side of the slough, he will swim the salty stream, also with a 

 hitching motion; or else he will rise heavily, dragging his reluctant feet 

 ostentatiously through the air, and drop to cover as soon as may be. 



For all that we can see, the life of the Clapper Rail is passed in these 

 humble surroundings, amidst endless acres of salicornia {Salicornia am- 

 bigua), broken only by occasional patches of "greenbush" (Grindelia 

 cuneifolia). Nothing more exciting offers in the round year than a drench- 

 ing storm, or a high tide which floods his meadows, and leaves the birds to 

 swim about disconsolate until the waters are abated. If these portentous 

 occasions occur in November, other Rails, chiefly migrants, are disclosed: 

 namely, the Sora, the Yellow, and the California Black Rails. At such 

 times the gunners used to reap shameful harvests. A rail on the wing is 

 easier to hit than a tin can, anyway, but a rail on the waters is yours for 

 the asking. Being so near to San Francisco, and yielding as they do their 

 decent pound of flesh, the Clapper Rails were unmercifully harried, until 

 the race was well nigh on the verge of extinction. But now that Federal 

 protection has been established, the race bids fair to recover, at least in 

 those limited sections which industry has not claimed, or agriculture 

 "reclaimed." 



Our chief interest in the California Clapper Rail attaches to the 

 nesting time. According to Chase Littlejohn, the veteran ornithologist 

 of Redwood City, these rails nest twice in a season, once in April along 

 the banks of the tide channels, and again in June, when they resort to the 

 deeper cover which borders the bay shore. My own information was 

 gathered in two privileged days (April 14, 15, 191 1) spent near Redwood 

 City, where I found ten occupied nests. In placing their domiciles, the 

 birds chose only the densest cover, usually that afforded by the little 

 patches of Grindelia, which at this season of the year is about two feet high. 



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