The Western Winter Wren 
repeatedly, in late May 
and early June, haunting 
the lava cliffs of an 
Upper Sonoran region 
miles from timber. 
They were almost sure 
to have been non-breed- 
ing waifs. Their 
migrations are not ex¬ 
tensive, and consist 
chiefly in retiring to ad¬ 
jacent lowlands to avoid 
the heavy snows of the 
upper levels. It is, 
thus, probably the Sier- 
ran birds which are most 
completely driven out in 
winter, and such birds 
go as far south as Los 
Angeles County, or as 
far west as Santa 
Barbara. 
It is the Winter 
Wren, chiefly, which 
gladdens the depths 
of the ancient forest 
with music. Partly 
because of its unique 
isolation, but more 
because of the joyous 
abandon of the little 
singer, the song of the 
Winter Wren strikes the 
bird-lover as being one 
of the most refreshing in the West. It consists of a rapid series of gurgling 
notes and wanton trills, not very loud nor of great variety, but having 
all the spontaneity of bubbling water,—a tiny cascade of song in a waste 
of silence. The song comes always as an outburst, as though some 
mechanical obstruction had given way before the pent-up music. Indeed, 
one bird I heard near the coast preceded his song with a series of tittering 
notes, which struck me absurdly as being the clicking of the ratchet in 
a music-box being wound up for action. 
Taken in Santa Cruz County Photo by the Author 
BREEDING HAUNT OF THE WESTERN WINTER WREN 
AN OCCUPIED NEST IS TUCKED AWAY IN THE DEPTHS OF THE ROOT MASS UNDER THE 
NEAREST FERNS 
