The California Condor 



ably never know how long a Condor can stay aloft without replenishing his 

 "fuel tank," but it would probably be several days, not impossibly several 

 weeks — for whoever heard of a Vulture starving to death? The normal 

 habit would appear to be a feast of two or three days' duration, and at 

 whatever necessary distance from home, followed by a loafing time of a 

 week or so spent upon the ancestral ledges. Even then, the bird takes the 

 air daily for practice or for joy, but it is doubtful if his quest for food is a 

 serious one within a week after a big feed. The margin of safety, there- 

 fore, must certainly be very much longer. 



Of course, in such an "endurance plane" as this, economy of effort 

 is reduced to its lowest terms. Propulsive effort, wing-flapping, is rare, 

 useful only for emergencies. The normal course is sailing, in great circles, 

 so effortless that the observer loses the sense of it. Indeed, if our theory 

 of gliding flight is the correct one, it is the wind that does the work and 

 all the bird does is to guide the rudder or adjust the aileron. Mileage 

 doesn't matter, "gas" is cheap (if obtainable). There are no speed cops 

 in the highways of the upper air. Sail on ! Sail on ! 



Or, if you insist upon knowing something of the "model," before you 

 will observe the action, know, then, that a full-grown Condor, normally 

 ballasted, weighs about 20 pounds. Exceptional birds have weighed 26 

 pounds, but these were probably killed near a carcass. The wings are 

 relatively short and rounded, with very widely separated tips. The flexi- 

 bility of these wing-tips guarantees ease and safety in banking, for were 

 they more rigid, something, whether bone or quill, would give way under 

 the strain of a twenty-pound projectile doing a hairpin turn at, say, sixty 

 miles per hour. In efforts to express the grandeur of the bird's presence 

 and its impressive size, the Condor's wing-spread has often been exag- 

 gerated. According to Mr. Frank Stephens, "a bird that measures ten 

 feet, laid on its back on the floor and marked at wing tips without really 

 stretching the bird, is an exceptionally large bird." Nine feet is a fairer 

 average. Whether there have actually been specimens which would go 

 eleven feet, we are not prepared to say. 



Of course such a large "plane" requires a considerable field for a 

 take-off. The Condor, starting from the level ground, makes a little run 

 and flaps vigorously in order to get under way. In the earlier days, advan- 

 tage was taken of this necessity by cattle men or at least by mischievous 

 cowboys, who would build a fence around a carcass. The Vulture, unable 

 to resist the temptation to feast, would eventually settle within the narrow 

 enclosure and could be captured with a rush before he had time to clamber 

 out. It is for this reason, no doubt, that the Condor's lighting range in- 

 cludes only very open country or very rough country, where the bird can 

 take the air simply by pitching forward. Once a-vving the bird fears 



IJ29 



