The Turkey Vulture 



Taken near Santa Barbara 



WAITING FOR THE CORONER 



Photo by the A uthor 



friend dined on Mylodon cutlets a la franqaise, or sat enviously by while 

 Teratornis merriami, the giant Condor of old, helped himself to the choic- 

 est portions of a foundered mammoth. 



Be that as it may, the crowning touch of a summer day, A. D. 1918 

 — 28 — 38, is afforded by the sight of a small company of Turkey Vultures 

 lazily drifting across the middle distance, soaring, shifting, wheeling, 

 weaving endless circles, in restful monotony of midsummer content. 

 Lost in admiration and in envy of their powers, we may well forget that 

 these gifted aviators are repulsive in presence or abject in demeanor. 

 As a decorative feature in the landscape, the Vulture possesses an irre- 

 placeable value. And if you add to this the wonder of wings, the mystery 

 or the incomprehensible adroitness of gliding flight, you have just grounds 

 for respect. 



As a problem in aerodynamics, "the way of an Eagle (Vulture) in 

 the air" is little nearer solution today than it was in Agur's time. All we 

 can do is to record the appearances. If caught upon the ground, the 

 Vulture pitches forward, gives an awkward flap or two to clear his footing, 

 rises sharply, almost immediately catching the air in his ample wings, 

 and begins to sail. Henceforth, with motionless pinions he tilts and 



1738 



