THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 123 
Though near cousins of the Robins, their character and dis- 
positions are in no way alike. The Robins are bold, noisy birds, sing- 
ing from the house top so that all the world may hear. The Thrushes 
sing to their loved ones alone. From some shady thicket near the 
mate and her nest this lover of peace and solitude pours forth his 
praise in the morning; then all through the day is silent, As evening 
comes on a rich melodious call rings out, “Oh, Vivian, Vivian,” the 
mate on her nest no doubt rejoicing in his gladness. One bird after 
another joins in the chorus, each to his own Vivian, till the woods 
fairly ring. Suddenly, as if at a given signal, all is quiet. They sleep. 
TOWNSEND SOLITAIRE 
Myadestes townsendii (Aud) 
A little smaller than a Robin and unlike all the others of the 
Thrush family, Myadestes has no brown in his plumage. All gray; 
the under parts of a lighter hue, two white wing bars and white rings 
about the eyes, they fit well into their chosen habitat, the very highest 
plateaus and mountains about snow line. 
We found these birds numerous on the high levels about Lake- 
view; they have been seen near Bonneville and, of course, come 
down to the valleys and also move southward for the winter, but, 
always keeping to the woods, they are rarely seen. They do not range 
west of the Willamette valley. 
The eggs are three to six; pale ashy spotted with rusty brown. 
The nest has been described by Mrs. Wheelock in “Birds of 
California” as a “bulky affair” and, as usual, “under a huge boulder 
which lay in such a position that only two inches intervened between 
the earth and the overhanging stone; and in this low-roofed crevice 
the Solitaires had gathered more than a quart of grass, weed stems, 
shredded bark, pine needles, rootlets and dead leaves. These seemed 
to lie in a thick mat as if driven there by the wind. Examination 
revealed a foundation of larger weed stems and a neatly moulded 
inner nest. In it were five feathered nestlings. They were much 
browner in tone than the adults and were beautifully mottled on the 
breast with light brown.” 
I wish that I might reproduce one of his songs for you. It has the 
quality of a harp, but with the ring and rythm of a bugle call. 
Quoting again from Mrs. Wheelock, she says: “Among all the 
forest singers, the Townsend Solitaire is without a rival; and were 
he as easily heard as is the Mocking bird or the Thrush, he, and not 
they, would be the theme of the poet’s verse. Only in the majestic 
solitude of rugged mountains, when all the world is silent, will he pour 
out his soul in music; and to hear him at his best requires hard 
climbing and patient waiting. 
“In the highest Sierra Nevada his song rings clear morning and 
evening; and on a tall dead tree, sharply outlined against the sky, 
you may discover the happy singer. 
“As you watch, suddenly, without pausing in his burst of melody, 
he flies outward and upward, higher, higher, singing as he goes, until 
the silver notes fall like a shower of music which the listening earth 
drinks eagerly. His song ended, he floats down again, alighting with 
the easy grace of a mocker, and is at rest all but his quivering wings. 
He seems to squat rather than perch and is happiest when flying.” 
Their name Solitaire is slightly misleading, because they dearly 
love to flock like other birds after the nesting season. 
