THE BIRD OF SOLITUDE. 



EDWIN I. HAINES. 



On the summit of Bald Top mountain, 

 of the Catskill range, one evening in July, 

 1895, 1 became acquainted with the grey 

 cheeked thrush. 1 had been collecting 

 specimens all day on this peak, and as the 

 sun was setting I began descending the 

 mountain. Presently from far above me, 

 somewhere in the heart of the balsam for- 

 ests, I heard the rich organ-like notes of 

 "a bird in the solitude singing." I stopped 

 and listened, for the song was unfamiliar, 

 and for a wild bird's song, one of the most 

 beautiful I had ever heard. It was the 

 song of some species of thrush, I knew, 

 but the singer was not a wood, Wilson's, 

 olive backed or hermit. Those songs I 

 was familiar with. What one, then, could 

 it be? This question I settled next day, 

 for by patient waiting I at last secured one 

 of these beautiful songsters, and when I 

 reached home in the fall it was identified 

 as the grey cheeked thrush. 



The 2 succeeding summers I made care- 

 ful search of other mountain peaks in Dela- 

 ware county for evidence of this bird, but 

 obtained none. It was not until I visited 

 Slide mountain that I again met with it. 

 While collecting there on the 10th of June, 

 1898, I shot a thrush which I supposed was 

 an olive backed, but on close examination 

 I found it was a grey cheeked. Wishing 

 to make a careful study of this little known 

 species, I visited the Slide again on the 

 12th and camped on its summit until the 

 18th. During that time I had ample op- 

 portunity to study the bird's habits and 

 listen to its song. 



Slide mountain stands at the head of Big 

 Indian valley in the heart of the Catskills 

 of Ulster county, and rises 4,220 feet above 

 sea level. It is a lonely, desolate peak, 

 surrounded by broad, open valleys. Its 

 rocky summit is covered by a sparse growth 

 of stunted pines and balsams, but its bird 

 and animal life, being strictly Northern, are 

 specially interesting. Grey cheeked thrushes 

 are common on this mountain, but are so 

 shy it is difficult to get near them. You 

 can never get to them, but if you are pa- 

 tient they will sometimes come to you. 

 Often I have crept on hands and knees 

 toward the tree whence the song came, but 



when I reached it, the song would come 

 from somewhere else. All my toil had 

 been in vain. During my entire stay on 

 the mountain I obtained but 4 specimens. 

 To get these I sat hours in one spot, 

 cramped, half broiled by the sun, and nearly 

 eaten alive by black gnats and other pests 

 that swarmed there. This bird, hitherto 

 the only member of tne thrush family sup- 

 posed to summer beyond the limits of the 

 United States, has only been found in sum- 

 mer on the 2 peaks mentioned, Bald Top 

 mountain, 3,800 feet high, Delaware county, 

 N. Y., and Slide mountain, 4,220 feet high, 

 Ulster county, N. Y. These 2 mountains 

 are similarly situated but lie over 50 miles 

 apart. These 2 places must afford condi- 

 tions more favorable as summer homes for 

 this thrush than other places. 



Every kind of bird seems to voice some 

 phase of nature. The bobolink sings for 

 the sunny meadow, the oriole for the shady 

 treetop, the bluebird for the blue sky, the 

 towhee for the blackberry brambles, the 

 winter wren for the roaring brooks. The 

 grey cheeked thrush sings for the lonely 

 mountain peaks, and chants his Te Deums 

 for sunrise and sunset. Our camp on the 

 mountain summit was often serenaded by 

 this beautiful songster, sometimes at the 

 break of day, but oftenest at dusk. The 

 last evening on the mountain, while my 

 assistant was cooking supper, and packing 

 up for the morrow's departure, I strolled 

 toward Lookout rock, to see the sunset and 

 listen to the grev-cheek's vespers. As I 

 went along, watching the red light slant- 

 ing across the neighboring mountains, and 

 the dark shadows creeping up from the 

 valleys, I was thrilled with his song, but 

 not till I had reached the rock overlooking 

 the valley, and the dark line of wooded 

 mountains beyond, not till the summer sun 

 dropped behind the dark peaks, and the 

 rosy afterglow of the sunset was turning 

 to pale serene light, did the song of the 

 grey-cheek most deeply stir me with its 

 richness and beauty. Then from the dense 

 balsam thickets it came to me, filling the 

 cool evening air with its tremulous, pathetic 

 yearning, gathering up into short waves of 

 song the silent music of the sunset — God's 

 message of peace. 



"Papa, what is a marriage in high life?" 

 "Two vacant hearts entirely surrounded 

 by cash." — Life. 



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