BIRD LIFE IN COLORADO. 



DAVID BRUCE (PEREGRINE). 



That the increasing scarcity of our native 

 birds is by no means so evident in a moun- 

 tainous or densely wooded region, can 

 easily be explained bv the fact that these 

 regions generally are difficult of access and 

 the birds are so hidden by their wild sur- 

 roundings that their haunts are not easily 

 detected. The sportsmen who visit these 

 localities are generally in search of larger 

 game. Nevertheless, from my experience, 

 and from observations made during the last 

 14 years, in the Rocky mountain regions of 

 Colorado and Utah, I can say most posi- 

 tively that the birds, especially those with 

 showy plumage, are rapidly decreasing, 

 both in the vicinity of cities, and in the 

 Canyons as far as the Sunday cheap railway 

 excursions extend. In many of the sum- 

 mer resorts within a day's ride of Denver, 

 the birds have almost entirely disappeared. 



The beautiful band-tailed pigeon used to 

 be common in Platte and Clear Creek 

 Canyons, 10 years ago, but now it is very 

 rarely seen there. Last summer I examined 

 5 examples of this graceful species that were 

 killed in S. W. Colorado, and found their 

 crops were entirely filled with wild goose- 

 berries. Later in the season they feed on 

 acorns. The dipper, the long-crested and 

 pinon jays and magpies, the Louisiana tana- 

 ger and other conspicuous species, are now 

 either killed off or driven higher up the 

 mountains. 



In the higher regions, around the min- 

 ing camps and lumber mills, the dusky 

 grouse used to be very abundant in the 

 pine woods. As this is a large and well 

 flavored bird, it is hardly to be expected 

 that the men would neglect the chance of 

 varying their cuisine of salt pork and 

 canned horse. Consequently these birds are 

 now rarely seen in these localities. The 

 wings of this grouse, or, as every one calls 

 it in Colorado and Utah, " Partridge," — 

 used to be scattered all round the camps as 

 plentifully as the tin cans, that peculiarly 

 modern feature of a mining community. 



To the credit of the mountain men be it 

 said, however, that these rough yet gener- 

 ally good-natured fellows, do, as a rule, 

 protect the birds that frequent the camp, 

 and very decidedly object to their destruc- 

 tion except for food purposes. One notable 

 instance came under my observation in 

 Summit Co., Colorado, in '94. It was near 

 a saw mill, or lumber camp — at an altitude 

 of about 10,000 feet. I was watching a fam- 

 ily of crossbills clinging to the boughs of a 

 small pine. The wood choppers were 

 working all around, and they, too, soon 

 became interested, and we had quite a talk 

 about the birds of the mountains. One 



man asked me if I had ever seen a partridge 

 (blue grouse) on its nest. I said, " No — 

 never on its nest, but I have flushed them 

 from the nest." He answered, " Well, if 

 you won't disturb it, or take the eggs, I 

 will show you one." I promised, and fol- 

 lowed him a short distance into the timber. 

 At the base of a large pine he showed me 

 the nest with the bird sitting on it. He 

 knelt down very gently, stroked the bird, 

 and then actually lifted her enough to show 

 the eggs! The bird acted precisely as a 

 domestic hen would have done under the 

 same conditions, making the same queru- 

 lous note indicative of annoyance. 



On my return, 2 weeks after, I was 

 pleased to hear that the brave mother got 

 her brood safely off. The man said to me, 

 "We wouldn't cut that tree down till she 

 got her brood out of the way all right." 

 Such conduct deserves a medal. 



On the very top of the Snowy Range of 

 the Rockies, in Colorado, the white tailed 

 ptarmigan or " mountain quail " as it is 

 called everywhere in that State, was until 

 lately a very abundant species. Twelve 

 years ago I sometimes flushed from 12 to 20 

 pairs in a day's walk. The almost stupid 

 tameness or indifference of this bird ren- 

 ders it an easy prey to the prospector or 

 wandering tourist, who shoots it with his 

 revolver or knocks it over with a stone or 

 stick. Since it is quite a large bird, and 

 excellent eating, it is no wonder that it is 

 nearly exterminated in the neighborhood 

 of the higher mining camps. Coyotes, fox- 

 es, " bob cats," martens, and all the rest of 

 the weasel tribe help to keep the number 

 down, but the agency of man is by far the 

 most powerful factor. 



An old miner who lived alone near Blue 

 river, above South park, used to feed and 

 protect this species every winter, and the 

 birds would even enter his shanty. The old 

 fellow was almost as quiet and harmless as 

 his pets. Once when I called on him, as I 

 always did, when in that locality, and cas- 

 ualty asked him how his quail were getting 

 on, I found him in a state of great indigna- 

 tion. He told me that a rascally saloon 

 keeper, from Denver, had come up the 

 mountains to see a friend in one of the 

 mires; and had killed every one of his 

 " chickens " with his revolver. My friend 

 said, with flashing eyes, " I am glad I wasn't 

 there to see it, for I would have shot him or 

 else he should have shot me! " 



On the plains and near the foothills, the 

 avocet and Wilson's phalarope used to be 

 common, as did several of the plovers and 

 sandpipers, but these species are now very 

 rarely seen. As to the ducks, the sporting 



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