462 



RECREATION. 



the winter woods were the chickadee and 

 the Canada jay. The latter is the most inter- 

 esting and sociable bird I ever met. The 

 name given him by science is seldom heard 

 in the country in which he lives. A few of 

 his many local names are "meat bird" 

 "camp robber" and "whiskey jack." In 

 size he is about equal to the blue jay, al- 

 though appearing larger because of his 

 thick feathers. In shape and color the camp 

 robber is similar to the common chickadee. 

 He lacks all song and his only note is a 

 guttural caw. Of his nesting habits little 

 is known, because the young are raised 

 while snow still covers the ground. 



The Canada jay is, without doubt, the 

 boldest of our birds, and his cool impu- 

 dence is amusing, if not commendable. He 

 will boldly enter a tent occupied by several 

 men and walk fearlessly about, helping 

 himself freely to anything eatable. If a 

 piece of soap be left unconcealed or if a 

 candle chances to be overlooke'd by the 

 camper it is sure to be missing if camp is 

 left unguarded. He is not content with 

 stealing enough for one meal, but hides all 

 he can get in hollow trees and logs. Meat, 

 whether raw or cooked, is his special de- 

 light, and he will work steadily carrying 

 off and concealing it until all is taken. I 

 once thought I would see how much one 

 bird would carry away. I threw a piece 

 to him as often as he came back, but after 

 an hour had passed the supply of meat as 

 well as my patience was exhausted. 



The whiskey jack is the constant com- 

 panion of the trapper, calmly riding, on the 

 edge of his canoe, where at every stroke 

 the paddle comes within 18 inches of him. 

 He boldly follows the woodsman to his 

 traps and removes, if possible, the bait 

 from deadfalls. He sits silently by while 

 the trap is being constructed, but as soon 

 as the owner's back is turned, swoops down 

 with a triumphant caw and renders the 

 trap useless by destroying the bait. 



In spite of the way in which the meat 

 bird pilfers the traps woodsmen rarely 

 kill one, because his company helps to les- 

 sen the solitude of the woods. It is only 

 when a man is lost in the woods without a 

 gun that he will kill a meat bird without 

 compunction. The way in which the cruiser 

 kills the bird is as efficient as it is simple. 

 If the lost man happens to have nothing to 

 eat with him he ties a piece of his red shirt 

 to a long light pole. This he balances on 

 a stump, and steps behind a tree. Soon a 

 curious camp robber will alight on the pole 

 to investigate, whereon the cruiser hits the 

 opposite end of the pole with a club and 

 the shock is generally fatal to the bird. 



Although the Canada jay is a tramp and 

 steals for a living, he is a thief by neces- 

 sity, for in order to live he must help him- 

 self and bountifully, too, when he has a 



chance, so as to provide for a rainy day. 

 The hardships with which he has to contend 

 are so severe that no other bird can with- 

 stand them, and one can not help but ad- 

 mire his plucky fight against starvation. 

 Robert Montgomery, Beloit, Wis. 



THE LOON AS IT IS NOT PICTURED. 

 In August Recreation R. J. Sim asks, 

 Who as seen a loon stand erect as they 

 are always represented in pictures ? 



One morning in July, several years ago, 

 I was climbing over some high rocks that 

 lie off shore at Dalhousie, B. C. As I 

 came over the crest of one, I saw below me 

 an ungainly bird, standing erect and cran- 

 ing its snakelike neck. It bore little re- 

 semblance to anything I had ever seen in 

 books or elsewhere. It stood perfectly 

 erect and taller than one would expect even 

 so large a bird as the great Northern diver 

 to stand. Perceiving me it took one or 2 

 hurried waddling steps to the edge of the 

 low rock on which it stood, fell forward 

 and, with scarce a splash, floated gracefully 

 on the water. Then and then only did I 

 know it for what it was, a loon. 



I once witnessed a curious piece of work 

 in decoying a female loon. I was sitting 

 at the edge of a lake in the Laurentian 

 mountains of Quebec, trying to figure out 

 the ratio of caribou absent to caribou sign 

 abundantly present, when the monotony 

 was varied by the appearance of a lady loon 

 swimming around a projecting rock, and 

 passing our temporary camp. My guide, 

 Toby Gagnon, who had been telling me, in 

 16th century French, how many caribou 

 were at the lake a week before and just 

 why they were not there then, saw a chance 

 to change the subject and asked if I wanted 

 him to bring the loon in. Permission 

 granted, he made a trumpet of his hands 

 and uttered a peculiar note, such as I never 

 heard before nor since from a loon, but 

 which had an immediate effect on this par- 

 ticular bird. She changed her course and 

 swam toward us. Toby repeated the call 

 and she continued to approach, until she 

 was within 30 yards of where we lay con- 

 cealed. There she stopped and raising her- 

 self by a violent flapping of the wings, 

 stood, as it were, erect on the water and 

 remained so several seconds. If my mem- 

 ory serves me aright, for this was in '94. 

 She gave a shrill cry in answer to the de- 

 ceptive call of her supposed mate, and then 

 sank down on the water and swam away 

 from shore. Three times she returned to 

 Toby's call, and repeated the performance 

 until, disgusted apparently with the failure 

 of her lord and master to come out of the 

 tall timber, she went away. 



E. V. Papin, Penetang, Ont. 



