^92 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April is, igoS- 
Pacific Coast Natural History Notes 
If the floods of the past three months have not swept 
the coast range entirely clear of rattlesnakes, observers 
have had occular evidence of great rafts of them being 
swept seaward by the rushing rivers of San Diego county. 
It was a strange phenomena to persons standing on a 
bridge to see the wriggling mass passing under. That 
was in February. There were scores of them. 
The five reservoirs in the vicinity of San Diego are 
now provided for as follows : 
I Depth of Water — ■ 1 
Reservoir March 18. March 19. 
Sweetwater 50 feet 51 feet 4 inches 
Upper Otay 72 feet 4 inches 73 feet 6 inches 
Lower Otay 78 feet 4 inches 79 feet 10 inches 
La Mesa (full) .62 feet 21/2 inches 
Cx2yamaca 26 feet 1/2 inch 26 feet 2% inches 
Who says this country is arid? 
If the pestiferous linnets of this section are not con- 
genitally related to the English sparrows, they are at 
least quite as much of a nuisance. Like their eastern 
prototypes, they are outlawed. They have few friends, 
and small boys find excellent practice for their air guns 
and plenty of fresh meat for the cats. In color the birds 
are olive gray and drab, with two parrallel rufous bars 
on the poll. They are not quite as large as the English 
sparrows, and not as plump, but are prettier. But oh, my ! 
how quickly a flock of them will denude a fresh sown oat 
or wheat field. They are as bad as the bobolinks and 
blackbirds in South Carolina rice fields. 
Field larks here much resemble their cousins of the 
Middle South, but they do not flock in such great num- 
bers as in the Piedmont region of North Carolina, and 
their notes are quite as musical as those of the New 
England bobolink, which they resemble in part. They do 
not confine themselves to grass and stubble, but take 
more to trees and telephone wires, where they sit and 
sing for minutes at a time. That is, in the suburbs of 
National City. ■ , 1, 
Rabbits and coyotes are in continuous evidence on the 
edge of town ; the latter sometimes invading the hen-roosts, 
like foxes, or disturbing the small hours of the night by 
their latrant barks and howls, causing needless apprehen- 
sion to nervous newcomers from the East. (Everything 
the other side of the Rockies is "East" to this country.) 
Gophers or spermophiles, an omnipresent species of 
ground squirrel, do far more damage by burrowing into 
roadways and sidewalks, undermining the earth, starting 
crevasses and gullies, and opening incipient canons. The 
other day a two-horse team met disaster by "putting their 
foot in it" on one of our principal streets, and the out- 
come was employment and repair for several men for 
nearly a week. The rodents are worse than prairie dogs. 
On the adjacent mountain range which adds so much 
to the natural beauty and grandeur of our environment, 
there are mountain lions, wolves, deer and rattlesnakes 
and other varmints. 
The other day my nephew, who is a persistent speci- 
men hunter (he brought in a quart of tadpoles and in- 
cipient frogs from an ordinarily dry arroyo), captured a 
beautiful water hen (poule d'eau, or coot), with _ white 
body, slate colored wings, pink eyes and saffron bill. It 
looked like a Bonaparte kittiwake at sight, but it had the 
lobed feet of the Fulica. He cut it ont alive from a band 
of ten, the like of which he says is not common; and an 
attempt was made to domesticate it in millionaire 
Granger's private reservoir; but it died of incompatibility, 
shallow water and lack of mud. I learned only to-day 
of its demise, which took place three weeks ago, else I 
should have saved the skin for the taxidermist. 
The plumage of all related bird species seems to be 
more gaudy here than at the north, saving the Baltimore 
oriole, scarlet tanager and bluej ay, which are hard to beat 
for impressionist coloration. All the gulls, terns and 
shore birds here are as tame as domestic fowls, and feed 
at all times on the mud flats and water lots along the tide 
line. Sometimes they try to snatch the bait from the 
hooks of the smelt fishermen as they cast their gossarner 
tackle outward from the piers. These smelts are quite 
similar to our eastern smelts, and are caught m February 
and March at corresponding seasons. There is a differ- 
ence, however, and I don't know whether to tack it on 
to the Pacific oolachan or the North Atlantic capelin. _ 
In the most interesting museum of the San Diego 
Chamber of Commerce there is the shell of a large green 
turtle, inscribed with the names of twenty-eight kinds of 
edible fishes that are caught in San Diego Bay. Shad 
and striped bass have been added lately to the list, having 
been introduced some twenty-five years ago or so by 
Seth Green and Livingston Stone. Shad have been run- 
ning for three or four weeks, and fine large ones are in 
the market. Striped bass commenced to show up about 
March i, but the fishing season does not culminate until 
May. Thenceforward there is sport galore until Christ- 
mas ' Striped bass have become the favorite _ fish for 
anglers' diversion, though, like the salmon, it is caught 
in the still waters of the bays and estuaries with a com- 
monplace trolling spoon; which is quite a different ex- 
ploit from casting into the sounding surf 'at Newport 
or Cuttyhunk, where every would-be captor must be bap- 
tized in brine and show contusions on his limbs to prove 
his valor. By the way, is there no one competent to write 
uo a monograph of the striped bass? Surely it is the 
coming ocean game fish. Tarpon and tuna have had their 
^"cnSing the bay In a naphtha launch on a moonlit 
night when the sky is slightly overcast, is like flailing 
the Milky Way with the tail of a comet. A meteoric 
shower is not a circumstance in comparison. Phosphor- 
escence flies from the prow like sparks from a forge as 
the craft passes through the water. Billows of sparks 
heave up in front and stream ofiE astern in brilliant cor- 
ruscations. Every startled fish that darts from its course 
leaves a train like a shooting star. Shore pyrotechnics 
cut no figure in the liquid equation. In fact, no written 
description will aptly apply, and my pen must halt right 
now; but it may move anon. Charles Hallock. 
National City, Cal,, March 25. 
Early Spring Days. 
When does the spring begin? On the first day the 
song sparrow sings. That answer, however, will not 
satisfy the gentlemen who write funny paragraphs for the 
papers ; nor, indeed, will it satisfy the average man, who 
will tell you that he does not care a button when the 
song sparrow sings : what he wants is some warm 
y/eather, and until he gets that he will consider it winter, 
if you please. _ Which, to be sure, is a very practical 
commonsense view. Nevertheless the first day of spring 
is that on which the song sparrow sings. Some years it 
is as early as the second week in February; and others, 
such as this, as late as the first week in March. It is 
generally not what you would call a pleasant daj'. There 
is snow still on the ground — dirty patches here and there 
— and a chilly dampness in the air; the sky is gray, and 
altogether _ it is what you would call a bleak day. And 
yet there isi a certain, something about it which suggests 
a change — a new departure. If you are a lover of nature 
you will feel this. Certainly the song sparrow feels it, 
and that moment he proclaims it aloud with ecstacy. 
Then come wet- days a-plenty, when to venture out of 
doors is to get your feet covered with mud. But pshaw ! 
what cares the nature lover for that? With his leggings, 
his mackintosh and his stick he betakes him through the 
fields and woods. The grass has commenced to spring up 
anew, especially in sheltered spots, and how grateful is 
the sight of it to the winter-jaded eye! Such a vivid,, 
pervading green. From the eye it passes to the brain 
within and wakes up certain dormant cells — as a bright 
light might wake up a sleeper — and a new mood is de- 
veloped — a more hopeful, joyous outlook upon the world. 
Wonderful is the effect of fresh green grass upon the 
mind. Hardly less so is that of fresh green leaves, but 
we are far off from these yet. But the buds have com- 
menced to swell on the trees, and the wind in the branches 
seems to sing a different tune from that of winter; no 
longer hoarse and sullen, but loud and triumphant. Loud 
though it be, a sharp metallic "tchick" rises above it, like 
the high note of the soprano at an opera. Lo ! the first 
robin. Rising from . a tree he flies wildly down the wind. 
How welcome the sight of him is, like that of an old 
friend who links us to other days. 
Now that the migrants have commenced to arrive, we 
feel that spring is here indeed. And gradually the 
weather grows softer, more balmy. Even before March is 
gone we may have a day, or two or three of them, which 
suggest May. The sky appears of the most beautiful tur- 
quoise blue, across which a brisk west wind chases fleecy 
masses of clouds ; or there may be little or no wind and 
the temperature rises so suddenly that the imprudent man 
would fain take a siesta if, there were any shade — that 
is to say, under the trees. But to such a day or days as 
these, there is certain to succeed more tearful ones, for 
the season is still, young and of capricious mood. Its 
capriciousness will even take the form of nasty exhibi- 
tions of temper, as typified by snow squalls and hail- 
storms ; and the sulks, too, will often supervene, in the 
form of fogs and mists. Yet there is in these sulks 
something which is akin to the poetic mood, for to them 
succeed the flowers, the tulips, the violets, the crocuses 
and those other early blooms which, like the early songs 
of the birds, are the sweetest emanation of the spring. 
At length the leaves begin to burst forth and the 
marshes to send up their sprouts and tendrils, and the 
land becomes a vision of tender, gauzy green — such a 
vision as the painter Corot loved and immortalized so 
variously on canvas. Gentle showers now alternate with 
glowing sunshine. You can almost see things growing. 
All nature is throbbing with vitality. Every day, or 
rather every night, brings its contingent of migrants, and 
the air resounds with their chants and cries. The piping 
of the frogs in the marsh — so resonant, so shrill — adds 
to the chorus which wakes you up early in the morning. 
Don't try to go to sleep again, if you are wise ; but get up 
and go out and take a full draught of the new wine of the 
year. 
"All life is brief: 
What now is bud 
Will soon be leaf: 
What now is leaf 
Will soon decay. 
The wind blows East; the wind blows West; 
The blue eggs in the robin's nest 
Will soon have wings and beak and breast 
And flutter and fly away." 
' Frank Moonan. 
The Linnaean Society of New York. 
Regular meetings of the society will be held at the 
American Museum of Natural History^ Seventy-seventh 
street and Eighth avenue, on Tuesday evening, April il 
and 25, at 8:15 P. M. April 11, C. G. Abbott, "A Bird 
Lover in the Scottish Highlands." Illustrated by lantern 
slides. April 25, C. Wm. Beebe, "A Naturalist's Camping 
Trip in Old Mexico." Illustrated by sketches and photo- 
graphs. C. G. Abbott, Secretary. 
Quail and Deer on Cape Ann. 
^ During the fall of 1903 eight quail were constant 
visitors to my cabin dooryard. Six of the number were 
killed after the law went on. Gunners swarmed every- 
where in Ward Eight, City of Gloucester, from the 
irrepressible _ small boy to the heedless and reckless 
alien. Rabbits and squirrels was the game hunted, to 
let the hunters tell it; but everything wearing fur, or 
feathers was killed, maimed or frightened from the 
territory. 
The two quail that escaped the slaughter nested the 
next spring near my cabin. One morning, while the 
hen was sitting, I heard a great squealing in the direc- 
tion of the nest. 
I knew, it was the rascally crows, so I shouted and 
discharged my pistol. I had the satisfaction of seeing 
three crows sneak through the low shrubbery to a pine 
grove. The crows had succeeded in stealing two eggs, 
leaving twelve in the nest. I tied a strip of white cloth 
on a bush near the nest and the crows gave the spot 
a wide berth. The outcome was twelve young quail, 
and a second nest produced the same number. During 
the fall months both families haunted my dooryard for 
food. The last time that I had a chance to call the roll 
disclosed eighteen birds, young and old. The six that 
did not answer to roll call were young birds, and were 
probably killed by crows and a sharp-shinned hawk. 
In November wood chopping disturbed the birds, and 
they left for Bond's Hill. On this hill there are great 
patches of cat brier. Underneath the brier patches the 
quail are secure from dogs and foxes. I provided food 
during the winter and the birds are now doing well. 
My last count made the number fourteen, which I con- 
sider a good showing, as a she fox has made the hill 
her hunting ground all winter. 
Last fall gunners were barred. The park commis- 
sioners posted their territory and, with consent of 
owners' posted many wood lots besides. This will pro-" 
tect over one thousand acres of forest and shrub land. 
It will give the game birds a show. 
It is no unusual thing to see deer on Cape Ann. 
Dogs often drive them out of the woods into the very' 
heart of the city. Three deer yarded this winter just 
south of my cabin. After the snow settled the dogs 
got after them and drove them out. One was chased 
into Essex, but the other two went back into the yard. 
Three weeks later the dogs drove these deer out again, 
and they left for the woods near Magnolia. 
The fox sparrows returned March 23, which is ten 
days earlier than usual for my dooryard. An even 
dozen left last fall, and to-day I counted ten. Whether 
or not they are the same birds, I cannot say, but I can 
swear to one bird. He comes to my dooryard in the 
winter whenever there is a warm spell. After the flock 
leaves on their way north my bird returns for a day or 
so, several times. For four years a male white-throated 
sparrow was selected by the fox sparrow as a chum. 
The white-throat did not return in mid-winter, but he 
would return from two to three times after his mates 
had gone south. 
For three years these two varieties of the sparrow 
family failed to visit my cabin in migration, with the 
exception of the two chums. 
Several sparrow hawks, and many shotgun fiends, 
made the locality too hot for the main flock, but my 
little friends returned on time as usual. 
One spring. Rusty, the fox sparrow, returned alone. 
After a day. or two he disappeared, and when he re- 
turned brought with him his chum. There were no 
hawks about, so the white-throat went away after his 
family. When he returned he was accompanied by his 
wife and two children. 
I think Rusty was a bachelor until this time, for he 
had never piloted a fox sparrow to the dooryard. The 
next fall he brought an old female and two young birds, 
and^ I understood that it was an introduction to his 
family. The number has increased every year, until 
last fall there were twelve in the flock, which I thought 
were Rusty's descendants. 
W;abbles, the song sparrow that comes to my cabin 
spring and fall, did a peculiar thing last week. As 
usual, he comes to the woods every day. Sometime 
he has with him one or two of his children The 29th 
of March I heard him calling while I was 'on my way 
from the city. Soon he appeared, flitting from bush to 
bush, and in his wake came a flock of song sparrows 
I found by count, while they were in the dooryard 
just twelve. Naturally I thought that Wabbles had 
brought me his descendants to feed. That night Wab- 
bles flew away with the entire flock. The next day he 
returned alone, and every day since he' has been alone 
until to day, April 3, when he has with him two young 
birds. It would seem as if Wabbles had given his child- 
ren, grandchildren and great-grandchildren a picnic in 
the woods, like we humans do. Hermit 
The mail steamship Ventura recently sailed from San Fran- 
cisco for Sydney, N. S. W., via Auckland and Honolulu, with a 
"large number of deer, elk, geese and ducks. They were pur- 
chased in this country by the New Zealand Government, 
Train Kilfs a Beaver. 
A MibDLETOWN, N.Y., despatch to the New York Times 
April 6, says: "The last known beaver in this section 
of the country gave up its life to-day while racing with 
a tram on the Susquehanna and Western Railroad near 
Two Bridges. The beaver had been hunted for years- 
hut could not be trapped. He was well kriown to all 
railroad men. He jumped on the track in" front of the 
train of Engineer Gould this morning. Though- the en- 
gineer brought his engine almost, to a stop, the beaver 
was .instantly killed. Engineer Gould, who lives at-' Og-- 
densburg, took the . carcass home, and will hgye- 'It 
mounted. It weighed seventy pounds, and had '■■a ike 
coat," - _ 
