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Vol. XVIII 
A POPULOUS SHORE 
By FLORENCE MERRIAM BAILEY 
W IDE MARSHES and their lagoons, separated by commanding sand 
dunes from a broad sandy beach stretching out of sight down the Pa- 
cific, afforded ideal natural conditions for migrating water birds, and 
their abundance was attested by sign posts just below Venice, marking the 
preserves of one of the gun clubs of southern California. Up the shore the 
low Santa Monica Mountains could be seen, very ordinary mountains in the 
strong revealing light of day, but in the glamour of purple haze standing rich 
and reserved, and, behind a veil of mist, coming under the spell of mystery and 
magic. 
At sunset the low slanting light illuminated their cliffs and any ships that 
might be lying at anchor off the long pier of Port Los Angeles, as well as the 
rigging of the boats lying at anchor in the harbor of Venice, where flocks of 
Gulls gathered, flying about the pier and the sky above ; and one night the 
light touched up a party of Cormorants sitting statuesquely erect on the edges 
of a row boat. Then a faint rainbow arched up in the southeast, and soon 
after, the Gulls disappeared for the night. 
Farallon Cormorants were often seen in the canals of Venice, a resort 
built in imitation of the Italian city, and fortunately for me temporarily 
unpopular at the time of my visit, October, 1907. As I looked down from a 
bridge over one of the canals one day, a Cormorant dived and swam about 
close under it. A ragged boy with a raft pointed to the smelts that were swim- 
ming around. The Cormorants — “Hell Divers,’’ he called them— “have caught 
onto it now,” he explained ; “there are more fish in the canals than along shore, 
and no swells.” When one of the big birds came close up to his raft he was 
much pleased. “One thing funny,” he said, “they get up on the bank and 
hold their wings out to dry.” Tn the swimming pool one of the birds was 
diving for small water snakes. When he came up holding one, he worried with 
it for some time, the snake squirming around his bill refusing to be swallowed. 
When it went down at last in passing it made a big lump in his throat and he 
wriggled as if it were still squirming. But then he dived and that was the 
conclusion of the matter — as far as onlookers were concerned. A stand in the 
middle of the pool marked Deep Water was a favorite Cormorant perch, the 
birds frequently being seen there preening their feathers and drying their 
wings, the orange pouches at the base of their bills showing well. When one 
was on the bank of a canal oiling his feathers one day, a Kingfisher sat watch- 
ing him as if wondering what manner of bird he might be, but having business 
of his own soon flew off to a stake out in the marsh. 
Now and then a stray Duck or a Dabchick was seen on the canals. If a 
Dabehick, one moment it would be sitting quietly on the water, the next a series 
of quivering rings would mark the spot where it had disappeared. One of the 
exquisite Eared Grebes, as handsome and distinguished as the Dabchick is 
homely and plebeian, appeared one day, with arching neck and charmingly 
pretty ways, swimming gracefully about and diving with airy ease. As I 
watched it, its color pattern seemed like that of many other birds well fitted 
for recognition by those who know it and for protection from those who do 
not, for the gleaming white cheeks, seen from afar, may well dissever the 
