The Poor wills 
rang the bell ten minutes early,—a most forgivable offense. At our 
Goose Lake Camp in 1912, we were serenaded nightly by a pair ot these 
birds which were wont to spend the slumberous hours of daylight on a 
jasper-strewn hillside hard by. Several times we got so near to a per¬ 
former that we heard a third note, a low, cutting sound, not unlike the 
bite of a whiplash. Poor-will-hip Poor-will-(wh)ip. At the conclusion 
of one performance the 
bird dropped his voice 
and repeated the notes 
with exceeding rapidity, 
as though he were try¬ 
ing to finish off his stent 
in a single breath. The 
official poor-will overture 
of the nightly operetta 
sometimes took place in 
an opening right in front 
of our tent. On one such 
occasion the bird, pre¬ 
sumably the male, took 
a station on top of a post 
and urged his suit loud¬ 
ly, while his mate sat on 
the ground below. At 
the conclusion of an im¬ 
passioned address, the 
serenader made an ama¬ 
tory dive at his enamo- 
rata, an overture which 
she deftly avoided. Then 
the wooer poured out his 
soul from another post 
and tried another dash; 
whereupon both birds 
set out happily together, 
the female in the lead, 
and reechoing the male’s 
notes so distinctly that 
I am quite inclined to 
believe she is capable of 
crying Poor-will-(wh)ip 
herself. 
Photo by Wright M. Pierce 
DUSKY POORWILL, INCUBATING 
DESERT SLOPE OF THE SAN BERNARDINO MOUNTAINS 
1057 
